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CYCLOPAEDIA
AMERICAN LITERATURE;
KMBRAOINQ
PERSONAL AND CRITICAL NOTICES OF AUTHORS,
AND SELECTIONS FROM THEIR WRITINGS.
FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD TO THE PRESENT DAY
PORTRAITS, AUTOGRAPHS, AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS.
EVERT A. DITYCKINCK AND GEORGE L. DUYCKLNCK,
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. -II.
NEW YORK:
CHARLES SCRIBNER
1S56.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855,
ET CHAELES SCEIBNEE,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of Hew York.
E. CEAIGHEAD,
ELE^TEOTYPEE AND 6TEEEOTTPER,
53 Vesey Street, N. Y
r, A ALVORD Printer.
29 Gold flwaet
m*
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II,
PAGE
JAMES KIRKE PAULDING ... - 1
A Ratal Lover, from the "Lay of the Sc ;tti*h
Fiddle."
An Evening Walk in Virginia, from the "Letters
from the South."
A Trio of Frenchmen.
Character of Washington.
The Man that wanted but One Thing, the Man that
wanted Everything, and the Man that wanted
Nothing.
JOSEPH STORY 10
Fragments.
WASHINGTON ALLSTON ..'-•.". 12
Irving' s Reminiscences of Allston.
America to Great Britain'.
Winter, from the "Sylphs of the Seasons."
Rosalie.
Invention in Art in Ostade and Raphael, from the
'■Lectures on Art."
JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM 19
MOSES STUART .... 2J
WILLIAM ELLERY CHANN1NG .... 21
Military Genius, from the "Essay on Napoleon."
Religion in Literature, from the " Essay on Fenelon "
HENRY T. FARMER 24
The Woes of Modern Greece : a Prize Poem.
TIMOTHY FLINT 24
The Shores of the Ohio.
HENRY PICKERING 25
The House in which I was born: once the Head-
quarters of Washington.
The Dismantled Cabinet.
The Buckwheat Cake.
HENRY J. FINN 28
Passage from the Comic Annual.
DANIEL WEBSTER .... .29
Moral Force of Public Opinion, from the Speech on
the Revolution in Greece.
The Union — Peroration of second Speech on Foot's
Resolution in Reply to Hayne.
The Becret of Murder— the Trial of Knapp for the
Murder of White.
From the Address before the New York Historical
Societv, 1S52.
Letter on the Morning, to Mrs. J. W. Paige.
JOnN C. CALHOUN 34
State Sovereignty, from the Speech on the Force
Bill In the Senate, February, 1833.
ROBERT WALSH . . 37
Sentences, from '' Didactics."
HENRY WHEATON 39
CHARLES J. INGERSOLL 40
Book-making Travellers in America, from "Inchi-
quin's Letters."
LEWIS CASS 42
Passage from Address before the New England So-
ciety of Michigan.
THOMAS HART BENTON 43
Character of Nathaniel Macon, from the " Thirty
Years' View."
HENRY A. S. DEARBORN 45
PAGi:
JOHN SANDERSON 45
The Parisian "Pension."
SELLECK OSBORN 40
New England.
WASHINGTON IRVING ^<" 47
The Dull Lecture.
The Stout Gentleman, from " Bracebridge Hall."
The Broken Heart, from the " Sketch Book."
Description of the powerful Army assembled at the
City of New Amsterdam, from "Knickerbocker's
New York "
WILLIAM IRVING
Vision of Two Sisters in a Ball Room.
DICKINSON COLLEGE 59
JAMES T.AUSTIN • . . .61
Passages from the Life of Elbridge Gerry
SAMUEL L. KNAPP . . ... . .01
LEVI FRISBIE 62
A Castle in the Air.
JOSEPH S. BUCKMINSTER. ..... 63
DAVID HOFFMAN 65
Fame and Authorship, from the Introduction to
" Viator."
GULIAN C. VERPLANCK 68
The Mother and the Schoolmaster.
SAMUEL WOODWORTn 70
Autumnal Reflections.
The Pride of the Valley.
. The Old Oaken Bucket.
JOHN PIERPONT 72
Invitations of the Muse, from "Airs of Palestine."
An Italian Scene.
Dedication Hymn.
Centennial Ode.
M. M. NOAH 73
Lettor to William Dunlap, Esq.
FRANKLIN COLLEGE, GA 70
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, MD 77
C. 8. EAFINESQUE . 76
DANIEL DRAKE— BENJAMIN DRAKE ... 75
NICHOLAS BIDDLE 79
GARDNER SPRING 80
A Popular Preacher.
ANDREWS NORTON SI
Scene after a Summer Shower.
On Listening to a Cricket.
Hymn.
Funeral Dirge.
JOHN ENGLAND S3
THOMAS SMITH GRIMKE 84
Passage from a Fourth of July Oration.
Passage from Preface to Oration on American Educa-
tion.
SAMUEL FARMAR JARVIS 85
WILLIAM CRAFTS 86
Munudy on the Death of Decatur.
v\$
VI
CONTENTS.
ELIZA LESLIE
The Montagues in America, from " Mrs. "Washington
Potts."
RICIIAED HENRY DANA
The Little Beach Bird.
Immortality, from "the Husband and Wife's Grave."
The Buccaneer.
Edmund Kean's Lear, from the Paper on Kean's
Acting.
Influence of Home, from the Paper on Domestic Lite.
RICHARD PABNEY
Translation from tappho.
Youth and Age.
The Tribute. '
An Epigram, imitated from Archias.
NATHANIEL n. CARTER
ISAAC HAEBT
WILLIAM ELLIOTT
Passages from Fiesco.
Passages from Sporting Papers.
SAMUEL JACKSON GARDNER .
WILLIAM J. GRATSON ....
A Suuday Scene at the South.
PACE
87
UNIVERSITY OF
WILLIAM JAY
NORTH CAROLINA
93
100
100
100
1C3
103
1C4
106
106
RICHARD HENRY WILDE ....
Sonnets, translated from Tasso.
To the Mocking Biid.
Stanzas.
JAMES FENIMOEE COOPER . .... 108
Capture ofa Whale, from "the Pilot."
The Panther, from "the Pioneers."
Deerslayer at the Death of his Savage Foe.
JAMES A. HILLHOUSE 117
Passage from Hadad.
Last Evening of the World, from "the Judgment."
Interview of Hadad and Tamar.
The Temptation.
The Education of Men of Leisure, from "the Rela-
tions of Literature to a Republican Government.1'
JOHN W. FEANCIS 121
Christopher Colles.
ELIZA TOWNSEND . 125
The Incomprehensibility of God.
The Rainbow.
SARAH J. HALE 126
It Snows.
JOB DUEFEE 127
Eoger Williams in the Forest. ■
LEVI WOODBURY . . 128
Means and Motives in American Education.
SAMUEL n. TUENEE . . .... 129
THE UNIVERSITY OF VERMONT . . . .129
CHARLES SPEAGFE • . .132
Prize Prologue, recited at the Opening of the Park
Theatre, 1S21.
Art.
The Traveller, from " Curiosity."
The Brothers.
The Winged Worshippers.
CHARLES JAMES SPEAGUE
The Empty House.
LYDIA II. SIGOUENEY 135
Indian Names.
Poetry
Jamestown Church.
Life's Evening.
The Early Eluc-Urd.
Talk with the Sea.
JONATHAN MAYIIEW WALNWEIGHT . . . 1H9
EDWIN C. HOLLAND . . 189
The Pillar of Glory.
WILLIAM II. TIMROD 140
To Harry.
HENRY TIMEOD
The Past — a Fragrnont.
JOHN HOWARD PAYNE 140
Fragment.
Home, Sweet Homo.
Ode.
The Tomb of Genius.
PARE
JAMES HALL 115
Solitude.
Pierre, the French Barber's Indian Adventure, from
" the Dark Maid of Illinois,"
WILLIAM L. STONE .150
HENRY ROWE SCHOOLCRAFT . . . .151
The White Stone Canoe — from the " Tales of a Wig-
wam."
WILLIAMS COLLEGE 154
EDWAED HITCHCOCK 150
HENRY C. CAREY 157
HENRY COGSWELL KNIGHT 153
The Country Oveu.
FREDERICK KNIGHT
Faith.
HEW AINSLIE 160
The Absent Father.
The Ingle Side.
JOHN NEAL 101
A War Song of the Revolution.
The Birth of a Poet.
OEVILLE DEWEY 104
Study, from his Phi Beta Kappa Address in 1880.
JAEED SPARKS 105
EDWARD ROBINSON . 167
THEEESE ROBINSON
EDWAED EVERETT 169
Passages from his Phi Beta Kappa Poem.
Benefits to America of One National Literature.
The Men and Deeds of the Revolution.
HENRY WA RE— HENRY WARE, Jit.— JOHN WARE
—WILLIAM WARE 178
Sonnet on the Completion of Noyes's Translation of
the Prophets. November, 1887.
Death of Probtis, from "Aurelian."
Zenobia, Fausta, and Piso, from "Zenobia."
Repose, from the "Lectures on Allston."
CAROLINE OILMAN . .... 179
The Plantation.
To the Ursuliues.
CAROLINE H. GLOVER
Spring Time.
CARLOS WILCOX 1S1
Spring in New England, from the "Age of Benevo-
lence."
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 188
Drought.
Thanatopsis.
To a Waterfowl.
June.
The Death of the Flowers. 1
Oh, Fairest of the Rural Maids.
To the Evening Wind.
Song of Marion's Men.
The Battle Field. -
The Land of Dreams.
Robert of Lincoln.
Corn-Shucking in South Carolina, from the "Letters
ofa Traveller."
JOHN HOWARD BRYANT
Lines on finding a Fountain in a secluded part of a
Forest.
JOHN D. GODMAN 191
The Pine Forest.
BOWDOIN COLLEGE 192
UNION COLLEGE 194
JOHN E. HOLBEOOK 197
MARIA BROOKS 198
Passages from "Zophit-1."
Egla Sleeping in the Grove of Acacias, from "Zo-
phicl."
Morning Sunlight, from "Zophiel." >
Song, from "Zophicl."
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE 201
Passage from "Lines to John Lang." .
Passages from " the Culprit F'ay."
Impromptu.
The Mocking Bird.
Sonnet.
To the Defenders of New Orleans.
Bronx.
To Ennui, from "the Croakers."
Ode to Fortune, "
To CroaRer, Junior, "
The American Flag "
CONTENTS.
vu
FITZ GREENE HALLECK .
Tho Iron Greys.
IJ»Q * + # *
Domestic Happiness, from "the Croakers."
Song, from "Fanny,1'
On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake.
Marco Bozzaris.
A Poet's Daughter.
Connecticut.
JAMES G. PERCIVAL . . . . .
The Spirit of Poetry, from " Clio."'
A Platonic Bacchanal Song.
The Serenade.
To Seneca Lake.
The Graves of the Patriots.
DANIEL PIERCE THOMPSON .
A School -Committee-Man and a Lawsuit.
WILLIAM B SPEAGUE .
I*AOE
'1 J
JOHN P. KENNEDY
Description of Swallow Barn.
Pursuits of a Philosopher.
JOHN GORHAM PALFREY ....
Religious Opportunities of Age.
SARAH PALFREY
Passage from " Manhood."
HORACE MANN
Health aud Temperance, from " Thoughts for
Young Man."
GEORGE BUSH
JOHN G. C. BRAINARD ....
To the Daughter of a Friend.
On Connecticut River.
Salmon River.
The Black Fox of Salmon River.
The Sea Bird's Song.
Stanzas.
GEORGE TICKNOR. .
The Author's Key-note to Spanish Literature.
Spanish Love Ballad, from the Eomancero of Pedro
Flores, 1594.
Hymn on the Ascension, from the Spanish of Luis do
Leon.
Don Quixote.
La Dama Duende of Calderon.
WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT
The Return of Columbus after his First Voyage,
from the History of Ferdinand and Isabella.
Queen Isabella, from the same.
Death of Montezuma, from the Conquest of Mexico.
Montezuma's Way of Life, from "
CHARLES FOLLEN
Schiller's Love of Liberty, from the Lectures on
Schiller
MRS. FOLLEN.
On the Death of a Beautiful Girl.
CALVIN COLTON— WALTER COLTON .
HUGH SWINTON LEGARE.
Characteristics of Lord Byron.
DAVID J. M'COED— LOUISA 8. M'COED
The Voice of Years.
Cornelia and Gracchus. Act III., Scene t.
HENRY JUNIUS NOTT ....
Passage from "Thomas Singularity."
STEPHEN OLIN
KATHARINE AUGUSTA WARE.
Voice of the Seasons.
NATHANIEL GREENE .
ROBERT S. COFFIN
Passages from the " Boston Bard.'
Song.*
N. L. FROTHINGIIAM
Hynm.
The McLean Asylum, Somerville, Mass.
ROBERT WALN
Passage from "American Bards."
Hunting Song.
WILLIAM A. MUHLENBERG
The ISTlh Hymn.
SAMUEL H. DICKSON
Lines.
Old Age and Death, from the Essays on Life, Sleep,
Pain, &c.
215
219
219
226
225
215
247
255
255
256
257
259
259
pact
M'DONALD CLARKE 2€1
Stanzas on the Death of Brainard.
On seeing a Young Girl look very wishfully into the
Street from a Window of Miss 's Boarding
School, in Broadway.
Sunday in Summer.
Astor House.
ISAAC STARR CLASON. 263
Napoleon, from the Don Juan.
Thomas Addis Emmet.
JOHN HUGHES 264
FRANCIS L. HAWKS 265
Appeal for Union of the Revolutionary Fathers and
Statesmen.
To an Aged and very Cheerful Christian Lady.
ALBERT BARNES 26-3
WILLIAM TUDOR . 288
The Elysian Fields, from "Gebel Teir."
ROBERT C. SANDS 271
Hoboken.
Proem to Yamoyden.
A Monody made on the late Mr. Samuel Patch, by an
Admirer of the Bathos.
The Dead of 1832.
GRENVILLE MELLEN 277
The Bridal.
The Bugle.
PROSPER M. WETMORE 279
Painting.
JAMES LAWSON . .280
The Approach of Age.
Sonnet, " Andrew Jackson."
Song.
WILLIAM BOURNE OLIVER PEABODY— OLIVER
WILLIAM BOURNE PEABODY . . . .232
Monadiuick.
"Man giveth up the Ghost, and where is ne?"
LUCIUS M. SARGENT 2S8
WILLIAM B. WALTER 283
Mourner of the Last Hope.
F. W. P. GREENWOOD 284
Opportunities of Winter for Instruction.
RUFUS CHOATE 2S6
Passage from Speech on the Oregon Question.
Description of the New England Climate.
The Statesmanship of Daniel Webster.
The Consolations of Literature.
CONNECTICUT ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCI-
ENCES 289
GEORGE W. DOANE 289
On a very old Wedding Ring.
Evening.
CALEB CUSHING 291
THEODORE SEDGWICK— CATHARINE M. SEDG-
WICK—THEODORE SEDGWICK . .291
The Rescue of Everell by Magawisca, from "Hope
Leslie."
The Shakers at Hancock, from "Redwood.*"
nANNAH F. LEE 295
GEORGE WOOD 295
The Circle of Financiers, from "Peter Sclllemilil."
HENRY CARY 297
Do not Strain your Punch.
On Perception.
FRANCIS LIEBER 299
The Gentlemanly Character in Polities and Institu-
tions, from the Address on the Character of the
Gentleman.
The Ship Canal, from the Atlantic to the Pacific.
GEORGE BANCROFT 804
Comparison of John Locke and William Penn.
Braddock's Defeat. 1755.
Rural Life in England.
The Boston Massacre, 1770.
Study of the Infinite, from the New York Historical
Society Address, 1854.
ROBERT GREENHOW 3:1
S. G. GOODRICH 311
Good Night.
The Teacher's Lesson.
GEORGE HILL 313
Meditation at Athens, from "the Ruins of Athens."
Liberty.
/
CONTENTS.
WILLIAM LEGGETT
Song.
In Memory of William Leggett,
The Main-Truck ; or, a Leap for Life.
GEORGE P. MORRIS
The Whip-poor-will.
"Woodman spare that Tree.
I'm with You once again.
A Legend of the Mohawk.
Poetry.
Near the Lake.
The Croton Ode, written at the request of the Corpo-
ration of the city of New York.
My Mothers Bible.
GEORGE W. BURNAP .
Isolation of the American Colonies, a Promotion of
Democracy.
NICHOLAS MHRRAY
CYNTHIA TAGGART
On the Return of Spring.
On a Storm.
EUFU8 DAWES
Sunrise, from Mount Washington.
The Poet.
JACOB ABBOTT— JOIIN S. C. ABBOTT .
WILLIAM POST HAWES
Some Ohservations concerning Quail.
Hymn Tunes and Graveyards.
AShark Story, from Fire Island Ana.
PAOE
A. B. LONGSTEEET 814
Georgia Theatrics, from " the Georgia Scenes.'"
BENJAMIN F. FRENCH 815
FRANCIS PATRICK KENRICK . . . . .315
CHARLES PETTIT M'lLVAlNE 810
STEPHEN H. TYNG 310
ALEXANDER YOUNG 310
SAMUEL SEABURY SIT
JOHN O. CHOCLES . 817
GEORGE P. MARSH 81T :
Anglo-Saxon Influences of Home.
THOMAS COLE 818 |
Sonnet.
A Sunset.
Twilight.
The tread of Time.
Song of a Spirit.
ALEXANDER H. EVERETT 820
The Young American.
The Art of Being Happy.
JAMES G. AND MARY E. BROOKS . . .323
Jeremiah x. 17.
Freedom.
Stanzas.
JACOB B. MOORE 325
WILLIAM H. SEWARD 820
The American People — their Moral and Intellectual
Development.
WILLIAM H. FURNESS 32S
Hymns.
COLLEGE OF CHARLESTON, S. C— SOUTH CA-
ROLINA COLLEGE, COLUMBIA ....
THOMAS COOPER
Memoranda of Table-Talk.
ORESTES A. BEOWNSON
NATHANAEL DEERING
The Wreck of the Two Pollies.
ALBERT G. GREENE
To the Weathercock on Our Steeple.
The Baron's Last Banquet.
Old Grimes.
EDWARD COATE PINKNEY
Passages from " Rodolph."
Italy.
The' Indian's Bride.
A Picture-Song.
Song.
A Health.
BELA BATES EDWARDS
329
831
335
341
8-13
847
358
854
855
PAGE
ALEXANDER SLIDELL MACKENZIE . . .360
Zaragoza, from " Spain Revisited."
Lodgings in Madrid, and a Landlady, from the same.
A London Cotfee-Room at Dinner Time, from "The
American in England."
RALPH WALDO EMERSON 865
The Problem.
Tact.
Good Bye.
The Humble Bee.
The Apology.
Beauty, from "Nature."
Love, fropi the Essays.
Montaigne, from "Representative Men."
GEORGE HENRY CALVERT 372
Washington, from "Arnold and Andre."
Alfieri and. Dante.
The Nun. \
Bonaparte.
Moliure and Rachel.
SAMUEL LINCOLN FAIRFIELD . . . .370
Pere la Chaise.
ROBERT M. BIRD 378
The Beech Tree.
A Rescue, from " Nick of the Woods."
.WILLIAM BINGHAM TAPPAN SS0
Stanzas from "A Sapphic for Thanksgiving."
The Sunday School.
JOHN K. MITCHELL 8S1
The Brilliant Nor' West.
The New and the Old Song.
EICHAED PENN SMITH 882
LOUISA J. HALL 8S2
Scene from " Miriam."
MAEIA J. MclNTOSH SS4
The Brothers; or, In the Fashion and Above the
Fashion.
LYDIA MAEIA CHILD 868
Ole Bull, from " Letters from New York."
Old Age, from the same.
The Brothers.
EDMUND D. GEIFFIN 3!>1
Lilies on leaving Italy.
JOHN HENRY HOPKINS 802
WILLIAM CROSWELL 893
The Ordinal.
New Year's Verses, from the Desk of Poor Richard,
Jr.
Passage from a Commencement Poem.
To My Father.
Nature and Eevelation.
This also shall pass away.
Psalm exxxvii.
A Sunday School Flymn,
Hymn for Advent.
De Profundus.
Traveller's Hymn.
nOEACE BUSHNELL 397
Play, a Life of Freedom.
GEOEGE DENISON PRENTICE 400
The Flight of Years.
CHARLES E. ARTHUR GAYARRE . . . .401
Father Dagobert.
GEORGE W. BETHUNE 403
Song.
The Fourth of July.
National Characteristics.
EDWARD SANFOED 406
Passage from " the Loves of the Shell Fishes."
A Hard-Cider Melody.
Address to Black Hawk.
To a Mosquito.
Song, imitated from the French.
Charcoal Sketch of Pot Pic Palmer.
THEODORE S. FAY .412
The Rhine, from " Ulric."
An Outline Sketch.
WILLIAM COX 415
Biography of Jacob Hays.
JOHN INMAN 410
Thoughts at the Grave of a Departed Friend.
HORATIO GREENOUGH 417
The Desecration of the Flag.
JOHN E. BARTLETT 413
CONTENTS.
IX
PAGE
JOHN LLOYD STEPIIENS 419
The Bastinado at Cairo, from " Incidents of Travel in
Egypt.'1
FEEDEEIC HENEY HEDGE 421
The Angel's Song, from Goethe's "Faust."
Conservatism and Eefurni.
MATTHEW F. MATJET 423
Law of Compensation in the Atmosphere.
HERMAN HOOKER . . 424
Gratitude to God.
WILLIAM E. WILLIAMS
An Age of Passion.
WILLIAM GILMOEE SIMMS ...
The Bard.
Blessings on Children.
The Eattlesnake, from ''the Yemassee."
JAMES H. HAMMOND
Intellectual Power.
EOBEET M. CHARLTON
To the Eiver Ogeech-e.
They are passing away.
The Death of Jasper, an Historical Ballad.
WILLIAM A. CAEEUTHEES
A Kitchen Fireside in the Old Dominion.
JAMES OTIS EOCKWELL
Spring.
GEORGE LTTNT
Memory and Hope.
NATHANIEL PAEKEE WILLIS .
The Belfry Pigeon.
The Annoyer.
Love in a Cottage.
Unseen Spirits.
Little Florence Gray.
Letter to the Unknown Purchaser and Next Occu-
pant of Glenmary.
HENET WADSWOETH LONGFELLOW . --".
A Psalm of Life.
Footsteps of Angels.
God's-acre.
Excelsior.
Eain in Summer.
Besignation.
The Old Clock on the Stairs.
The Jewish Cemetery at Newport.
Scenery of the Mississippi, from " Evangeline.1'
Pic-nic at Roaring Brook, from "Kavanagh."
SAMUEL LONGFELLOW
Evening Walk by the Bay.
HENET WILLIAM HEEEEET .
The Last Bear on the Hills of Warwick.
GEORGE B. CHEEVEB ....
Pedestrianism in Switzerland.
Elements of the Swiss Landscape.
THOMAS WARD
To Passaic.
JOSEPH C. NEAL
Undeveloped Genius, a Passage in the Life
garlick Pigwiggin, Esq.
EICHAED HILDEETH .
Washington and Hamilton.
The Duel of Hamilton and Burr.
W. S. W. EUSCHENBERGEE .
425
427
43T
443
JONATHAN LA WHENCE, Jn.
To .
COENELIUS CONWAY FELTON
Borne and Greece in America.
ELIZABETH MAEGAEET CHANDLER
John Woolman.
LAUGHTON OSBOENB ....
Sonnet — the Eeproach of Yenus.
To Juvenal.
The Death of General Pike.
EDWARD S. GOULD ....
Chapter from the Sleep Eider.
JOHN W. GOULD
Man Overboard.
ASA GREENE .
Peter Funk.
WILLIAM D. GALLAGHEE
August.
The Laborer.
of P. Pil-
450
453
455
456
459 4
462
462
463
465
466
467
470
471
JOHN GEEENLEAF WHITTIEE
The New Wife and the Old.
A Dream of Summer.
Palestine.
Gone.
CHAELES FENNO HOFFMAN
Sparkling and Brisht.
The Mint Julep.
Room, Boys, Eoora.
Eio Bravo — a Mexican Lament.
The Man in the Eeservoir, a Fantasie Piece.
LUCEETIA MARIA AND MAEGAEET MILLER
DAVIDSON
On the Death of my Eobin.
Lines.
A Fragment.
The Wide World is Drear.
Kindar Burial Service, Versified.
To my Mother at Christmas.
EMMA C. EMBURY
Ballad.
Lines suggested by the Moravian Burial Ground at
Bethlehem.
Absence.
Oh ! Tell me not of Lofty Fate.
CAROLINE LEE HENTZ
The Snow Flakes.
4-8ARAH HELEN WHITMAN
Quest of the Soul, from "the Hours of Life.
The Trailing Arbutus.
A Still Day in Autumn.
She blooms no more.
HENEY EEED
Passage from the Introduction to the' " Lectures on
English Literature."
Poetical and Prose Eeading.
Companionship of the Sexes in the Study of Litera-
ture.
GEOEGE STILLMAN HILLAED .
Euins in Borne, from " Six Months in Italy."
The Picturesque in Rome, from the same.
HUGH MOORE
Old Winter is Coming.
Spring is Coming.
B. B. THATCHER ....
The Last Request.
HANNAH F. GOULD
The Frost.
Mary Dow.
It Snows.
The Veteran and the Child.
Hymn of the Reapers.
r-AOK
. 472
476
4S0
485
4S6
4S7
490
49S
496,
«96
497
PARK BENJAMIN .
The Departed.
Indolence.
Sport.
STEPHEN GREENLEAF BULFINCH
Lines on visiting Tallulah Falls, Georgia.
ROBERT CHARLES WINTHEOP
Peace between England aDd America.
Objects and Limits of Science.
Visit of Cicero to the Grave of Archimedes.
NATHANIEL HAWTHOENE £#>r
The Grey Champion.
Sights from a Steeple.
OLIVEE WENDELL HOLMES .
Our Yankee Girls.
Old Ironsides.
The Churchyard at Cambridge.
LTnconnne.
The Last Leaf.
My Aunt.
Evening, by a Tailor.
On Lending a Punch Bowl.
The Pilgrim's Vision.
499
500
500
DPS
511
EEANTZ MAYEE .
Literary Influences in America.
SAMUEL TYLER
GEOEGE BUEGESS .
Psalm xlvii.
AXBEET PIKE ....
Hymn to Ceres.
Farewell to New England.
ADEIAN ROUQUETTE .
Souvenir de Kentucky.
519
520
521
The Nook.
To Nature, my Mother.
CONTENTS.
PAfiE
JONES TERT 523
To the Painted Columbine.
The Wind Flower.
The New Birth.
Day.
:h ight.
The Latter Eain.
Nature.
The Prayer.
MAEGAEET FULLER OSSOLI 524
Passage from her Diary.
A Dialogue.
JAMES H. PERKINS 528
Poverty and Knowledge.
On the Death of a Young Child.
BENSON J. LOSS1NG 529
ANN S. STEPHENS 530
The Strawberry Girl.
EALPH HOYT 531
Snow: a Winter Sketch.
The World Sale.
Strike.
WILLIS GAYLOED CLAEK— LEWIS GAYLOED
CLABK 584
A Song of May.
To my Boy.
Lines written at Laurel Hill Cemetery, near Phila-
delphia.
Old Songs.
EDGAR A. POE 586
The Haunted Palace.
Lenore.
The Raven.
A Descent into the Maelstrom.
CHARLES 8CMNEE 545
War.
ROBERT T. CONEAD 54T
Freedom.
FEEDEEICK WILLIAM THOMAS .... 548
'Tis said that Absence conquers Love.
HOEACE GEEELEY 549
ANDREW PRESTON PEABODY'. . . . .549
First Vivid Impressions in the Ancient Classics.
WILLIAM INGRAHAM KIP 651
ELIHU BUEEITT 552
Why I left the Anvil
ALFRED B. STREET 554
The Settler.
An Autumn Landscape.
THEODORE PARKEE 556
Old Age.
WILLIAM HAYNE SIMMONS—TAMES WEIGHT
SIMMONS 557
The Bell Bird.
To him who can alone sit for the Picture.
Twilight Thoughts.
FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD 559
Stanzas.
To the Spirit of Poetry.
Labor.
Song — She Loves him yet.
To a dear little Truant.
SEBA SMITH— ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH . . 561
Midsummer.
Strength from the Hills.
The Poet.
CAROLINE M. KIEKLAND 662
Meeting of the "Female Beneficent Society/'
Hospitality.
P. HAMILTON MYERS 566
THOMAS MACKELLAR 566
A Poet and his Song.
Singing on the Way.
WILLIAM STAEBnCK MAYO 567
A Lion in the Path.
WILLIAM HENEY CHANNING— WILLIAM EL-
LERY CHANNING 569
The Poet.
WILLIAM HAGUE 570
The Cultivation of Taste.
SAMUEL OSGOOD .571
Reminiscences of Boyhood, from " Mile-Stones in onr
Life Journey."
The Age of St. Augustine, from "Studies in Christian
Biography."
\
PAGE
THE ACADEMY OF NATURAL SCIENCES OF
PHILADELPHIA 575
JOHN C. FEEMONT 577
JAMES NACK 57S '
The Old Clock.
FEANCIS BOWEN 579
JOHN MILTON MACKIE 580
Holidays at Barcelona, from " Cosas de Espana."
CHARLES F. BRIGGS 581
An Interrupted Banquet, from '"Life in a Liner."
Without and Within.
CHRISTOPHER PEASE CEANCH . . . .582
The Bouquet.
HENEY THEODOEE TUCKEEMAN . . . .582
Mary.
Rome.
True Enthusiasm, from a Colloquial Lecture on New
England Philosophy.
The Home of the Poet Eogers, from " A Month in
England."
CHAELES T. BEOOK3 5S5
Newport, from Aquidneck
Lines on hearing Mendelssohn's Midsummer Night's
Dream.
The Sabbath, from the German of Krummacher.
SYLVESTER JUDD 583
A New England Snow Storm, and a Home Scene,
from "Margaret."
HENEY B. H1EST 591
The Eobin.
J. L. H. M'CRACKEN 592
The Art of Making Poetry.
JOHN EOMEYN BEODHEAD 594
LOUIS LE GRAND NOBLE 595
To a Swan, flying by night on the banks of the Hu-
ron.
HENRY NORMAN HUDSON 597
The Weird Sisters, from the Lectures on Shakspeare.
E. H. CnAPIN 599
Voices of the Dead, from " the Crown of Thorns."
T. S. ARTHUR . . .601
Gentle Hand.
WILLIAM H. C. HOSMEE 602
October.
JOEL TYLER HEADLEY 6:3
Washington and Napoleon.
Lafayette.
IAERIET BEECHEE STOWE 605
Uncle Tom in his Cabin.
HAEEIET FAELEY 0C9
ELIZABETH F. ELLET 659
Lines to .
JEDIDIAH V. HUNTINGTON G10
The Song of the Old Year.
EUFUS WILMOT GEISWOLD .... 611
BENJAMIN DAVIS WINSLOW 612
Thoughts for the City.
T. B. THORPE 612
Tom Owen, the Bee Hunter.
GEOEGE EDWAED ELLIS 615
Organ Melodies.
CYRUS A. BAETOL 616
Allston's Belshazzar's Feast.
GEOEGE WASHINGTON GEEENE .... 616
Botta, the Historian.
ANDEEW JACKSON DOWNING . . . .618
EDMUND FLAGG 613
RICHARD n. DANA, Jr 6!9
Homeward Bound, from "Two Years Before the
Mast."
The English Bible.
ANNA COEA MOWATT 623
Time.
MAEY E. HEWITT 624
God Bless the Mariner.
To Mary.
EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWOETH .... 024
SUSAN WARNER— ANNA B. WARNEE ... 625
Chestnut Gathering, from " Queechy."
CONTENTS.
PAGE
EMILY C. JUDSON ....... 626
Watching.
ANNE CHARLOTTE BOTTA 627
Thoughts in a Library.
To — with flowers.
PARKE GODWIN 623
JOHN G. SAXE 629
Rhyme of the Bail.
Sonnet to a Clam.
My Boyhood.
JESSE AMES SPENCER 630
FREDERICK WILLIAM SHELTON . . . .680
A Burial among the Mountains, from "Peeps from a
Belfry."
JOHN O. SARGENT— EPES SARGENT . . .632
A Life on the Ocean Wave.
The Death of Warren,
O Ye Keen Breezes.
pniLIP PENDLETON COOKE^JOHN ESTEN
COOKE 605
Florence Vane
Young Rosalie Lee.
Prologue to "the Virginia Comedians."
Epilogue.
The Death of a Mountain Hunter, from "Leather
Stocking and Silk."
HORACE BINNEY WALLACE 638
The Interior of St. Peter's.
ELIHU G. HOLLAND
The Susquehannah.
WILLIAM A. JONES
Hazlitt.
THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS .
Verses from the Epistle to Landor.
On a Bust of Dante.
Steuart's Burial.
JOnN W. BROWN ....
The Christmas Bells.
JOHN LATHROP MOTLEY .
Gottingen, from "Morton's Hope.1'
SAMUEL A. HAMMETT
How I caught a Cat, and what I did with it, from "A
Stray Yankee in Texas."
CORNELIUS MATHEWS
The Journalist.
The Poor Man.
Dietetic Charlatanry.
Little Trappan.
GEORGE W. PECK
The Governor of the Chinchas.
J. ROSS BROWN
John Tabor's Ride — a Yarn from the "Etchings of a
Whaling Cruise."
HENRY DAVID TIIOREAU
A Character, from •' Walden."
A Battle of Ants.
ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE .
Old Trinity.
He standeth at the door and knocketh.
The Volunteer's March.
JOHN STEINFORTH KIDNEY .
Come in the Moonlight.
GEORGE H. COLTON
PHILIP SCHAFF .
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. . ^ .
Margaret, from the Legend of Brittany.
An Instant in a Railroad Car.
The First Snow-fall.
The Courtin'.
MARIA LOWELL
The Alpine Sheep.
WILLIAM W. STORY ....
Childhood.
Midnight.
EDWIN PERCY WHIPPLE .
The Genius of Washington.
CHARLES WILKINS WEBBER .
A Night HuDt in Kentucky.
HENRY AUGUSTUS WISE ■.
An Attack, from "Tales for the Marines.'
Sagacity of Lobsters, from the same.
\
640
640
041
642 i
649
651
656
658
658
659
663
664
665
HERMAN MELVILLE
Redburn contemplates making a social call on tho
Captain in his cabin.
CAROLINE M. SAWYER
The Blind Girl.
LOUISA C. TUTHILL
PLINT MILES
RICHARD B. KIMBALL
AMELIA B. WELBY
The Old Maid.
JANE T. WORTHINGTON
Moonlight on the Grave.
LUCY HOOPER
The Daughter of Herodias.
CATHERINE LUDEES
The Building and Birds.
Planting in Rain.
The Little Frock.
ESTELLE ANNA LEWIS
My Study.
Greece, from "the Child of the Sea."
The Forsaken.
XI
PAGE
672 '
676
076
076
677
677
678
078
679
JULIA WARD HOWE
The City of my Love.
ALICE B. HAVEN
Trees in the City.
The Church.
CATHERINE WAEFIELD— ELEANOR LEE
I Walk in Dreams of Poetry.
She Comes to Me.
SARAH S. JACOBS
Benedetta.
ELIZABETH C. KINNEY ....
The Spirit of Song.
SARAH J. LIPPINCOTT ....
Ariadne.
ALICE CAREY
Pictures of Memory.
Mulberry Hill.
Nobility.
PHEBE CAREY.
Coming Home.
ELISE JUSTINE BAYARD ....
Funeral Chant for the Old Year.
CAROLINE MAY
The Sabbath of the Year.
HARRIET WINSLOW LIST . . :
To the Unsatisfied.
ELIZABETH LLOYD
Milton on his Blindness.
CAROLINE CHESEBRO' ....
The Black Frost.
EDWARD MATURIN
The Seasons, from a Poem,
WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE
Of Thine Own Country Sing.
CHARLES ASTOE BEISTED
HENRY R. JACKSON .
The Live Oak.
HENRY W. PARKER .
The City of the Dead.
CHARLES G. EASTMAN
A Picture.
JOnN ORVILLE TERRY .
Aunt Dinah.
CHARLES OSCAR DUGUE .
XAVIEIt DONALD MACLEOD
E. G. BQUIEE
ELISHA KENT KANE .
681
6S2
684
685
0S5
687
Tho Woods."
Arctic Incidents.
SAMUEL ELIOT
Close of Antiquity.
JAMES T. FIELDS ^'. ....
Wordsworth.
Eventide.
DONALD G. MITCHELL ....
Letters, from "The Reveries of a Bachelor."
669
689
690
691
692
694
695
697
700
701
XII
CONTENTS.
+
PAGE
THOMAS BUCHANAN READ 702
The Closing Scene.
Pennsylvania, from "The New Pastoral."
The Village Church, from the same.
FREDERIC S. COZZEN8 73?
Bunker Hill— an Old Time Ballad.
GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS . ... TOO
Under the Palms, from the " Nile Notes."
FRANCIS PARKMAN T09
The Illinois.
ERA8TUS W. ELLSWORTH T10
What is the Use? __
WILLIAM W. CALDWELL 712
Robin's Come. .
What Saith the Fountain ?
JOHN R. THOMPSON 713
The Window-panes at Brlmdon.
A Picture.
Benedicite.
GEORGE H. BOKER 714
The Death of Dona Alda, from " Calaynos."
BATARD TAYLOR .710
Bedouin Song.
Kilimandjaro.
PAGE
RICHARD HENRY STODDARD 717
Autumn.
The Two Brides.
WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER 718
Uhlaud.
JOHN L. McCONNEL . 719
A Western Politician of the First Growth.
Ichabod Crane beyond the Alleghanies.
J. M. LEGAEE .720
Amy.
AUGUSTUS JULIAN REQUIER ... .720
Ode to Shakspeare.
PAUL H. HAYNE .722
Sonnet
A Portrait.
HAMILTON COLLEGE, NEW YORK . . . 722
THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA . . . .725
TRINITY COLLEGE, CONN. ....'. 732
THE UNIVERSITY OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK 7-33
THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN . . . .755
THE NATIONAL INSTITUTE 787
THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION . . . .707
THE ASTOR LIBRARY 740
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Autograph or J. K. Paulding
Residence of J. K. Paulding
Portrait and Autograph of .Joseph
Story
Portrait and Autograph of Wash-
ington Allston
Portrait aud Autograph of Henry
Pickering ....
Portrait and Autograph of Daniel
Webster . . .
Portrait and Autograph of John
C. Calhoun
Autograph of Henry Wheaton
Portrait and Autograph of Charles
J. Ingersoll
Autograph of Lewis Cass
Portrait and Autograph of Thomas
H. Benton ...
Portrait and Autograph of Wash
ington Irving .
Sunnyside '
Portrait of Charles Nisbet .
Dickinson College.
Autograph of Samuel L. Knapp
Autograph of Levi Frisbie .
Portrait and Autograph of J. S,
Buckminsler .
Autograph of D. Hoffman
S. Woodworth
John Pierpont
Portrait and Autograph of M. M
Noah ....
St. John's College, Md.
Autograph of Nicholas Biddle
Andrews Norton
Thomas S. Grinike
William Crafts
Portrait and Autograph of Richard
H. Dana ....
Residence of Richard 11. Dana
University of Nortli Carolina
Portrait and Autograph of Richard
Henry Wilde .
Portrait and Autograph of James
Fenimore Cooper .
Otsego Hall ....
Portrait and Autograph of John
W. Francis
Autograph of Job Durfee
James Marsh .
Portrait and Autograph of Charles
Sprague
Residence of Mrs. L. H. Sigourney
Portrait and Autograph of Mrs. L.
H. Sigourney ....
Portrait and Autograph of John
Howard Payne
Park Theatre
Portrait and Autograph of James
Hall
Portrait and Autograph of Wil
Ham L. Stone .
Portrait and Autograph of Henry
R. Schoolcraft
Elmwood ....
Williams College .
Autograph of Edward Hitchcock
Henry C. Carey
John Neal
Portrait and Autograph of Jared
Sparks
Portrait and Autograph of Edward
Robinson.
page ]
1 I
84
86
89
90
105
103
112
123
127
130
132
136
136
1-11
142
152
152
156
156
157
162
166
Portraitand Autograph of Edward
Everett ....
Portrait and Autograph of Wi
Ham Ware
Portrait and Autograph of Caro-
line Gilman ...
Autograph of Carlos Wilcox.
Portrait and Autograph of Wil
Ham C. Bryant
Residence of William C. Bryant
Autograph of John D. Godman
Bowuoin College .
Portrait and Autograph of Elipha-
IetNott ....
Portrait and Autograph of Taylo:
Lewis ....
Union College
Portrait and Autograph of Maria
Brooks
Portrait and Autograph of Josepl-
Rodman Drake
Portrait and Autograph of Fitz-
Greene Halleck
Portrait and Autograph of Jam*
G. Percival
Portrait and Autograph of D. P.
Thompson
Autograph of William B. Sprague
Portrait and Autograph of John
P. Kennedy
Residence of John P. Kennedy
Autograph of Horace Mann .
Portrait and Autograph of George
Bush
Portrait and Autograph of John
G. C. Brainard
Portrait and Autograph of Georg
Ticknor ....
Portrait and Autograph of Wil
Ham H. Prescott
Portrait and Autograph of Charles
Follen ....
Autograph of Calvin Colton .
Walter Colton
Portrait and Autograph of n. S
Legare .....
Portrait and Autograph of Louisa
S. M'Cord
Autograph of Stephen Olin .
Samuel H. Dickson
Portrait of McDonald Clarke
St. Thomas Hall, Flushing, N. Y,
Portraitand Autograph of Francis
L. Hawks
Portrait and Autograph of Wil
Ham Tudor
Boston Atherjamm
Portrait and Autograph of Robert
C. Sands ....
Wood at Hoboken.
Autograph of Qrenville Mellen
Prosper M. "Wet
more
James Lawson
W. B. 0. Peabody
Rufus Choate
Caleb Cushing
Portrait and Autograph of Cathe
line M. Sedgwick .
Autograph of Hannah F. Lee
George Wood.
Portrait and Autograph of Francis
Lieber
PAGE
171
175
180
181
185
186
191
193
195
196
li>7
198
202
208
212
216
219
220
220
224
226
227
230
236
242
246
246
251
254
259
201
265
266
269
209
272
273
27S
279
280
282
236
291
292
295
295
300
PAGE
Residence of George Bancroft, at
Newport 305.
Portrait and Autograph of Gcorgo
Bancroft 306
Portrait of S. G. Goodrich . . 312
Autograph of John O. Choules . 317
Portrait of Thomas Cole . . 319
Autograph of Alex. H. Everett . 320
James G. Brooks . 324
South Carolina College ... 330
Portrait and Autograph of Tho-
mas Cooper .... 332
Portrait and Autograph of Wil-
liam Leggett .... 343
Portrait, Autograph, and Residence
of George 1*. Morris . . 348
Autograph of Cynthia Taggart . 352
Rufus Dawes . . 354
Jacob Abbott . 854
Portrait and Autograph of Alex.
Slidell Mackenzie ... 361
Portrait and Autograph of Ralph
Waldo Emerson ... 366
Portrait and Autograph of George
H. Calvert .... 373
Autograph of Sumner L. Fairfield 376
Portrait aud Autograph of Robert
M. Bird 878
Portrait and Autograph of Maria
J. Mcintosh .... 384
Autograph of L. Maria Child. . 383
Portrait and Autograph of Wil-
liam Cruswell .... 393
Autograph of Horace Bushnell . 897
Portraitand Autograph of Charles
Gayarre 402
Autograph of George W. Bethunc 404
Portrait and Autograph of Theo-
dore S. Fay . .412
Autograph of Horatio Greenough 417
Portrait and Autograph of John
L. Stephens .... 420
Portrait and Autograph of Mat-
thew F. Maury ... 423
Woodlands 427
Portrait and Autograph of Wil-
liam Gilmore Siintns . . 429
Autograph of Robert M. Charl-
ton 435
Portrait and Autograph of N. P.
Willis 433
Idlewild 410
Residence of Henry W. Longfel-
low 444
Portrait and Autograph of Henrv
W. Longfellow . *. 444
Portrait and Autograph of Henrv
Wm. Herbert 450
Portrait and Autograph of Joseph
C. Neal 456
Portraitand Autograph of Richard
Hildreth 459
Autograph of Laugh ton Osborne . 406
Portrait and Autograph of John
G. Whittier .... 473
Portrait and Autograph of Charles
Fenno Hoffman . . . 470
Portrait and Autograph of Luere-
tia M. Davidson ... 482
Portrait and Autograph of Marga-
ret M. Davidson ... 484
Autograph of Emma C. Embury . 485
Sarah U.Whitman. 487
XIV
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Portrait and Autograph of Henry
Eeed ....
Autograph of George S. Hillard
Hannah F. Gould
Park Benjamin
Portrait and Autograph of Sober
C. Wintbrop .
The Old Manse
Portrait and Autograph of Na-
thaniel Hawthorne .
Portrait and Autograph of Oliver
W. Holmes .
Autograph of Brantz Mayer .
Albert Pike .
Portrait and Autograph of A. Eou
quette ....
Autograph of Jones Very
Portrait and Autograph of S. Mar
garet Fuller Ossoli
Autograph of Benson J. Lossing
Ann S. Stephens
Portrait and Autograph of Ralph
Hoyt
Portrait and Autograph of Edgar
A. Poe .
Autograph of Charles Sumner
Portrait and Autograph of E. T
Conrad ....
Autograph of Horace Greeley
Portrait and Autograph of W. In-
graham Kip ....
Portrait and Autograph of Elihu
Burritt .
Portrait and Autograph of Alfred
B. Street ....
Portrait of Theodore Parker
Portrait and Autograph of Fran
ctis S. Osgood
Portrait and Autograph of Eliza-
heth Oakes Smith .
Portrait and Autograph of Caro-
line M. Kirkland
Autograph of P. Hamilton Myers
Portrait and Autograph of Wil-
liam S. Mayo .
Portrait and Autograph of Samuel
Osgood ....
Autograph of John M. Mackie
Portrait and Autograph of Henry
491 T. Tuckerman
494 Portrait and Autograph of Charles
497 T. Brooks
499 Portrait and Autograph of Sylves
ter Judd ....
501 Autograph of John E. Brodhead
504 Portrait and Autograph of Louis
L. Noble
506 Portrait and Autograph of Henry
N. Hudson
512 Portrait and Autograph of E. H.
517 Chapin
520 Portrait and Autograph of T. S.
Arthur ....
521 Autograph of W. H. C. Hosmer
523 Portrait, Autograph, and Eesi
dence of J. T. Headley .
526 Portrait ind Autograph of Harriet
529 Beecher Stowe
530 Portrait and Autoirraph of Eliza-
beth F. Ellett "...
532 ' Portrait and Autograph of Eufus
W. Griswold ....
537 Portrait and Autograph of T. B,
545 Thorpe ....
Autograph of A. J. Downing
547 Portrait and Autograph of Eichard
549 II. Dana, Jun
Portrait and Autograph of Anna
552 Cora Mowatt ....
Portrait and Autograph of Emily
552 C. Judson ....
Portrait and Autograph of Anne
554 C. Lynch ....
556 Portrait and Autograph of Joh
G. Saxe ....
559 Portrait and Autograph of Epes
Sargent ....
561 Portrait and Autograph of P. P.
Cooke ....
563 Portrait and Autograph of John
566 Esten Cooke ...
Portrait and Autograph of Come
567 lius Mathews .
Autograph of George W. Peck
5T2 J. Eoss Browne
560 Henry D. Thoreau,
594
596
597
599
601
6b2
604
6.5
610
611
613
618
619
623.
626
623
629
633
635
636
646
649
651
653
PAGE
Henry D. Thoreaifs House . . 654
Portrait and Autograph of J. E.
Lowell 659
Portrait and Autograph of C. W.
Webber 666
Autograph of Henry A. Wise . 670
Herman Melville . 672
Eesidence of Herman Melville . 674
Autograph of Pliny Miles . . 677
Portrait and Autograph of Amelia
B. Welby .... 677
Portrait and Autograph of Estelle
Anna Lewis .... 680
Portrait and Autograph of Julia
Ward Howe .... 681
Portrait and Autograph of Alice
B. Haven .... 682
Portrait and Autograph of Sara J.
Lippincott .... 685
Portrait and Autograph of E. G.
Squier 696
Portrait and Autograph of E. K.
Kane 698
Autograph of Samuel Eliot . 699
Portrait and Autograph of Donald
G. Mitchell .... 701
Portrait and Autograph of T. B.
Eead 762
Autograph of Frederick S. Coz-
zens 704
Portrait and Autograph of George
W. Curtis .... 707
Portrait and Autograph of Fran-
cis Parkman .... 709
Autograph of E. W. Ellsworth . 711
John E. Thompson 718
Portrait and Autograph of George
H. Boker .... 714
Portrait and Autograph of Bayard
Taylor 716
Portrait and Autograph of E. H.
Stoddard 717
Autograph of A. J. Eeqnier . . 720
Hamilton College .... 722
University of Virginia . . . 726
the City of New
York 733
Smithsonian Institution, . . 739
The Astor Library, New York . 741
CYCLOPAEDIA
OF
AMERICAN LITERATURE
JAMES KIEKE PAULDING,
Is descended from one of the early pioneers of
the State of New York, who appears in the an-
cient records of Ulster County, of which he was
sheriff in the time of Governor Dongan, some-
times as Hendrick Pauldinck, sometimes as Heiti-
rick Pauldon, and at others Henry Pawling, which
was probably his English name, being so written
in a grant of four thousand acres of land in Dutch-
ess County to his widow Eltje Pawling, by King
William the Third. This confusion of names is to
he partly traced to the struggle for ascendency
between the Dutch and English languages, and
partly to the carelessness of the writers, who were
not much practised in orthography ; so that from
these causes it remains doubtful whether Henry
Pawling wa; of English or Dutch extraction.
Subsequently to this grant of King William the
family removed to Dutchess County, a township
of which is still called after their name. The
grandfather of the subject of this sketch, many
years previous to the Revolution, settled in the
county of Westchester, on a farm still in posses-
sion of his descendants. He always wrote his
name Paulding, which has been ever sine.' adopted
by that branch of the family, though that of Paw-
ling has been retained by the others. The resi-
dence of Paulding's father being " within the
lilies," that is in the district intervening between
the British army at New York and the American
forces in the Highlands, and he being a somewhat
distinguished Whig of the good old revolutionary
stamp, his family was exposed to the insults and
depredations of the Jagars, the Tories, and the
Cow Boys. He removed his family in conse-
quence to Dutchess County, where he possessed
vol. n. — 1
some property. Here Paulding was born, August
22, 1779, at a place called Pleasant Valley. His
father who, previous to the commencement of the
Revolution, had acquired a competency, took a de-
cided and active part in the preliminary struggles;
was a leader of the Whig party in the county of
Westchester ; a member of the first Committee of
Safety, and subsequently Commissary General of
the New York Continental quota of troops. When,
in consequence of the total extinction of the public
credit, and the almost hopeless state of the good
cause, it was sometimes impossible to procure the
necessary supplies for the American army then
occupying the highlands of the Hud -ion, he made
use of his own credit with his neighbors, the far-
mers, and became responsible for large sums of
money. At the conclusion of the war, on pre-
senting his accounts to the Auditor-General, this
portion of them was rejected on the ground that
he was not authorized to make these pledges in
behalf of government. He retired a ruined man,
was thrown into a prison, which accidentally taking
fire, he walked home and remained unmolested by
his creditors. He could never be persuaded to
renew his application to government; would never
accept any office ; and though he lived to a great
age made no exertions whatever to retrieve his
fortunes. His wife, who was the main stay of
the family, and a woman of great energy, industry,
and economy, survived him several years and died
still more aged.
After the peace the family returned to their
former abode in Westchester, where Paulding was
educated at the village school, a log-house nearly
two miles distant from his residence, in which he
received all the learning he ever acquired from
the tuition of Others, so that he maybe fairly con-
sidered a self-made man. Here he remained at
home until he arrived at manhood, when he came
to the city of New York. His first sojourn in the
city was with the late Mr. William Irving, who
had married his sister, a man of wit and genius,
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
■whose home was the familiar resort of a knot of
young men of a similar stamp, who were members
of the Calliopean Society, one of the first purely
literary institutions established in the city.* He
also became intimate at this time with Washing-
ton Irving, whose elder brother William married
Paulding's sister, and in connexion with whom he
made his first literary venture in the publication
of the series of periodical essays entitled Salma-
gundi ; or the Whim-Whams and Opinions of
Launcelot Langstaff and others, which were is-
sued by David Longworth, a respectable but
whimsical bookseller of the times, who, in virtue
of having a copy of Boydell's Shakespeare, the
plates of which he exhibited in his second story,
christened his shop the Shakespeare Gallery ; some-
times, too, calling it on the title-pages of his pub-
lications the Sentimental Epicure's Ordinary. He
was an extensive publisher of plays foreign and
native, and became famous for his enterprise of the
New York Directory .t
The first number of Salmagundi appeared Sa-
turday, January 24, 1807, in an eighteenmo. of
twenty pages. It closed with the issue of number
twenty, January 25, 1808. It was the joint work
of Paulding and Irving, with the exception of the
poetical epistles and three or four of the prose
articles, which were from the pen of William Ir-
ving. The work was a brilliant success from the
start. The humors of the town were hit off with
a freshness which is still unexhausted to the read-
ers of an entirely ditferent generation. It dis-
closed, too, the literary faculties of the writers,
both very young men, with a rich promise for the
future, in delicate shades of observation, the more
pungent traits of satire, and a happy vein of de-
scription which grew out of an unaffected love of
nature, and was enlivened by studies in the best
school of English poetry. When the work was
concluded its two chief authors pursued their lite-
rary career apart ; but it is noticeable as an exhi-
bition of their kindly character, that the early
* One of the members of this society was Eichard Bingham
Davis, who was much admired for his poetical talents, in his
appearance and manners he is said to have reminded his asso-
ciates of Oliver Goldsmith. His person was clumsy, his man-
ner awkward, his speech embarrassed, and his simplicity most
remarkable in one who had been born and brought up in the
midst of a crowd offcis fellow creatures. He was born in New
Tork, August 21. 1771, was educated at Columbia College, mo-
destly pursued the business of his father, in carving or sculp-
ture in wood, but was induced in 1796 to undertake the edi-
torial department of the Diary, a daily gazette published in
New Tork, for which he wrote during a year. He was too sen-
sitive, and his literary tastes, which iay "in the direction of the
belles lettres. were too delicate for this pursuit. He next en-
raged in mercantile affairs. In 1799 he fell a victim to the yel-
low fever then prevailing in New York, carrying the seed's of
the disease with him to New Brunswick, New Jersey, where he
died in his twenty-eighth year. His poems were expressions
of personal feeling and sentiment, and have a tinge of melan-
choly. They were collected by his friends of the Calliopean
Society after his death and published by Swords in lSt-7, with
a well written prefatory memoir from the pen of John T.
Irving. An ''Ode to Imagination" shows his earnestness, as a
clever "Elegy on an Old Wigfound in the street," does his hu-
mor. He was also a contributor to the Drone papers in the
New Tork Magazine, where he drew a Will written character
of himself under the name of Martlet.
t '' David Longworth, an eccenti ic bookseller, who had filled
a large apartment with the valuable engravings of Boydell's
Shakespeare Gallery, magnificently framed, and had nearly
obscured the front of his house with a huge sign. — a colossal
painting, in chiaro sniro, of the crowning of Shakespeare.
Loiigwortb had an extraordinary propensity to publish elegant
works, to the great gratification of persons of taste, and the no
small diminution of his own slender fortune." — Preface to Sal-
magundi. Paris edition. 1S34.
partnership in Salmagundi has never been dis-
solved by a division of the joint stock between the
owners of the separate articles. The whole is
included in the incomplete stereotype edition of
Paulding's works. In 1819 a second series of the
work was published, which was entirely from his
hand. Though not unsuccessful, it was not re-
ceived by the public as its predecessor. The
" town" interest had diminished. More than ten
years had elapsed ; the writer was then engaged
in official duties at Washington ; his mind had as-
sumed a graver cast, and the second series of Sal-
magundi is deficient in that buoyant spirit of viva-
city which is one of the distinguishing features of
the first.
About the period of the commencement of the
second war with England, his feelings being
strongly excited by the position of affairs of the
times, he published The Diverting Eistovy of
John Bull and Brother Jonathan, in the style of
Arbuthnot, in which the United States and Eng-
land are represented as private individuals, father
and son engaged in a domestic feud. In this work
the policy and conduct of England towards the
United States is keenly but good-humoredly sa-
tirized, so much so that the whole was republished
in numbers in one of the British journals. It
passed through several editions, one of which is
embellished with several capital illustrations by
Jarvis, and was among the most successful of the
author's productions. In the volume of Harpers'
edition of this tale it is followed by another in the
same vein called the History of Uncle Sam and
his Boys.
The Diverting History was followed by a poem
entitled The Lay of the Scottish Fiddle* a free
parody of the Lay of the Last Minstrel, which ap-
peared anonymously, like most of Paulding's ear-
lier writings. This production is principally de-~-
voted to satirizing the predatory warfare of the
British on Chesapeake Bay, and, what is some-
what remarkable, was published in a very hand-
some style in London with a preface highly com-
plimentary to the author. The hero is Admiral
Cockburn, and the principal incident the burning
and sacking the little town of Havre de Grace on
the coast of Maryland. It had at that time what
might be called the distinction of provoking a
fierce review from the London Quarterly. It is
clever as a parody, and contains many passages
entirely original and of no inconsiderable beauty. .
Paulding soon after published a pamphlet in
prose, The United States and England, taking up
the defence of the country against the attack of
the London Quarterly in its famous review of In-
gersoll's Inchiquin Letters. The sale of the work
was interrupted by the failure of the publisher
about the time of its publication. It however
attracted the notice of President Madison, and
paved the way for the subsequent political career
of the author. The design of the work was to
expose the unwarrantable course of the Quarterly
in drawing general conclusions from solitary ex-
amples, and for this purpose the author cites in-
stances from the newspapers of England and other
* The Lay of the Scottish Fiddle : a Tale of Havre de Grace.
Supposed to be written by Walter Scott, Esq. First American,
from the fourth Edinburgh edition. New Tork: Inskeep and
Bradford. 1S13. 82mo. pp. 262.
JAMES KIRKE PAULDING.
sources to show that if these are to be assumed as
the standard of national morality or manners the
English are far in advance of the Americans in
vulgarity, vice, and depravitv.
This was followed up, in 1822, by A Sketch of
Old England by a Neio England Man, purporting
to be a narrative of a tour in that country. It
commences with an account of various travelling
incidents humorously narrated ; but the writer
soon passes to a discussion of the social, religious,
and political points of difference between the two
nations, which occupies the chief portion of the
volumes. In 1824 he returned to this subject in
a new satire on the English traveller-, John Bull
in America; or the New Munchausen, purporting
to be a tour of a cockney English traveller in the
United States. It exhibits a broad caricature of
the ignorant blunders and homebred prejudices of
this class of national libellers, equally provocative
of laughter and contempt. The hero, through
various chances, frequently encounters a shrewd
little Frenchman wearing a white hat, draped in
white dimity, with gold ear-rings, who, from
meeting so continually, he is at length convinced
is seeking an opportunity to rob, if not to murder
him.
Iu 1815, after a tour through Virginia, he wrote
Letters from the South, by a Northern Man, prin-
cipally occupied with sketching the beauties of
the scenery and the manners of the people of the
" Ancient Dominion." The author digresses to
various subjects, on which he delivers his opinions
with his usual straightforward frankness.
In 1818 appeared his principal poetical produc-
tion, The Backwoodsman, an American poem in
sentiment, scenery, and incidents.- It is in six
books of some five hundred lines each, written in
the heroic measure. Basil, the hero, appears at
the opening as a rural laborer on the banks of the
-Hudson, reduced to poverty by being confined a
whole winter by sickness. On the approach of
spring he is attracted by reports of the fertility of
the West, the cheapness of the land, and the pros-
pect of improving his condition, and resolves to
seek his fortune in that far distant paradise, lie
abandons his home, and proceeds on his adven-
ture accompanied by his wife and family. The
wanderer's farewell, as he turns a last look on the
course of the Hudson through the Highlands, is a
pleasant passage of description; and the journey
through Jersey and Pennsylvania to the Ohio,
presents various little incidents, as well as
sketches of scenery evidently drawn from the
life by a true lover of nature. Arrived at Pitts-
burg, he proceeds with a company of emi-
grants he finds collected there to his destination
in one of those primitive vessels called Broad-
horns, which have become almost, obsolete since
the introduction of steamers. Here the progress
of an infant settlement is sketched, and the author,
after seeing Basil comfortably housed, leaves him
somewhat abruptly to plunge into the desert wild,
and introduce his readers to the Indian prophet,
who, in conjunction with some renegade whites,
was at that time employed in stirring up the
savages to take part in the approaching hostilities
between the United States and England, and by
whom the little settlement of Basil and his com-
panions is subsequently ravaged and destroyed.
War ensues; the backwoodsmen with Basil at
their head pursue the savages, and finally over-
take them; a bloody fight follows; the prophet
falls by the hand of Basil, and the savages are
completely routed. Basil returns home; peace is
restored, and he passes the remainder of his life
in prosperity and honor. The poem closes with
a glowing apostrophe to the native land of the
author.
The descriptive parts of this poem are perhaps
the best portions of the work. The versification
is in general vigorous and glowing, though there
are not a few occasional exceptions, together with
some inaccuracies of expression, which the author
would probably now correct were a new edition
called for. The Backwoodsman belongs to the
old school of poetry, and met with but ordinary
success at home, though translations of a portion
were published and praised in a literary periodical
of the time at Paris.
The scene of Paulding's first novel is laid
among the early Swedish settlers on the Dela-
ware. It was originally called Konigsmarh, or
the Long Finne, a name that occurs in our early
records, but the title was changed in a subsequent
edition to Old Times in the New World, for rea-
sons set forth in the publisher's notice. It was
divided into separate books, each preceded by an
introductory chapter after the manner of Field-
ing's Tom Jones, and having little connexion with
the story. They are for the most part satirical,
and in the progress of the narrative the author
parodies Noma of the Fitful Head in the person
of Bombie of the Frizzled Head, an ancient
colored virago.
In 1826 he wrote Merry Tales of the Three
Wise Men of Gotham, prefaced by a grave disser-
tation on the existence and locality of that re-
nowned city. This was a satire on Mr. Owen's
system of Socialism, which then first began to at-
tract attention in the United States, on Phreno-
logy, and the legal maxim of Caveat Emptor,
each exemplified in a separate story. The Three
Wise Men are introduced at sea in the famous
Bowl, relating in turn their experience with a
view of dissipating the ennui of the voyage.
This was followed by The Traveller's Guide,
which was mistaken for an actual itinerary, in
consequence of which it was christened somewhat
irreverently The New Pilgrim's Progress. It is
a burlesque on the grandiloquence of the current
Guide Books, and the works of English travellers
in America. It exhibits many satirical sketches
of fashionable life and manners, and will be a
treasure to future antiquaries for its allusions to
scenes and persons who flourished at the time
when, as the writer avers, the dandy must never,
under any temptation, extend his morning prome-
nade westwardly, and step beyond the northwest
corner of Chambers street, all beyond being vul-
gar terra incognita to the fashionable world.
Union Square was then a diminutive Dismal
Swamp, and Thirteenth street a lamentable resort
of cockney sportsmen. This was in 1828, when
to be mistress of a three-story brick house, with
mahogany folding doors, and marble mantels, was
the highest ambition of a fashionable belle. After
exhausting New York, the tourist recommends
one of those "sumptuous aquatic palaces," the
safety barges, which it grieves him to see aro
almost deserted for the swifter steamers, most
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN" LITERATURE.
especially by those whose time being worth
nothing, they are anxious to save as much of it
as possible. In one of these he proceeds leisurely
up the river to Albany, loitering by the way, no-
ticing the various towns and other objects of
interest, indulging in a variety of philosophical
abstractions and opinions, now altogether con-
signed to the dark ages. Finally he arrives at
Balston and Saratoga by stage-coach, where he
makes himself merry with foibles of the elite, the
manoeuvres of discreet mothers, the innocent arts
of their unsophisticated daughters, and the deplo-
rable fate of all grey-whiskered bachelors, who
seek their helpmates at fashionable watering-
places. The remainder of the volume is occupied
with rules for the behavior of young ladies, mar-
ried people, and bachelors young and old, at the
time-renowned springs. A number of short
stories and sketches are interspersed through the
volume, which is higldy characteristic of the
author's peculiar humors.
Tales of the Good Woman, by a Doubtful Gen-
tleman, followed in sequence, and soon after ap-
peared The Booh of St. Nicholas, purporting to
be a translation from some curious old Dutch le-
gends of New Amsterdam, but emanating ex-
clusively from the fertile imagination of the
author. He commemorates most especially the
few quaint old Dutch buildings, with the gable-
ends to the streets, and steep roofs edged like
the teeth of a saw, the last of which maintained
its station in New street until within a few years
past as a bakery famous for New Year Cakes, but
at length fell a victim to the spirit of " progress. "
The Dutchman's Fireside, a story founded on
the manners of the old Dutch settlers, so charm-
ingly sketched by Mrs. Grar.t* in the Memoirs of an
American Lady, next made its appearance. It is
written in the author's happiest vein, and was
the most popular ofsall his productions. It went
through six editions within the year; was re-
published in London, and translated into the
French and Dutch languages. This work was
succeeded by Westward Ho ! the scene of which is
principally laid in Kentucky, though the story is
commenced in Virginia. The Dutchman's Fireside
was published in Paris under the title of is Coin du
Feu d'un Hollandais. For each of these novels
the author, as we are assured, received the then
and still important sum of fifteen hundred dol-
lars from the publishers on delivery of the manu-
script.
A Life of Washington, principally prepared for
* Mrs. Grant was born in Glasgow in 1755, the daughter of
Duncan M'Vickar, -who came in her childhood to America as
au officer in the British army. He resided at different parts
of New York; for a lime at Albany and at Oswego, visiting the
frontier settlements. This residence afforded Mrs. Grant the
material for the admirable descriptions which she afterwards
wrote of manners in this state as they existed before the Revo-
lution. In 1768 she returned to Scotland. In 1779 she was
married to the Bev. James Grant, the minister of Lairiran in
the Highlands, becoming his widow in 1^01. After this, she
turned her thoughts to literature, first publishing a volume
of Poems in IS' 3; then her Letters from the Mountains, being
a selection from her correspondence from 1778 to 1SC4, in
1806. Her Memoirs of an American Lady was published in
1S08; her Essays on the Superstitions of the Highlands in
1811 ; and a Poem, Eighteen Hundred and Thirteen, in 1814.
During her latter years she was quite a celebrity in Edin-
burgh, figuring pleasantly in the Diary of Walter Scott, who
drew up the memorial which secured her a pension of one
hundred pounds from George IV. She died Kov. 7, 1S3S, at
the use of the more youthful class of readers, suc-
ceeded these works of imagination. It was origi-
nally published in two small volumes, and after-
wards incorporated with Harpers' Family Libra-
ry. Five thousand copies were contracted for
with the publishers for distribution in the public
schools. It is an admirable production, and
shows conclusively that the author is equally
qualified for a different sphere of literature from
that to which he has principally devoted himself.
Though written with a steady glow of patriotism,
and a full perception of the exalted character and
services of the Father of his country, it is pure
from all approaches to inflation, exaggeration,
and bombast. The style is characterized by sim-
plicity combined with vigor; the narrative is
clear and sufficiently copious without redun-
dancy, comprising all the important events of the
life of the hero, interspersed with various cha-
racteristic anecdotes which give additional inter-
est to the work, without degrading it to mere
gossip, and is strongly imbued with the nation-
ality of the author. Being addressed to the
youthful reader, he frequently pauses in his nar-
rative to inculcate the example of Washington's
private and public virtues on his readers. The
character of Washington, as summed up at the
conclusion, is one of the most complete we have
ever met with.
In 1836, about the period that what is known
as the Missouri Question was greatly- agitating
the country, both North and South, he published
a review of the institution, under the title of
Slavery in the United States, in which he regards
the subject with strong southern sympathies. He
considers slavery as the offspring of war ; as an
expedient of humanity to prevent the massacre
of prisoners by savage and barbarous tribes and
nations, who having no system for the exchange
of prisoners, and no means of securing them, have
in all time past been accustomed to put to death
those whose services they did not require as
slaves. He treats the subject with reference both
to divine and human laws, and passing from
theory to the practical question as applicable to
the United States, places before his readers the
consequences, first of universal emancipation,
next of political and social equality, and lastly of
amalgamation.
The last of Paulding's avowed publications are
TJie Old Continental, or the Price of Liberty^ a
Revolutionary stor\', The Puritan and his
Daughter, the scene of which is partly in Eng-
land, partly in the United States, and a volume
of American Plays,* in conjunction with his
youngest son William Irving Paulding, then a
youth under age. The plots of these pieces are
defective, and the incidents not sufficiently dra-
matic, but the dialogue exhibits no inconsiderable
degree of the vis coin iea.
This closes our catalogue of the chief produc-
tions of the author, which appeared at different
intervals during a period of nearly half a century.
the age of eighty-three.
* American Comedies by J. K. Paulding 3nd William Irving
Paulding. Contents — The Bucktails. or Americans in Eng-
land; The Noble Exile: Madmen All. or the Cure of Love;
Antipathies, or the Enthusiasts by the Ears. The first of these
was the only one by the father. It was written shortly after
the conclnsion of the War of 1812. The volume was published
by Carey & Hart in Philadelphia, in 1S47.
JAMES KIRKE PAULDING.
Most of them were republished in a uniform stereo-
typed edition by Harper" and Brothers in 1835.
The}' constitute, however, only a portion of his
writings, which many of them appeared anony-
mously, and are dispersed through various period-
icals ami newspapers, among which are the
New York Mirror, the Analectic, the Knicker-
bocker, and Graham's Magazine, Godey's Lady's
Bjook, the Democratic Review, the United States
Review, the Literary World, Wheaton's Nation-
al Advocate, the National Intelligencer, the
Southern Press, the Washington Union, &'c, &o.
He also contributed two articles to a volume by
different bands edited by the late Robert C. Sands,
whimsically entitled Tales of the Glauber Spa.
These contributions were, Chihle Roeliff's Pil-
grimage, and Selim the Friend of Mankind. The
former is a burlesque on fashionable tours, the
latter exposes the indiscreet attempts of over-
zealous philanthropists to benefit mankind. Most
of these contributions were anonymous, and many
of them gratuitous ; to others lie affixed his name,
on the requisition of the publishers. The collec-
tion woidd form many volumes, comprising a
great variety of subjects, and exhibiting almost
every diversity of style " from grave to gay, from
lively to severe."
A favorite mode of our author is that of em-
bodying and exemplifying some sagacious moral
in a brief story or allegory, either verse or prose,
specimens of which may be seen in the Literary
World under the caption of Odds and Ends, by
an Obsolete Author, in the New York Mirror,
Graham's Magazine, and other periodicals.
He has also occasionally amused himself with
the composition of Fairy Tales, and is the author
of an anonymous volume published in 1838 by
Appleton, called A Gift from Fairy Land, beauti-
fully illustrated by designs from Chapman. We
are informed that only one thousand copies of
this work were contracted for by its publisher,
five hundred of which were taken by a London
bookseller. It appeared subsequently to the
stereotyped edition of Harper and Brothers, and
is not included in the series, which has never been
completed, owing, we are informed, to some diffi-
culties between the author and his publishers, in
consequence of which it is now extremely difficult
to procure a complete set of his works.
In almo-t all the writings of Paulding there is
occasionally infused a dash of his peculiar vein of
humorous satire and keen sarcastic irony. To
those not familiarized with his manner, such is
the imposing gravity, that it is sometimes some-
what difficult to decide when ho is jesting and
when he is in earnest. This is on the whole a
great disadvantage in an age when irony is seldom
resorted to, and has occasionally subjected the
author to censure for opinions which he does not
sanction. His most prominent characteristic is,
however, that of nationality. He found his inspi-
ration at home at a time when American woods and
fields, and American traits of society, were gene-
rally supposed to farriish little if a"ny materials
for originality. He not merely drew his nourish-
ment from his native soil, but whenever "that
mother of a mighty race " was assailed from
abroad by accumulated injuries and insults, stood
up manfully in defence of her rights and her honor.
He has never on any occasion" bowed to the su-
premacy of European example or European
criticism; he is a stern republican in all his
writings.
Fortunately he lias lived to see a new era dawn-
ing on his country. He has seen his country be-
come intellectually, as well as politically, indepen-
dent, and strong in the result he labored and
helped to achieve, he may now look back with
calm equanimity on objects which once called for
serious opposition, and laugh where the satirist
once raged.
Though a literary man by profession, he has,
ever since the commencement of the second war
with England, turned his mind occasionally to-
wards politics, though never as an active politi-
cian. His writings on this subject have been
devoted to the support of those great principles
which lie at the root of the republican system,
and to the maintenance of the rights of his
country whenever assailed from any quarter.
His progress in life has been upwards. In 1814
or '15 he was appointed Secretary to the Board
of Navy Commissioners, then first established.
After holding this position for a few years, he
resigned to take' the office of Navy Agent for the
port of New York, which he held twelve years
under different administrations, and finally re-
signed on being placed at the head of the Navy-
Department by President Van Buren. We have
heard him state with some little pride, that all
these offices were bestowed without any solicita-
tion on his part, or that of his friends, so far as
he knew.
After presiding over the Navy Department
nearly the entire term of Mr. Van Buren's ad-
ministration, he, according to custom, resigned
his office on the inauguration of President Har-
rison, and soon afterwards retired to a pleasant
country residence on the east bank of the Hud-
son, in the county of Dutchess, where he now
resides.
Paulding's Residence.
Here, in the midst of his grand-children, en-
joying as much health as generally falls to the lot
of threescore and fifteen, and still preserving in
all their freshness those rural tastes acquired in
his youth, nature has rewarded her early votary
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
in the calm pursuits of agriculture, lettered ease,
and retirement. In a late visit we paid him at
Hyde Park, he informs us, lie had visited the city
but twice in the last ten years, and gave his daily
routine in the following cheerful summary. " I
smoke a little, read a little, write a little, rumi-
nate a little, grumble a little, and sleep a great
deal. I was once great at pulling up weeds, to
which I have a mortal antipathy, especially bulls-
eyes, wild carrots, and toad-Hax — alias butter and
eggs. But my working days are almost over. I
find that carrying seventy-five years on my
shoulders is pretty nearly equal to the same num-
ber of pounds, and instead of laboring myself,
sit in the shade watching the labors of others,
which I find quite sufficient exercise."
A BUKAL LOVER — FROM AN EPISODE IN THE LAY OF THE SCOT-
TISH FIDDLE.
Close in a. darksome corner sat
A scowling wight with old wool hat,
That dangled o'er his sun-burnt brow,
And many a gaping rent did show.
His beard in grim luxuriance grew;
His great-toe peep'd from either shoe ;
His brawny elbow shone all bare ;
All matted was his carrot hair ;
And in his sad face you might see,
The withering look of poverty.
He seem'd all desolate of heart,
And in the revels took no part ;
Yet those who watch'd his blood-shot eye,
As the light dancers flitted b}',
Might jealousy and dark despair,
And love detect, all mingled there.
He never turn'd his eye away
From one fair damsel passing gay;
But ever in her airy round,
"Watch'd her quick step and lightsome bound.
Wherever in the dance she turn'd,
He turn'd his eye, and that eye'burn'd
With such fierce spleen, that, sooth to say,
It made the gazer turn away.
Who was the damsel passing fair,
That caus'd his eyeballs thus to glare ?
It was the blooming Jersey maid,
That our poor wight's tough heart betray'd.
By Pompton's stream, that silent flows,
Where many a wild-flower heedless blows.
UnmarkM by any human eye,
Unpluck'd by any passer-by,
There stands a church, whose whiten'd side
Is by the traveller often spied,
Glittering among the branches fair
Of locust trees that flourish there.
Along the margin of the tide,
That to the eye just seems to glide,
And to the list'ning ear ne'er throws
A murmur to disturb repose,
The stately elm majestic towers,
The lord of Pompton's fairy bowers.
The willow, that its branches waves,
O'er neighborhood of rustic graves,
Oft when the summer south-wind blows,
Its thirsty tendrils, playful throws
Into the river rambling there,
The cooling influence to share
Of the pure stream, that bears imprest
Sweet nature's image in its breast.
Sometimes on sunny Sabbath day,
Our ragged wight would wend his way
To this fair church, and lounge about,
With many an idle sunburnt lout.
And stumble o'er the silent graves ;
Or where the weeping-willow waves.
His listless length would lay him down.
And spell the legend on the stone.
'Twos here, as ancient matrons say,
His eye first caught the damsel gay,
Who, in the interval between
The services, oft tript the green,
And threw her witching eyes about,
To great dismay of bumpkin stout,
"Wlm felt his heart rebellious beat,
Whene'er those eyes he chanced to meet.
As our poor wight all listless lay,
Dozing the vacant hours away,
Or watching with his half-shut eye
The buzzing flight of bee or fly,
The beauteous damsel pass'd along,
Humming a stave of sacred song.
She threw her soft blue eyes askance,
And gave the boob}7 such a glance,
That quick his eyes wide open flew,
And his wide mouth flew open too.
He gaz'd with wonder and surprise,
At the mild lustre of her eyes,
Her cherry lips, her dimpled cheek,
Where Cupids play'd at hide and seek,
Whence many an arrow well, I wot,
Against the wight's tough heart was shot.
He follow'd her where'er she stray'd,
While every look his love betray'd ;
And when her milking she would ply,
Sooth'd her pleas'd ear with Rhino-Die,
Or made the mountain echoes ring,
With the great feats of John Paulding ; —
How he, stout moss-trooper bold,
Refus'd the proffer'd glittering gold,
And to the gallant youth did eiy,
"One of us two must quickly die ! "
On the rough meadow of his cheek,
The scythe he laid full twice a week,
Foster'd the honors of his head,
That wide as scruboak branches spread,
With grape-vine juice, and bear's-grease too,
And dangled it in eelskin queue.
In short, he tried each gentle art
To anchor fast her floating heart ;
But still she scorn'd his tender tale,
And saw unmov'd his cheek grow pale,
Flouted his suit with scorn so cold,
And gave him oft the bag to hold.
AN EVENING WALK IN VIRGINIA — FROM THE LETTERS FROM
THE SOUTH.
In truth, the little solitary nook into which I am
just now thrown, bears an aspect so interesting,
that it is calculated to call up the most touchingly
pleasing exertions, in the minds of those who love
to indulge in the contemplation of beautiful Bcenes.
We are the sous of earth, and the indissoluble
kindred between nature and man is demonstrated
by our sense of her beauties. I shall not soon for-
get last evening, which Oliver and myself spent
at this place. It was such as can never be described
— I will therefore not attempt it; but it was still as
the sleep of innocence — pure .as ether, and bright
as immortality. Having travelled only fourteen
miles that day, I did not feel tired as usual ; and
after supper strolled out alone along the windings
of a little stream about twenty yards wide, that
skirts a narrow strip of green meadow, between the
brook and the high mountain at a little distance.
You will confess my landscapes are well watered,
for every one has a river. But such is the case in
JAMES KIRKE PAULDING.
this region, where all the passes of the mountains
are made by little rivers, that in proeess of time
have laboured through, and left a space for a road
on their banks. If nature will do these things, I
can't help it — not I. In the course of the ramble
the moon rose over the mountain to the eastward,
which being just by, seemed to bring the planet
equally near; and the bright eyes of the stars began
to glisten, as if weeping the dews of evening. I
knew not the name of one single star. But what
of that? It is not necessary to be an astronomer,
to contemplate with sublime emotions the glories of
the sky at night, and the countless wonders of the
universe.
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights,
That give a name to every fixed star,
Have no more profit of their living nights,
Than those that walk and wot not what they are.
Men maybe too wise to wonder at anything; as
they may be too ignorant to see anything without
wondering. There is reason also to believe, that
astronomers may be sometimes so taken up with
measuring the distances and magnitude of the stars,
as to lose, in the intense minuteness of calculation,
that noble expansion of feeling and intellect com-
bined, which lifts from nature up to its great first
cause. As respects myself, I know no more of the
planets, than the man in the moon. I only contem-
plate them as unapproachable, unextiugnishable
fires, glittering afar off, in those azure fields whose
beauty and splendour have pointed them out as the
abode of the Divinity; as such, they form bright
links in the chain of thought that leads directly to
a contemplation of the Maker of heaven and earth.
Nature is, indeed, the only temple worthy of the
Deity. There is a mute eloquence in her smile ; a
majestic severity in her frown ; a divine charm in
her harmony ; a speechless energy in her silence ; a
voice in Iter thunders, that no reflecting being can
resist. It is in such scenes and seasons, that the
heart is deepest smitten with the power and good-
ness of Providence, and that the soul demonstrates
its capacity for maintaining an existence independ-
ent of matter, by abstracting itself from the body,
and expatiating alone in the boundless regions of the
past and the future.
As I continued strolling forward, there gradually
came a perfect calm — and even the aspen-tree whis-
pered no more. But it was not the deathlike calm
of a winter's night, when the northwest wind grows
quiet, and the frosts begin in silence to forge fetters
for the running brooks, and the gentle current of
life, that flows through the veins of the forest.
The voice of man and beast was indeed unheard ;
but the river murmured, and the insects chirped iu
the mild summer evening. There is something se-
pulchral in the repose of a winter night ; but in the
genial seasons of the year, though the night is the
emblem of repose, it is the repose of the couch — not
of the tomb — nature still breathes in the buzz of in-
sects, the whisperings of the forests, and the mur-
murs of the running brooks. We know she will
awake in the morning, with her smiles, her bloom,
her zephyrs, and warbling birds. " In such a night
as this," if a man loves any human being in this
wide world, he will find it out, for there will his
thoughts first centre. If he has in store any sweet,
or bitter, or bitter-sweet recollections, which are lost
in the bustle of the world, they will come without
being called. If, in his boyish days, he wrestled,
and wrangled, and rambled with, yet loved, some
chubby boy, he will remember the days of his child-
hood, its companions, cares, and pleasures. If, in
his days of romance, he used to walk of evenings,
with some blue-eyed, musing, melancholy maid,
whom the ever-rolling wave of life dashed away
from him for ever — he will recall her voice, her eye,
and her form. If any heavy and severe disaster has
fallen on his riper manhood, and turned the future
into a gloomy and unpromising wilderness ; he will
feel it bitterly at such a time. Or if it chance that
he is grown an old man, and lived to see all that
owned his blood, or shared his affections, struck
down to the earth like dead leaves in autumn ; in
such a night, he will call their dear shades around,
and wish himself a shadow.
A TEIO OF FEENCnMEN — FROST THE SAME.
My good opinion of French people has not been
weakened by experience. The bloody scenes of St.
Domingo and of France, have, within the last few
years, brought crowds of Frenchmen to this land of
the exile, and they are to be met with in every
part of the United States. Wherever they are, I
have found them accommodating themselves with a
happy versatility, to the new and painful vicissi-
tudes they had to encounter ; remembering and
loving the land of their birth, but at the same time
doing justice to the land which gave them refuge.
They are never heard uttering degrading compari-
sons between their country and ours; nor signalizing
their patriotism, either by sneering at the land they
have honoured with their residence, or outdoing a
native-born demagogue in clamorous declamation,
at the poll of an election. Poor as many of them
are, iu consequence of the revolutions of property in
their native country, they never become beggars.
Those who have no money turn the accomplish-
ments of gentlemen into the means of obtaining
bread, and become the instruments of lasting benefit
to our people. Others who have saved something
from the wreck, either establish useful manufactures,
or retire into the villages, where they embellish
society, and pass quietly on to the grave.
In their amusements, or in their hours of relaxa-
tion, we never find them outraging the decencies
of society by exhibitions of beastly drunkenness, or
breaking its peace by ferocious and bloody brawls
at taverns or in the streets. Their leisure hours are
passed in a public garden or walk, where you will
see them discussing matters with a vehemence which,
in some people, would be the forerunner of blows,
but which is only an ebullition of a national
vivacity, which misfortune cannot repress, nor exile
destroy. Or, if you find them not here, they are at
6ome little evening assembly, to which they know
how to communicate a gaiety and interest peculiar
to French people. Whatever may be their poverty
at home, they never exhibit it abroad in rags and
dirtiness, but keep their wants to themselves, and
give their spirits to others; thus making others
happy, when they have ceased to be so themselves.
This subject recalls to my mind the poor Chevalier,
as we used to call him, who, of all the men I ever
saw, bore adversity the best. It is now fifteen
years since I missed him at his accustomed walks — ■
where, followed by his little dog, and dressed in his
long blue surtout, old-fashioned cocked hat, long
queue, and gold-headed cane, with the ribbon of
some order at his button-hole, he carried his basket
of cakes about every day, except Sunday, rain or
shine. He never asked anybody to buy his cakes,
nor did he look as if he wished to ask. I never,
though I used often to watch him, either saw him
smile, or heard him speak to a living soul ; but year
after year did he walk or sit in the same place, with
the same coat, hat, cane, queue, and ribbon, and
little dog. One day he disappeared ; but whether
he died, or got permission to go home to France,
nobody knew, and nobody inquired; for, except the
8
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
little dog, he seemed to have no friend in the wide
world.
There was another I will recall to your mind, in
this review of our old acquaintance. The queer
little man we used to call the little duke, who first
attracted our notice, I remember, by making his
appearance in our great public walk, dressed in a
full suit of white dimity, with a white hat, a little
white dog, and a little switch in his hand. Here,
of a sunny day, the little duke would ramble about
with the lofty air of a man of clear estate, or lean
against a tree, and scrutinize the ladies as they
passed, with the recognizance of a thorough-bred
connoisseur. Sometimes he would go to the circus —
that is to say, you would see him lying most
luxuriously over a fence just opposite, where, as the
windows were open in the summer, he could hear
the music, and see the shadow of the horses on the
opposite wall, without its costing him a farthing.
In this way he lived, until the Corporation pulled
down a small wooden building in the yard of what
was then the government-house, when the duke and
his dog scampered out of it like two rats. He had
lived here upon a little bed of radishes ; but now he
and his dog were obliged to dissolve partnership,
for his master could no longer support him. The
dog I never saw again ; but the poor duke gradually
descended into the vale of poverty. His white
dimity could not last for ever, and he gradually
went to seed, and withered like a 6tately onion. In
fine, he was obliged to work, and that ruined him — ■
for nature had made him a gentleman. — And a gen-
tleman is the caput mortuum of human nature, out
of which you can make nothing, under heaven — but
a gentleman. He first carried wild game about to
sell ; but this business not answering, he bought him-
self a buck and saw, and became a redoubtable
sawyer. But he could not get over his old propen-
sity— and whenever a lady passed where he was at
work, the little man was always observed to stop
his saw, lean his knee on the stick of wood, and
gaze at her till she was quite out of sight. Thus,
like Antony, he sacrificed the world for a woman
— for he soon lost all employment — he was always
so long about his work. The last time I saw him
he was equipped in the genuine livery of poverty,
leaning against a tree on the Battery, and admiring
the ladies.
The last of the trio of Frenchmen, which erst
attracted our boyish notice, was art old man, who
had once been a naval officer, and had a claim of
some kind or other, with which he went to Wash-
ington every session, and took the field against Amy
Hardin's horse. Congress had granted him some-
where about rive thousand, which he used to affirm
was recognising the justice of the whole claim. The
money produced him an interest of three hundred
and fifty dollars a year, which he divided into three
parts. One-third for his board, clothing, &c. ; one
for his pleasures, and one for the expenses of his
journey to the seat of government. He travelled in
the most economical style — eating bread and cheese
by the way ; and once was near running a fel-
low-passenger through the body, for asking him
to eat dinner with him, and it should cost him no-
thing. He alwnys dressed neatly — and sometimes
of a remarkably fine day would equip himself in
uniform, gird on his trusty and rusty sword, and
wait upon his excellency the governor. There was
an eccentric sort of chivalry about him, for he used
to insult every member of Congress who voted
against his claim ; never put up with a slight of
any kind from anybody, and never was known to
do a mean action, or to run in debt. There was a
deal of dignity, too, in his appearance and deport-
ment, though of the same eccentric east, so that
whenever he walked the streets he attracted a kind
of notice not quite amounting to admiration, and
not altogether free from merriment. Peace to his
claim and his ashes; for he and Amy Dardin'a
horse alike have run their race, and their claims
have survived them.
CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON.
In analysing the character of "Washington, there
is nothing that strikes me as more admirable than
its beautiful symmetry. In this respect it is con-
summate. His different qualities were so nicely
balanced, so rarely associated, of such harmonious
affinities, that no one seemed to interfere with ano-
ther, or predominate over the whole. The natural
ardour of his disposition was steadily restrained by
a power of self-command which it dared not disobey.
His caution never degenerated into timidity, nor
his courage into imprudence or temerity. His me-
mory was accompanied by a sound, unerring judg-
ment, which turned its acquisitions to the best
advantage; his industry and economy of time neither
rendered him dull or uusocial ; his dignity never
was vitiated by pride or harshness, and his uncon-
querable firmness was free from obstinacy, or self-
willed arrogance. He was gigantic, but at the
same time he was well-proportioned and beautiful.
It was this symmetry of parts that diminished the
apparent magnitude of the whole ; as in those fine
specimens of Grecian architecture, where the size of
the temple seems lessened by its perfection. There
are plenty of men who become distinguished by the
predominance of one single faculty, or the exercise
of a solitary virtue ; but few, very few, present to
our contemplation such a combination of virtues
unalloyed by a single vice; such a succession of
actions, botli public and private, in which even his
enemies can find nothing to blame.
Assuredly he Btands almost alone in the world.
He occupies a region where there are, unhappily
for mankind, but few inhabitants. The Grecian
biographer could easily find parallels for Alexander
and Cfesar, but were he living now, he would meet
with great difficulty in selecting one for Washington.
There seems to be an elevation of moral excellence,
which, though possible to attain to, few ever ap-
proach. As in ascending the lofty peaks of the
Andes, we at lergth arrive at a line where vegeta-
tion ceases, and the piinciple of life seems extinct;
so in the gradations of human character, there is an
elevation which is never attained by mortal man.
A few have approached it, and none nearer than
Washington.
He is eminently conspicuous as one of the great
benefactors of the human race, for he not only gave
liberty to millions, but his name now stands, and
will for ever stand, a noble ex.-imple to high and
low. He is a great work of the almighty Artist,
which none can study without receiving purer ideas
and more lofty conceptions of the grace and beauty
of the human character. He is one that all may
copy at different distances, and whom none can con-
template without receiving lasting and salutary
impressions of the sterling value, the inexpressible
beauty of piety integrity, courage, and patriotism,
associated with a clear, vigorous, and well-poised
intellect.
Pure, and widely disseminated as is the fame of
this great and good man, it is yet in its infancy. It
is every day taking deeper root in the hearts of his
countrymen, and the estimation of strangers, and
spreading its branches wider and wider, to the air
and the skies. He is already become the saint of
liberty, which has gathered new honours by being
JAMES ICIRKE PAULDING.
associated with his name ; and when men aspire to
free nations, they must take him for their model.
It is, then, not without ample re ison that the suf-
frages of mankind have combined to place Wash-
ington at the head of his race. If we estimate him
by the examples recorded in history, he stands with-
out a parallel in the virtues he exhibited, and the
vast, unprecedented consequences resulting from
their exercise. The whole world was the theatre
of his actions, and all mankind are destined to par-
take sooner or later in their results. He is a hero
of a new species : he had no model ; will he have
any imitators? Time, which bears the thousands
and thousands of common cut-throats to the ocean
of oblivion, only adds new lustre to his fame, new
force to his example, and new strength to the re-
verential affection of all good men. What a glorious
fame is his, to be acquired without guilt, and en-
joyed without envy ; to be cherished by millions
living, hundreds of millions yet uilborn ! Let the
children of my country prove themselves worthy
of his virtues, his labours, and his sacrifices, by
reverencing his name and imitating his piety, in-
tegrity, industry, fortitude, patience, forbearance,
and patriotism. So shall they become fitted to
enjoy the blessings of freedom and the bounties
of heaven.
TnF. MAN THAT WANTED BUT ONE THING : THE MAN TnAT
WANTED EVERYTHING ; A>'D THE MAN THAT WANTED NO-
TUING.
Everybody, young and old, children and grey-
"beards, has heard of the renowned Haroun Al Ras-
chid, the hqro of Eastern history and Eastern romance,
and the most illustrious of the caliphs of Bagdad,
that famous city on which the light of learning and
science shone, long ere it dawned on the benighted
regions of Europe, which has since succeeded to the
diadem that once glittered on the brow of Asia.
Though as the successor of the Prophet he exercised
a despotic sway over the lives and fortunes of his
subjects, yet did he not. like the eastern despots of
more modern times, shut himself up within the
walls of his palace, hearing nothing but the adula-
tion of his dependents; seeing nothing but the sha-
dows which surrounded him; and knowing nothing
but what he receive! through the medium of inte-
rested deception or malignant falsehood. That he
might see with his own eyes and hear with his own
ears, he was accustomed to go about through tlie
streets of Bagdad by night, in disguise, accompanied
by Giafer the Barmecide, his grand vizier, and
Mesrour, his executioner; one to give him his coun-
sel, the other to fulfil his commands promptly, on all
occasions. If he saw any commotion among the
people he mixed with them and learned its cause ;
and if in passing a house he heard the moanings of
distress or the complaints of suffering, he entered,
for the purpose of administering relief. Thus he
made himself acquainted with the condition of his
subjects, and often heard those salutary truths which
never reached his ears through the walls of his pa-
lace, or from the lips of the slaves that surrounded
him.
On one of these occasions, as Al Rasehid was thus
perambulating the streets at night, in disguise, ac-
companied by his vizier and his executioner, in pass-
ing a splendid mansion, he overheard through the
lattice of a window, the complaints of some one who
seemed in the deepest distress, and silently ap-
proaching, looked into an apartment exhibiting all
the signs of wealth and luxury. On a sofa of
satin embroidered with gold, and sparkling with
brilliant gems, he beheld a man richly dressed, in
whom he recognised his favorite boon companion
Bedreddin, on whom he had showered wealth and
honors with more than eastern prodigality. He was
stretched out on the sofa, slappiug his forehead,
tearing his beard, and moaning piteously, as if in the
extremity of suffering. At length starting up on his
feet, he exclaimed in tones of despair, "Oh, Allah!
I beseech thee to relieve me from my misery, and
take away my life."
The Commander of the Faithful, who loved Bed-
reddin, pitied his sorrows, and being desirous to
know their cause, that he might relieve them,
knocked at the door, which was opened by a black
slave, who, on being informed that they were
strangers in want of food and rest, at once admitted
them, and informed his master, who called them into
his presence, and bade them welcome. A plentiful
feast was spread before them, at which the master
of the house sat down with his guests, but of which
he did not partake, but looked on, sighing bitterly
all the while.
The Commander of the Faithful at length ventured
to ask him what caused his distress, and why he re-
frained from partaking in the feast with his guests,
in proof that they were welcome. " Has Allah
afflicted thee with disease, that thou canst not enjoy
the blessings he has bestowed? Thou art surround-
ed by all the splendor that wealth can procure ; thy
dwelling is a palace, and its apartments are adorned
with all the luxuries which captivate the eye, or
administer to the gratification of the senses. Why
is it then, oh ! my brother, that thou art mise-
rable ?"
" True, 0 stranger," replied Bedreddin. " I have
all these. I have health of body ; I am rich enough
to purchase all that wealth can bestow, and if I re-
quired more wealth and honors, I am the favorite
companion of the Commander of the Faithful, on
whose head lie the blessing of Allah, and of whom I
have only to ask, to obtain all I desire, save one
thing only."
" And what is that ?" asked the caliph.
" Alas! I adore the beautiful Zulcima, whose face
is like the full moon, whose e}'es are brighter and
softer than those of the gazelle, and whose mouth
is like the seal of Solomon. But she loves another,
and all my wealth and honors are as nothing. The
want of one thing renders the possession of every
other of no value. I am the most wretched of men ;
my life is a burden, and my death would be a bless-
ing."
" By the beard of the Prophet," cried the Caliph,
" I swear thy case is a hard one. But Allah is great
and powerful, and will, I trust, either deliver thee
from thy burden or give thee strength to bear it."
Then thanking Bedreddin for his hospitality, the
Commander of the Faithful departed, with his com-
panions.
Taking their way towards that part of the city
inhabited by the poorer classes of people, the Caliph
stumbled over something, in the obscurity of night,
and was nigh falling to the ground ; at the same
moment a voice cried out, " Allah, preserve me !
Am I not wretched enough already, that I must
be trodden under foot bv a wandering beggar like
myself, in the darkness of night !"
Mezrour the executioner, indignant at this insult
to the Commander of the Faithful, was preparing to
cut off his head, when Al Rasehid interposed, anil
inquired of the beggar his name, and why he was
there sleeping in the streets, at that hour of the
night.
" Mashallah," replied he, " I sleep in the street
because I have nowhere else to sleep, and if I lie on
a satin sofa my pains and infirmities would rob me
of rest. Whether on divans of silk or in the dirt,
10
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
all one to me, for neither by day nor by night do I
know any rest. If I close my eyes for a moment,
my dreams are of nothing but feasting, and I awalce
only to feel more bitterly the pangs of hunger and
disease."
" Hast thou no home to shelter thee, no friends
or kindred to relieve thy necessities, or administer to
thy infirmities ?"
" No," replied the beggar ; " my house was con-
sumed by fire ; my kindred are all dead, and my
friends have deserted me. Alas! stranger, I am in
want of everything: health, food, clothing, home,
kindred, and friends. I am the most wretched
of mankind, and death alone can relieve me."
" Of one thing, at least, I can relieve thee," said
the Caliph, giving him his purse. " Go and provide
thyself food and shelter, and may Allah restore thy
health."
The beggar took the purse, but instead of calling
down blessings on the head of his benefactor ex-
claimed, " Of what use is money ; it cannot cure dis-
ease ?" and the Caliph again went on his way with
Giafer his vizier, and Mezrour his executioner.
Passing from the abodes of want nnd misery, they
at length reached a splendid palace, and seeing
lights glimmering from the windows, the caliph ap-
proached, and looking through the silken curtains,
beheld a man walking backwards and forwards,
with languid step, as if oppressed with a load of
cares. At length casting himself down on a sofa, he
stretched out his limbs, and j'awning desperately,
exclaimed, " Oh ! Allah, what shall I do ; what will
become of me ! I am weary of life ; it is nothing
but a cheat, promising what it never purposes, and
affording only hopes that end in disappointment, or,
if realized, only in disgust."
The curiosity of the Caliph being awakened to
know the cause of his despair, he ordered Mezrour
to knock at the door, which being opened, they
pleaded the privilege of strangers to enter, for rest
and refreshments. Again, in accordance with the
precepts of the Koran, and the customs of the East,
the strangers were admitted to the presence of the
lord of the palace, who received them with welcome,
and directed refreshments to be brought. But
though he treated his guests with kindness, he nei-
ther sat down with them nor asked any questions,
nor joined in their discourse, walking back and forth
languidly, and seeming oppressed with a heavy bur-
den of sorrows.
At length the Caliph approached him reverently,
and said : " Thou seemest sorrowful, 0 my brother !
If thy suffering is of the body I am a physician, and
perad venture can afford thee relief ; for I have tra-
velled into distant lands, and collected very choice
remedies for human infirmity."
" My sufferings are not of the body, but of the
mind," answered the other.
" Hast thou lost the beloved of thy heart, the
friend of thy bosom, or been disappointed in the at-
tainment of that on which thou hast rested all thy
hopes of happiness?"
" Alas ! no. I have been disappointed not in the
means, but in the attainment of happiness. I want
nothing but a want. I am cursed with the grati-
fication of all my wishes, and the fruition of all my
hopes. I have wasted my life in the acquisition of
riches, that only awakened new desires, and honors
that no longer gratify my pride or repay me for the
labor of sustaining them. I have been cheated in
the pursuit of pleasures that weary me in the enjoy-
ment, and am perishing for lack of the excitement
of some new want. I have everything I wish, yet
enjoy nothing."
" Thy case is beyond my 6kill," replied the Caliph ;
and the man cursed with the fruition of all his de-
sires turned his back on him in despair. The Caliph,
after thanking him for his hospitality, departed with
his companions, and when they had reached the
street exclaimed —
" Allah preserve me ! I will no longer fatigue
myself in a vain pursuit, for it is impossible to confer
happiness on such a perverse generation. I see it is
all the same, whether a man wants one thing, every-
thing, or nothing. Let us go home and sleep."
1853.
JOSEPH STOET.
Joseph Story was born at Marblehead, Mass.,
September 18, 1779. He was the eldest of eleven
sons of Dr. Elisha Story, an active Whig of the
Revolution, who was of the " Boston Tea Party,"
and served in the army during a portion of the
war as a surgeon. He was a boy of an active
mind, and when only a few years old delighted in
visiting the barber's shop of the town to listen to
the gossip about public affairs. He was a great
favorite with his handsome florid face and long
auburn ringlets, and would frequently sit upon
the table to recite pieces from memory and make
prayers for the amusement of the company.
During his childhood he was saved from being
burnt to death by his mother, who snatched him
from his blazing bed at the cost of severe per-
sonal injury to herself. He was prepared for col-
lege in his native village, and entered Harvard in
1795. Dr. Channing was one of his classmates.
He was a hard student during his collegiate
course, and on its termination entered the office
of Samuel Sewall, in Marblehead. He completed
his studies at Salem, where he commenced prac-
tice. In 1 804 he published The Power of Solitude,
a poem in two. parts, with a few fugitive verses
appended. The author was at a subsequent
period a merciless critic on his own performance,
burning all the copies he could lay his hands upon.
It is written in the ornate style of the time,
with some incongruities which do not lead the
reader to regret that the writer " took a lawyer's
farewell of the muse." He published the same
year a Selection of Pleadings in Civil Actions,
JOSEPH STORY.
11
and near its close married Miss Mary Lynde
Oliver, who died on the 22d of June following.
In 1808, lie was married to Miss Sarah Waldo
Wetmore.
Story's rise in his profession was rapid, and in
1810 he was appointed by Madison, Associate
Justice of the Supreme Court. He accepted the
office at a pecuniary sacrifice of his professional
income exceeding the official salary of $3500 a
year, some two thousand dollars. In 1827, he
prepared an edition in three volumes of the Laws
of the United States. In 1829, the Hon. Nathan
Dane offered the sum of $10,000 to Harvard
College, as the foundation of a law professorship,
on the condition that his friend Story should con-
sent to become its first professor. Story having
as a friend of the college and of legal science
accepted the appointment, delivered an inaugura-
tion Address on the Value and Importance of the
Study of Law, which is regarded as one of his
finest productions.
His instructions were of course delivered during
the vacations of the Supreme Court. His bio-
grapher gives' a pleasant picture of the interest
taken by teacher and pupil in the subject matter
before them.
For the benefit of the students he sold to the
college his library at one half its value.
During the preparation of the Encyelopaadia
Americana by his friend Dr. Lieber, Justice
Story contributed a number of articles on legal
subjects, forming some hundred and twenty pages
of the work. He was also a large contributor to
the American Jurist.
In 1832, he published his Commentaries on the
Constitution in three volumes, and in the follow-
ing spring the Abridgment of the work, which is
in general use throughout the country as a college
text-book. The Commentaries were received
"with universal favor at home and abroad, where
they were translated into French and German.
In 1834-, he published his Commentaries on the
Conflict of Laws. In 1835, a selection from his
Miscellaneous Writings. In 1836, the first volume
of 1 lis Commentaries upon Equity Jurisprudence,
and in 1846, a work on Promissory Notes.
To these we must add the comprehensive
reference to his miscellaneous writings made by
his son.
When Ave review liis public life, the amount of
labor accomplished by him seems enormous. Its
mere recapitulation is sufficient to appal an ordi-
nary mind. The judgments delivered by him on his
Circuits, comprehend thirteen volumes. The Re-
ports of the Supreme Court during his judicial life
occupy thirty-five volumes, of which he wrote a full
share. His various treatises on legal subjects cover
thirteen volumes, besides a volume of Pleadings.
He edited and annotated three different treatises,
with copious notes, and published a volume of Poems.
He delivered and published eight discourses on lite-
rary ami scientific subjects, before different societies.
He wrote biographical sketches of ten of his con-
temporaries ; six elaborate reviews for the North
American ; three long and learned memorials to
Congress. He delivered many elaborate speeches in
the Legislature of Massachusetts and the Congress
ol the United States. He also drew up many other
papers of importance, among which are the argu-
ment before Harvard College, on the subject of the
Fellows of the University ; the Reports on Codifica-
tion, and on the salaries of the Judiciary ; several
very important Acts of Congress, such as the Crimes
Act, the Judiciary Act, the Bankrupt Act, besides
many other smaller matters.
In quantity, all other authors in the English Law,
and Judges, must yield to him the palm. The labors
of Coke, Eldon, and Mansfield, among Judges, are
not to be compared to his in amount. And no jurist,
in the Common Law, can be measured with him, in
extent and variety of labor.
'In 1845, he determined to resign his judicial
office and devote his entire attention to his
favorite law school, which had prospered greatly
under his care. It was his wish, however, before
doing so to dispose of all the cases argued before
him, and it was in consequence of the severe
labor he imposed upon himself in the heat of sum-
mer to accomplish this object, that he became so
utterly exhausted that his physical frame could
offer slight resistance to the attacks of disease.
In September, 1845, he was engaged in writing
out the last of these opinions when he was taken
with a cold followed by stricture, and the stop-
page of the intestinal canal. He was relieved
from this attack after great suffering for many
hours, but his powers were too enfeebled to rally,
and he sank into a torpor, "breathed the name of
God, the la»t word that ever was heard from his
lips," and a few hours after, on the evening of
the tenth of September, died.
Every honor was paid his memory. Shops
were closed and business suspended in Cambridge
on the day of his funeral, which in accordance with
his wishes was conducted in a simple manner, and
a sum of money was soon after raised at the sug-
gestion of the Trustees of Mount Auburn where he
was buried, for the purpose of placing his statue
in the chapel of that cemetery. The commission
for the work was intrusted to the son of the
deceased, Mr. William W. Story, who has since
published in two large octavo volumes the "Life
and Letters" of his distinguished father, and has
thus contributed by the exercise of two of the
most permanent in effect of human instruments,
the pen and the chisel, to the perpetuation and
extension of his fame.
Judge Story was an active student throughout
life. It was his practice to keep interleaved
copies of his works near at hand, and to add on
the blank pages any decisions or information
bearing upon their subject. The personal habits
of one who accomplished so much were neces-
sarily simple and temperate, but the detail may
be read with interest as recorded by his son.
He arose at seven in summer, and at half past
seven in winter, — never earlier. If breakfast was
not ready, he went at once to his library and
occupied the interval, whether it was five minutes
or fifty, in writing. When the family assembled he
was called, and breakfasted with them. After
breakfast he sat in. the drawing-room, and spent
from a half to three quarters of an hour in reading
the newspapers of the day. He then returned to
his study and wrote until the bell sounded for his
lecture at the Law School. After lecturing for two
and sometimes three hours, he returned to his
study and worked until two o'clock, when he was
called to dinner. To his dinner (which, on his part,
was always simple), he gave an hour, and then
again betook himself to his study, where in the win-
ter time he worked as long as the daylight lasted.
12
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
unless called away by a visitor or obliged to attend
a moot-court. Then lie came down and joined the
family, and work for the day was over. Tea came
in about seven o'clock ; and how lively and gay was
lie then, chatting over the most familiar topics of the
day, or entering into deeper currents of conversa-
tion with equal ease. All of his law he left up
stairs in the library ; he was here the domestic man
in his home. During the evening he received his
friends, and he was rarely without company ; but if
alone, he read some new publication of the day, —
the reviews, a novel, an English newspaper; some-
times corrected a proof-sheet, listened to music, or
talked with the family, or, what was very common,
played a game of backgammon with my mother.
This was the only game of the kind that he liked.
Cards and chess he never played.
In the summer afternoons he left his library
towards twilight, and might always be seen by the
passer-by sitting with his family under the portico,
talking or reading some light pamphlet or news-
paper, often surrounded by friends, and making the
air ring with his gay laugh. This, with the interval
occupied by tea, would last until nine o'clock.
Generally, also, the summer afternoon was varied
three or four times a week, in fair weather, by a
drive with my mother of about an hour through the
surrounding country in an open chaise. At about
ten or half past ten he retired for the night, never
varying a half hour from this time.
Story retained his early fondness for poetry
throughout life, and sometimes amused his leisure
moments even when on the bench by versifying
" any casual thought suggested to him by the
arguments of counsel." A lew specimens of these
rhymed reflections are given by his soli.
It was my father's habit, while sitting on the
Bench, to versify any casual thought suggested to
him by the arguments of counsel, and in his note
books of points and citations, several pages are
generally devoted to memoranda in prose and verse,
of facts, and thoughts, which interested him.
In his memorandum-book of arguments before the
Supreme Court in 1831 and 1832, I select the fol-
lowing fragments written on the fly-leaf: —
You wish the Court to hear, and listen too ?
Then speak with point, be brief, be close, be true.
Cite. well your cases ; let them be in point ;
Not learned rubbish, dark, and out of joint; —
And be your reasoning clear, and closely made,
Free from false taste, and verbiage, and parade.
Stuff not your speech with every sort of law,
Give us the grain, and throw away the straw.
Books should be read ; but if you can't digest,
The same's the surfeit, take the worst or best.
Clear heads,' sound hearts, full minds, with point
may speak,
All else how poor in fact, in law how weak.
AVho 's a great lawyer ? He, who aims to 6ay
The least his cause requires, not all he may.
Greatness ne'er grew from soils of spongy mould,
All on" the surface dry ; beneath all cold ;
The generous plant from rich and deep must rise,
And gather vigor, as it seeks the skies.
"Whoe'er in law desires to win his cause,
Must speak with point, not measure out " wise saws,"
Must make his learning apt, his reasoning clear.
Pregnant in matter, but in style severe;
But never drawl, nor spin the thread so fine,
That all becomes an evanescent line.
The following sketch was drawn at this time on
the Bench, and apparently from life : —
With just enough of learning to confuse, —
With just enough of temper to abuse, —
With just enough of genius, when contest,
To urge the worst of passions for the best, —
With just enough of all that wins in life,
To make us hate a nature formed for strife, —
With just enough of vanity and spite,
To turn to all that's wrong from all that's right, —
Who would not curse the hour when first he saw
Just such a man, called learned in the law.
The legal writings of Judge Story from his own
pen extend to thirteen volumes ; the Reports of
his decisions on Circuits to thirteen; and those of
the Supreme Court while he occupied a seat on
the Bench and contributed his full share to their
contents, to thirty-five.
The style of Story, both in his Commentaries
and in his Miscellanies, is that of the scholar and
man of general reading, as well as the thoroughly
practised lawyer. It is full, inclined to the rhe-
torical, but displays everywhere the results of
laborious investigation and calm reflection. His
law books have fairly brought what in the old
volumes was considered a crabbed science to the
appreciation and sympathy of the unprofessional
reader. Chancellor Kent, on the receipt of his
Miscellaneous Works in 1836, complimented the
author on "the variety, exuberance, comprehen-
siveness, and depth of his moral, legal, and political
wisdom. Every page and ordinary topic is
replete with a copious and accurate display of prin-
ciples, clothed in a powerful and eloquent style,
and illustrated and recommended by striking
analogies, and profuse and brilliant illustrations.
You handle the topic of the mechanical arts, and
. the science on which they are founded, enlarged,
adorned, and applied, with a mastery, skill, and
eloquence, that is unequalled. As for jurispru-
dence, you have again and again, and on all occa-
sions, laid bare its foundations, traced its histories,
eulogized its noblest masters, and pressed its
inestimable importance with a gravity, zeal,
pathos, and beauty, that is altogether irresisti- •
ble."* This was generously said, and though the
language of eulogy, it points out with great dis-
tinctness the peculiar merits which gave the
writings of Story their high reputation at home
and abroad.
'WASHINGTON ALLSTON.
It is a pleasing moral coincidence which has been
remarked that two of the foremost names in our
national literature and art should be associated
with that of the great leader, in war and peace,
of their country.
Washington Allston, the descendant of a family
of much distinction in South Carolina, was born
at Charleston, November 5, 1779. He was pre-
pared for college at the school of Mr. Robert
Rogers, of Newport, R. I. ; entered Harvard in
* Story's Life, ii. 21"
WASHINGTON ALLSTON.
13
1796, and on the completion of his course deli-
vered a poem.
He returned to South Carolina ; sold his pro-
pert}' ; sailed for England, and on his arrival in
London became a student of the Royal Academy,
then under the presidency of Benjamin West.
Here he remained for three years, and then, after
a sojourn at Paris, went to Rome, where he re-
sided for four years, and became the intimate
associate of Coleridge.
In 1809 he returned to America for a period
of two years, which he passed in Boston, and at
this time married the sister of the Rev. Dr. Ch'an-
ning. He also delivered a poem before the Phi
Beta Kappa Society. In 1811 he commenced a
second residence in London, where, in 1813, ho
published a small volume, The Sylphs of the Sea-
sons, and other Poems, which was reprinted in
Boston the same year. The date is also marked
in his career by the death of his wife, an event
which affected him deeply.
During this sojourn in Europe, which extended
to 1818, several of his finest paintings were pro-
duced. On his return home he resumed his resi-
dence at Boston. In 1830 he married a sister of
Richard II. Dana, and removed to Oambridgeport.
His lectures oil Art were commenced about the
same period. It was his intention to prepare a
course of sis, to be delivered before a select au-
dience in Boston, hut four only were completed,
and these did not appear until after his decease.
In 1841 he published Monaldi, an Italian ro-
mance of moderate length, which had been writ-
ten as early as 1821 when Dana published his
Idle Man, and, but for the discontinuance of that
work, would probably have appeared there.
In the latter part of his life he was chiefly
engaged on his great painting of Belshazzar's
Feast. After a week's steady labor on this
work, he retired late on Saturday night, July 8,
18+3, from his studio to his family circle, and
after a conversation of peculiar solemnity, sat
down to his books and papers, which furnished
the usual occupation of a great portion of his
nights. It was thus, sitting alone about midnight,
near the dawning of Sunday, with scarce a strug-
gle, he was called from the temporary repose of
the holy day to the perpetual Sabbath of eternity.
His remains were interred at the setting of the
sun on the day of the funeral, in the tomb of the
Dana family in the old Cambridge graveyard.
Had Mr. Allston been a less severe critic of his
own productions he would have both painted
more and written more. Nothing left his easel
or his desk which was not the ripe product of
his mind, which had cost not only labor but per-
plexity, from the frequent change to which his
fastidiousness submitted all his productions. His
Belshazzar's Feast, as it hangs in its incomplete
state in the Boston Athenrcum, shows a strange
and grotesque combination of figures, of gigantic
mingled with those of ordinary stature. It is
owing to the artist's determination, when his
work was nearly completed, to reconstruct the
whole, and by the radical change we have men-
tioned, as well as others of composition, render
his months of former labor null and void. Had
his life been extended the work no doubt would
have been completed, and have created the same
feelings of awe and admiration which some of its
single figures, that of the Queen for example,
now excite ; but as it stands, it is perhaps a
more characteristic as well as impressive monu-
ment of the man.
. With the exception of this work, Mr. Allston's
productions are all complete.
In the Spring of 1839, Allston exhibited, with
remarkable success, a gallery of his paintings at
Boston. They were forty-five; brought together
from various private and other sources. A letter
was published at the time in the New York
Evening Post, noticing the collection, which was
understood to be written from Dana to his friend
Bryant. It speaks of " the variety and contrast,
not only in the subjects and thoughts, and emo-
tions made visible, but in the style also," and
finds in the apparent diversity " the related va-
riety of one mind." Several of the more promi-
nent subjects, and the influence breathing from
them, are thus alluded to : — " Here, under the
pain and confused sense of returning life lay the
man who, when the bones of the prophet touched
him, lived again. Directly opposite sat, witli the
beautiful and patiently expecting Baruch at his
feet, the majestic announcer of the coming woes
of Jerusalem, seeing through earthly things, as
seeing them not, and looking off into the world
of spirits and the vision of God. What sees he
there? Wait! For the vision is closing, and he
is about to speak! And there is Beatrice, ab-
sorbed in meditation, touched gently with sadness,
and stealing so upon your heart, that curiosity is
lost in sympathy — you forget to ask yourself what
her thought? and look in silence till you become
the very soul of meditation too. And Rosalie,
born of music, her face yet tremulous with the
last vibrations of those sweet sounds to which
her inmost nature had been responding. What
shall I say of the spiritual depth of those eyes?
You look into them till you find yourself com-
muning with her inmost life, with emotions beau-
tiful, exquisite, almost to pain. Indeed, when
you recollect yourself, you experience this effect
to be true of nearly all these pictures, whether of
14
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
living beings or of nature. After a little while I
you do not so much look upon them as commune
witK them, until you recover yourself, and are
made aware that you had been lost in them.
Herein is the spirit of art, the creative power —
poetry. And the landscapes — spots in nature, fit
dwelling-places for beings such as these !"
His poems, though few in number, are exqui-
site in finish, and in the fancies and thoughts
which they embody. They are delicate, subtle, :
and philosophical. Thought and feeling are united
in them, and the meditative eye
which hath kept watch
o'er man's mortality
broods over all. In The Sylphs of the Seasons he
has pictured the successive delights of each quarter
of the year with the joint sensibility of the poet
and the artist, bringing before us a series of
images of the imagination blended with the purest
sentiment.
If the other poems may be described as occa-
sional, it should be remarked they are the occa-
sions not of a trirler or a man of the world, but
of a philosopher and a Christian, whose powers
were devoted to the sacred duties of life, to his
art, to his friends, to the inner world of faith. In
this view rather than as exercises of poetic rhe-
toric, they are to be studied. One of the briefer
poems has a peculiar interest, that entitled Ro-
salie. It is the very reflection in verse of the
ideal portrait which he painted, bearing that name.
His lectures on Art, published after his de-
cease, in the volume edited by R. II. Dana, Jr.,
show the vigorous grasp, the intense love, the
keen perception which we should naturally look
for froi n such a master.
Monaldi is an Italian story of jealousy, murder,
and madness. Monaldi issuspiciousof his wife, kills
her in revenge, and becomes a maniac. The work
is entirely of a subjective character, dealing with
thought, emotion, and passion, with a concentra-
tion and energy for which we are accustomed to
look only to the greatest dramatists. The chief
scene of the volume is the self-torturing jealousy
of Monaldi, contrasted with the innocent calm-
ness of his wife. We read it with shortened
breath and a sense of wonder. Not less powerfully
does the author carve out, as it were, in statuary,
the preliminary events by which this noble heart
falls from its steadfast truth-worshipping loyalty.
We see the gradual process of disaffection, from
the first rude physical health of the soul, when it
is incapable of fear or suspicion, rejecting the
poison of envy; then gradually admitting the
idea as if some unconscious act of memory, a
haunting reminiscence, then recurring wilfully to
the thought, till poison becomes the food of the
mind, and it lives on baleful jealousies, wrongs,
and revenges: the high intellectual nature, so
difficult to reach, but the height once scaled, how
flauntingly they bear the banner of disloyalty ;
Monaldi, like Othello, then spurns all bounds;
like Othello, wronged and innocent.
Those who had the privilege of a friendship or
even an acquaintance with Allston, speak with
enthusiasm of his conversational powers. He ex-
celled not only in the matter but the manner of
his speech. His fine eye, noble countenance, and
graceful gesture were all unconsciously brought
into play as he warmed with his subject, and
he would hold his hearer by the hour as 6x-
edly with a disquisition on morals as by a series
of wild tales of Italian banditti. Allston gave his
best to his friends as well as to the public, and
some of his choicest literary composition is doubt-
less contained in the correspondence he main-
tained for many years with Coleridge, Words-
worth, Southey, Lamb, and others among the
best men of his, and of all time.
In an enumeration of the published works of
Mr. Allston, the volume of outline engravings
from the sketches found in his studio after his de-
cease should be especially commemorated, for it
contains some of his most beautiful as well as
most sublime conceptions ; and as nearly all his
paintings, with the exception of the Belshazzar, are
the property of private individuals, forms almost
the only opportunity accessible to the general
public for the enjoyment of his artistic produc-
tions. His manner may there be learnt in its
precision, strength, grandeur, and beauty.
Of the moral harmony of Allston's daily life,
we have been kindly favored with a picture, filled
with incident, warm, genial, and thoroughly ap-
preciative, from the pen, we had almost said the
pencil, of the artist's early friend in Italy, Wash-
ington Irving. It is taken from a happy period
of his life, and our readers will thank the author
for the reminiscence : — .
" I first became acquainted," writes Washing-
ton Irving to us, "with Washington Allston, early
in the spring of 1805. He had just arrived from
Prance, I from Sicily and Naples. I was then
not quite twenty-two years of age — he a little
older. There was something, to me, inexpressi-
bly engaging in the appearance and manners of
Allston. I do not think I have ever been more
completely captivated on a first acquaintance.
He was of a light and graceful form, with large
blue eyes and black silken hair, waving and
curling round a pale expressive countenance.
Everything about him bespoke the man of intel-
lect and refinement. His conversation was copious,
animated, and highly graphic ; warmed by a ge-
nial sensibility and benevolence, and enlivened
at times by a chaste and gentle humor. A young
man's intimacy took place immediately between
us, and we were much together during my brief
sojourn at Rome. He was taking a general view
of the place before settling himself down to his
professional studies. We visited together some
of the finest collections of paintings, and he
taught me how to visit them to the most advan-
tage, guiding me always to the masterpieces, and
passing by the others without notice. ' Never
attempt to enjoy every picture in a great collec-
tion,' he would say, ' unless you have a year to
bestow upon it. You may as well attempt to en-
joy every dish in a Lord Mayor's feast. Both
mind and palate get confounded by a great va-
riety and rapid succession, even of delicacies.
The mind can only take in a certain number of
images* and impressions distinctly ; by multiply-
ing the number you weaken each, and render the
whole confused and vague. Study the choice
pieces in each collection ; look upon none else,
and you will afterwards find them hanging up in
your memory.'
" He was exquisitely sensible to the graceful
WASHINGTON ALLSTON.
15
ail the beautiful, and took great delight in paint-
ings which excelled in color; yet he was strongly
moved and roused by objects of grandeur. I well
recollect the admiration with which he contem-
plated the sublime statue of Moses by Michael
Angelo, and his mute awe and reverence on en-
tering the stupendous pile of St. Peter's. Indeed
the sentiment of veneration so characteristic of
the elevated and poetic mind was continually ma-
nifested by him. His eyes would dilate; his pale
countenance would Hush ; he would breathe
quick, and almost gasp in expressing his feelings
when excited by any object of grandeur and sub-
limity.
" We had delightful rambles together about
Rome and its environs, one of which came near
changing my whole course of life. We had been
visiting a stately villa, with its gallery of paint-
ings, its marble halls, its terraced gardens set out
with statues and fountains, and were returning to
Rome about sunset. The blandness of the air, the
serenity of the sky, the transparent purity of the
atmosphere, and that nameless charm which
hangs about an Italian landscape, had derived ad-
ditional effect from being enjoyed in company
with Allston, and pointed out by him with the
enthusiasm of an artist. As I listened to him,
and gazed upon the landscape, I drew in my
mind a contrast between our different pursuits
and prospects. He was to reside among these
delightful scenes, surrounded by masterpieces of
art, by classic and historic monuments, by men of
congenial minds and tastes, engaged like him in
the constant study of the sublime and beautiful.
I was to return home to the dry study of the law,
for which I had no relish, and, as I feared, but
little talent.
, " Suddenly the thought presented itself, ' Why
might I not remain here, and turn painter?' I
had taken lessons in drawing before leaving Ame-
' rica, and had been thought to have some aptness,
as I certainly had a strong inclination for it. I
mentioned the idea to Allston, and he caught at it
with eagerness. Nothing could be more feasible.
We would take an apartment together. He would
give me all the instruction and assistance in his
power, and was sure I would succeed.
" For two or three days the idea took full pos-
session of my mind; but I believe it owed its
main force to the lovely evening ramble in which
I first conceived it, and to the romantic friendship
I had formed with Allston. Whenever it recurred
to mind, it was always connected with beautiful
Italian scenery, palaces, and statues, and fonn-
■ tains, and terraced gardens, and Allston as the
companion of my studio. I promised myself a
world of enjoyment in his society, and in the so-
ciety of several artists with whom he had made
me acquainted, and pictured forth a scheme
of life, all tinted with the rainbow hues of youth-
ful promise.
" My lot in life, however, was differently cast.
Doubts and fears gradually clouded over my pros-
pect; the rainbow tints faded away ; I began to
apprehend a sterile reality, so I gave up the tran-
sient but delightful prospect of remaining in
Rome with Allston, and turning painter.
"My next meeting with Allston was in Ame-
rica, after he had finished his studies in Italy ;
but as we resided in different cities we saw each
other only occasionally. Our intimacy was closer
some years afterwards, when we were both in
England. I then saw a great deal of him (luring
my visits to London, where he and Leslie resided
together. Allston was dejected in spirits from
the loss of his wife, but I thought a dash of me-
lancholy had increased the amiable and winning
graces of his character. I used to pass long
evenings with him and Leslie ; indeed Allston, if
any one would keep him company, would sit up
until cock-crowing, and it was hard to break
away from the charms of his conversation. He
was an admirable story teller, for a ghost story
none could surpass him. He acted the story as
well as told it.
"I have seen some anecdotes of him in the
public papers, which represent him in a state of
indigence and almost despair, until rescued by
the sale of one of his paintings.* This is an ex-
aggeration. I subjoin an extract or two from his
letters to me, relating to his most important pic-
tures. The first, dated May 9, 1817, was ad-
dressed to me at Liverpool, where he supposed I
was about to embark for the United States : —
"Your sudden resolution of embarking for Ame-
rica has quite thrown me, to use a sea phrase, all
aback. I have so many things to tell you of, to con-
sult, you about, (fee., and am such a sad correspon-
dent, that before 1 can bring my pen to do its office,
'tis a hundred to one but the vexations for which
your advice would be wished, will have passed ami
gone. One of these subjects (and the most impor-
tant) is the large picture I talked of soon beginning:
the Prophet Daniel interpreting the hand-writing on
the wall before Belshazzar. I have made a highly
finished sketch of it, and I wished much to have
your remarks on it. But as your sudden departure
will deprive me of this advantage, I must beg,
should any hints on the subject occur to you during
your voyage, that you will favor me with them, at
the same time you let me know that you are again
safe in our good country.
"I think the composition the best I ever made.
It contains a multitude of figures and (if I may be
allowed to say it) they are without confusion.
Don't you think it a fine subject? I know not any
that so happily unites the magnificent and the aw-
ful. A mighty sovereign surrounded by his whole
court, intoxicated witli his own state, in the midst
of his revellings, palsied in a moment under the
spell of a preternatural hand suddenly tracing his
doom on the wall before him ; his powerless limbs,
like a wounded spider's, shrunk up to his body,
while liis heart, compressed to a point, is only kept
from vanishing by the terrific suspense that animates
it during the interpretation of his mysterious sen-
tence. His less guilty but scarcely less agitated
queen, the panic-struck courtiers and concubines,
the splendid and deserted banquet table, the half
arrogant, half astounded magicians, the holy vessels
of the temple (shining as it were in triumph through
the gloom), nnd the calm solemn contrast of the pro-
phet, standing like an animated pillar in the midst,
breathing forth the oracular destruction of the em-
pire! The picture will be twelve feet high by
seventeen feet long. Should I succeed in it to my
wishes, I know not what may be its fate ; but I
leave the future to Providence. Perhaps I may
send it to America.
" The next letter from Allston which remains in
# Anecdotes of Artists.
16
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
my possession, is dated London, 13th March,
1818. In the interim lie had visited Paris, in
company with Leslie and Newton ; the following
extract gives the result of the excitement caused
by a study of the masterpieces in the Louvre.
" Since my return from Paris I have painted two
pictures, in order to have something in the present
exhibition at the British gallery; the subjects, the
Angel Uriel in the Sun, and Elijah in the Wilder-
ness., Uriel was immediately purchased (at the
price I asked, 150 guineas) by the Marquis of Staf-
ford, and the Directors of the British Institution
moreover presented me a donation of a hundred and
fifty pounds ' as a mark of their approbation of the
talent evinced,' <fcc. The manner in which this was
done was highly complimentary; and I can only
say that it was full as gratifying as it was unex-
pected. As both these pictures together cost me
but ten weeks, I do not regret having deducted that
time from the Belshazzar, to whom I have since re-
turned with redoubled vigour. I am sorry I did not
exhibit Jacob's Dream. If I had dreamt of this suc-
cess I certainly would have sent it there.
" Leslie, in a letter to me, speaks of the picture
of Uriel seated in the Sun. ' The figure is colos-
sal, the attitude and air very noble, and the form
heroic, without being overcharged. In the color
he has been equally successful, and with a very
rich and glowing tone he has avoided positive
colours, which would have made him too mate-
rial. There is neither red, blue, nor yellow on
the picture, and yet it possesses a harmony equal
to the best pictures of Paul Veronese.'
"The picture made what is called 'a decided
hit,' and produced a great sensation, being pro-
nounced worthy of the old masters. Attention
was immediately called to the artist. The Earl
of Egremont, a great connoisseur and patron of
the arts, sought him in his studio, eager for any
production from his pencil. He found an admi-
rable picture there, of which he became the glad
possessor. The following is an extract from Al-
ston's letter to me on the subject: —
" Leslie tells me he has informed you of the sale of
Jacob's Dream. I do not remember if you have seen
it. The manner in which Lord Egremont bought it
was particularly gratifying — to say nothing of the
price, which is no trifle to me at present, But
Leslie having told you all about it I will not repeat
it. Indeed, by the account he gives me of his letter
to you, he seems to have puffed me off in grand
style. Well — you know I don't bribe him to do it.
and ' if they will buckle praise upon my back,'
why, I can't help it ! Leslie has just finished a very
beautiful little picture of Anne Page1 inviting Master
Slender into the house. Anne is exquisite, soft and
feminine, yet arch and playful. She is all she should
be. Slender also is very happy ; he is a good pa-
rody on Milton's ' linked sweetness long drawn out.'
Falstaff and Shallow are seen through a window in
the background. The whole scene is very pictu-
resque, and beautifully painted. 'Tis his best pic-
ture. You must not think this praise the 'return in
kind.' I give it, because I really admire the pic-
ture, and I have not the smallest doubt that he will
do great things when he is once freed from the ne-
cessity of painting portraits.*
" Lord Egremont was equally well pleased with
* This picture was lately exhibited in the " Washington
Gallery " in New York.
the artist as with his works, and invited him to
his noble seat at Petworth, where it was his de-
light to dispense his hospitalities to men of
genius.
"The road to fame and fortune was now open
to Allston ; he had but to remain in England, and
follow up the signal impression he had made.
" Unfortunately, previous to this recent success
lie had been disheartened by domestic affliction,
and by the uncertainty of his pecuniary pros-
pects, and had made arrangements to return to
to America. I arrived in London a few days be-
fore his departure, full of literary scheme*, and
delighted with the idea of our pursuing our seve-
ral arts in fellowship. It was a sad blow to me
to have this day-dream again dispelled. I urged
him to remain and complete his grand painting
of Belshazzar's Feast, the study of which gave pro-
mise of the highest kind of excellence. Some of the
best patrons of the art were equally urgent. He
was not to be persuaded, and I saw him depart
with still deeper and more painful regret than I
had parted with him in our youthful days at
Rome. I think our separation was a loss to both
of us — to me a grievous one. The companion-
ship of such a man was invaluable. For his own
part, had he remained in England for a few years
longer, surrounded by everything to encourage
and stimulate him, I have no doubt he would
have been at the head of his art. He appeared
to me to possess more than any contemporary the
spirit of the old masters ; and his merits were
becoming widely appreciated. After his de-
parture he was unanimously elected a member of
the Royal Academy.
" The next time I saw him was twelve years
afterwards, on my return to America, when I
visited him at his studio at Cambridge, in Massa-
chusetts, and found him, in the grey evening of
life, apparently much retired from the world ;
and his grand picture of Belshazzar's Feast yet
unfinished.
" To the last he appeared to retain all those ele-
vated, refined, and gentle qualities which first en-
deared him to me.
" Such are a few particulars of my intimacy
with Allston ; a man whose memory I hold in re-
verence and affection, as one of the purest, no-
blest, and most intellectual beings that ever
honored me with his friendship."
AMERICA TO GREAT BKITATN.
All hail! thou noble land,
Our Fathers' native soil !
0, stretch thy mighty hand.
Gigantic grown by toil,
O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore !
For thou with magic might
Canst reach to where the light
Of Phoebus travels bright
The world o'er !
The Genius of our clime,
From his pine-embattled steep,
Shall hail the guest sublime ;
While the Tritons of the deep
With their concha the kindred league shall proclaim.
Then let the world combine, —
O'er the main our naval line
Like the milky-way shall shine
Bright in fame !
WASHINGTON- ALLSTOX.
IT
Though ages long hare past
Since our Fathers left their home.
Their pilot in the blast.
O'er untravelled seas to roam,
Yet lives the blood of England in our veinsl
And shall we not proclaim
That blood of honest fame
Which no tyranny can tame
By its chains ?
While the language free and bold
Which the Bard of Avon sung,
In which our Milton told
How the vault of heaven rung
When Satan, blasted, fell with his host ; —
While this, with reverence meet,
Ten thousand echoes greet,
From rock to rock repeat
Round our coast ; —
While the manners, while the arts.
That mould a nation's soul,
Still cling around our hearts, —
Between let Ocean roll.
Our joint communion breaking with the Sun :
Yet still from either beach
The voice of blood shall reach.
More audible than speech,
" We are One." *
WINTER — FEO.U THE 6TLPHS OP THE SEASONS.
And last the Sylph of Winter spake,
The while her piercing voice did shake
The castle vaults below : —
"0 youth, if thou, with soul refined,
Hast felt the triumph pure of mind,
And learnt a secret joy to find
In deepest scenes of woe ;
" If e'er with fearful ear at eve
Hast heard the wailing tempests grieve
Through chink of shattered wall,
The while it conjured o'er thy brain
Of wandering ghosts a mournful train,
That low in fitful sobs complain
Of death's untimely call ;
" Or feeling, as the storm increased,
The love of terror nerve thy breast,
Didst venture to the coast,
To see the mighty war-ship leap
From wave to wave upon the deep,
Like chamois goat from steep to steep.
Till low in valley lost ;
" When, glancing to the angry sky,
Behold the clouds with fury fly
The lurid moon athwart —
Like armies huge in battle, throng,
And pour in volleying ranks along.
While piping winds in martial song
To rushing war exhort :
" 0, then to me thy heart be given.
To me, ordained by Him in heaven
Thy nobler powers to wake.
And, 0 ! if thou with poet's soul,
High brooding o'er the frozen pole.
Hast felt beneath my stern control
The desert region quake ;
* Note by the Author.— This alludes merely to the moral
union of the two countries. The author would not have it sup-
posed that the tribute of respect, offered in these stanzas to the
land of his ancestors, would be paid by him, if at the expense
of the independence of that which gave him birth.
VOL. II. — 2
" Or from old Heela's cloudy height,
When o'er the dismal, half-year's night
He pours his sulphurous breath,
Hast known my petrifying wind
Wild ocean's curling billows bind,
Like bending sheaves by harvest hind,
Erect in icy death ;
" Or heard adown the mountain's steep
The northern blast with furious sweep
Some cliff dissevered dash,
And seen it spring with dreadful bound,
From rock to rock, to gulf profound,
While echoes fierce from caves resound
The never-ending crash :
" If thus with terror's mighty spell
Thy soul inspired was wont to swell,
Thy heaving frame expand,
0, then to me thy heart incline ;
For know, the wondrous charm was mine,
That fear and joy did thus combine
In magic union bland.
" Nor think confined my native sphere
To horrors gaunt, or ghastly fear,
Or desolation wild ;
For I of pleasures fair could sing,
That steal from life its sharpest sting,
And man have made around it cling,
Like mother to her child.
" When thou, beneath the clear blue sky,
So calm no cloud was seen to fly,
Hast gazed on snowy plain,
Where Nature slept so pure and sweet,
She seemed a corse in winding-sheet,
Whose happy soul had gone to meet
The blest Angelic train ;
"Or marked the sun's declining ray
In thousand varying colors play
O'er ice-incrusted heath,
In gleams of orange now, and green,
And now in red and azure sheen,
Like hues on dying dolphin seen,
Most lovely when in death ;
" Or seen at dawn of eastern light
The frosty toil of Fays by night
On pane of casement clear,
Where bright the mimic glaciers shine,
And Alps, with many a mountain pine,
And armed knights from Palestine
In winding march appear:
" 'T was I on each enchanting scene
The charm bestowed, that banished spleen
Thy bosom pure and light.
But still a nobler power I claim, —
That power allied to poet's fame,
Which language vain has dared to name, —
The soul's creative might.
" Though Autumn grave, and Summer fair,
And joyous Spring, demand a share
Of Fancy's hallowed power.
Yet these I hold of humbler kind,
To grosser means of earth confined,
Through mortal sense to reach the mind,
By mountain, stream, or flower.
" But mine, of purer nature still,
Is that which to thy secret will
Did minister unseen,
Unfelt, unheard, when every sense
Did sleep in drowsy indolence.
And silence deep and night intense
Enshrouded every scene;
IS
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
" That o'er (hy teeming brain did raise
The spirits of departed days
Through all the varying year,
And images of things remote,
And sounds that long had ceased to float,
With every hue, and every note,
As living now they were ;
" And taught thee from the motley mass
Each harmonizing past to class
(Like Nature's self employed) ;
And then, as worked thy wayward will,
From these, with rare combining skill,
With new-created worlds to fill
Of space the 'mighty void.
•' 0, then to me thy heart incline;
To me, whose plastic powers combine
The harvest of the mind ;
To me whose magic coffers bear
The spoils of all the toiling year,
That still in mental vision wear
A lustre more refined."
" O pour upon my soul again
That sad, unearthly strain,
That seems from other worlds to plain ;
Thus falling, falling from afar,
As if some melancholy star
Had mingled with her light her sighs,
And dropped them from the skies!
" No, — never came from aught below
This melody of woe,
That makes my heart to overflow,
As from a thousand gushing springs,
Unknown before ; that with it brings
This nameless light, — if light it be, —
That veils the world I see.
" For all I see around me wears
The hue of other spheres ;
Ami something blent of smiles and tears
Comes from the very air I breathe.
0, nothing, sure, the stars beneath
Can mould a-sadness like to this,—
So like angelic bliss."
So, at that dreamy hour of day
When the last lingering ray
Stops on the highest cloud to play, —
So thought the gentle Rosalie,
As on her maiden reverie
First fell the strain of him who stole
In music to her soul.
INVENTION IN ART IN 0STADE AND RAPnAEL — FROM THE LEC-
TURES ON ART.
The interior of a Dutch cottage forms the scene of
Ostade's work, presenting something between a
kitchen and a stable. Its principal object is the car-
cass of a hog, newly washed and hung up to dry ;
subordinate to which is a woman nursing an infant;
the accessories, various garments, pots, kettles, and
other culinary utensils.
The bare enumeration of these coarse materials
would naturally predispose the mind of one, unac-
quainted with the Dutch school, to expect any thing
but pleasure; indifference, not to say disgust, would
seem to be the only possible impression from a pic-
ture composed of such ingredients. Ami such, in-
deed, would be their effect under the hand of any
but a real Artist. Let us look into the picture and
follow Ostade's mind, as it leaves its impress on the
several objects. Observe how he spreads his princi-
pal light, from the suspended carcass to the surround-
ing objects, moulding it, so to speak, into agreeable
shapes, here by extending it to a bit of drapery, there
to an earthen pot ; then connecting it, by the flash
from a brass kettle, with his second light, the woman
and child ; and again turning the eye into the dark
recesses through a labyrinth of broken chairs, old
baskets, roosting fowls, and bits of straw, till a
glimpse of sunshine, from a half-open window,
gleams on the eye, as it were, like an echo, and
sending it back to the principal object, which now
seems to act on the mind as the luminous source of
all these diverging lights. But the magical whole is
not yet completed; the mystery of color has been
called in to the aid of light, and so subtly blends that
we can hardly separate them ; at least, until their
united effect has first been felt, and after we have
begun the process of cold analysis. Yet even then
we cannot long proceed before we find the charm re-
turning; as we pass from the blaze of light on the
carcass, where all the tints of the prism seem to be
faintly subdued, we are met on its borders by the
dark harslet, glowing like rubies; then we repose
awhile on the white cap and kerchief of the nursing
mother; then we are roused again by the flickering
strife of the antagonist colors on a blue jacket and
red petticoat ; then the strife is softened by the low
yellow of a straw-bottomed chair; and thus with
alternating excitement and repose do we travel
through the picture, till the scientific explorer loses
the analyst in the unresisting passiveness of a poetic
dream. Now all this will no doubt appear to many
if not absurd, at least exaggerated : but not so to
those who have ever felt the sorcery of color. They,
we are sure, will be the last to question the charac-
ter of the feeling because of the ingredients which
worked the spell, and, if true to themselves, they
must call it poetr}7. Nor will they consider it any
disparagement to the all-accomplished Raffaelle to
say of (Jstade that he also was an Artist.
We turn now to a work of the great Italian,— the
Death of Ananias. The scene is laid in a plain apart-
ment, which is wholly devoid of ornament, as became
the hall of audience of the primitive Christians. The
Apostles (then eleven in number) have assembled to
transact the temporal business of the Church, and
are standing together on a slightly elevated plat-
form, about which, in various attitudes, some stand-
ing, others kneeling, is gathered a promiscuous as-
semblage of their new converts, male and female.
This quiet assembly (for we still feel its .quietness in
the midst of the awful judgment) is suddenly roused
by the sudden fall of one of their brethren ; some of
them turn and see him struggling in the agonies of
death. A moment before he was in the vigor of life,
— as his muscular limbs still bear evidence ; but he
had uttered a falsehood, and an instant after his
frame is convulsed from head to foot. Nor do we
doubt for a moment as to the awful cause : it is al-
most expressed in voice by those nearest to him, and,
though varied by their different temperaments, by
terror, astonishment, and submissive faith, this voice
has yet but one meanii g. — " Ananias has lied to the
Holy Ghost." The terrible words, as if audible to
the mind, now direct us to him who pronounced his
doom, and the singly-raised finger of the Apostle
marks him the judge; yet not of himself, — for nei-
ther his attitude, air, nor expression has any thing
in unison with the impetuous Peter, — he is now the
simple, passive, yet awful instrument of the Al-
mighty: while another on the right, with equal
calmness, though with more severity, by his elevated
arm, as beckoning to judgment, anticipates the fate
of the entering Sapphira. Yet all is not done ; lest
a question remain, the Apostle on the left confirms
the judgment. No one can mistake what passes
JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM.
19
within him ; like one transfixed in adoration, his up-
lifted eyes seem to ray out his soul, as if in recogni-
tion of the divine tribunal. But the overpowering
thought of Omnipotence is now tempered by the hu-
man sympathy of his companion, whose open hands,
connecting the past with the present, seem almost to
articulate, "Alas, my brother! " By this exquisite
turn, we are next brought to John, the gentle al-
moner of the Church, who is dealing out their por-
tions to the needy brethren. And here, as most
remote from the judged Ananias, whose suffering
seems not yet to have reached it, we find a spot of
repose, — not to pass by, but to linger upon, till we
feel its quiet influence diffusing itself over the whole
mind; nay, till, connecting it with the beloved Dis-
ciple, we And it leading us back through the excit-
ing scene, modifying even our deepest emotions with
a kindred tranquillity.
Tliis is Invention; we have not moved a step
through the picture but at the will of the Artist.
He invented the chain which we have followed, link
by link, through every emotion, assimilating many
into one ; and this is the secret by which he prepar-
ed us, without exciting horror, to contemplate the
struggle of mortal agony.
This too is Art; and the highest art," when thus
the awful power, without losing its character, is tem-
pered, as it were, to our mysterious desires. In the
work of Ostade, we see the same inventive power,
no less effective, though acting through the medium
of the humblest materials.
JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM.
Joseph T. Bockinoha.m, one of the most pro-
minent journalists of New England, is a descend-
ant of Thomas Tinker, who came to Plymouth in
the May Flower. His father, Nehemiah Tinker,
resided at Windham, and ruined himself during
the Revolutionary War by expending his whole
property in the purchase of supplies for the army,
for which he received pay in Continental cur-
rency, which rapidly depreciated, so that at his
death, on the 17th of March, 1783, the several
thousand dollars of paper money which he pos-
sessed, " would hardly pay for his winding sheet
and coffin." He left a widow and ten children,
the youngest of whom, Joseph, was born on the
twenty-first of December, 1779. The widow en-
deavored to support the eight children dependent
upon her by continuing her husband's business
of tavern-keeping, but was obliged to abandon
the establishment within a year, on account of ill
health. She grew poorer and poorer, and her
son records her thankfulness at receiving, on one
occasion, the crusts cut from the bread prepared
for the Holy Communion of the coming Sunday.
She was at last compelled to solicit the aid of the
selectmen of the town, and was supported in that
maimer for a winter. In the following year she
received and accepted the offer of a home in the
family of her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lathrop, at
Worlhington, Mass. Her son, the subject of this
sketch, was indentured at the same time by the
selectmen to a farmer of the name of Welsh, until
he attained the age of sixteen. lie was kindly
cared for in the family, and picked up a tolerable
knowledge of reading, writing, and arithmetic.
He devoured the few books he came across, and
records his obligations to a set of Ames's Alma-
nacs. Jit the expiration of his time he obtained
a situation in the printing-office of David Carlisle,
the publisher of the Farmer's Museum, at Wal-
pole, N.H. The joviality of the wits who filled
the columns of that famous sheet seems to have
been shared in by the compositors who set up
their articles, for they exhausted the poor boy's
slender stock of cash by a demand for a treat,
and then nearly choked him by forcing his own
brandy down his throat. He remained only a
few months with Carlisle, and then apprenticed
himself in the office of the Greenfield (Mass.) Ga-
zette. Here he exercised himself in grammar, by
comparing the "copy" he had to set up with the
rules he had learnt, and correcting it if wrong.
In 17U8 he lost his excellent mother. In 1803
he deserted the composing-stick for a few months,
to fill the office of prompter to a company of
comedians who played during the summer months
at Salem and Providence. In 1806, having pre-
viously taken by act of legislature his mother's
family name of Buckingham, he male his first
; cs-ay as editor, by commencing a Monthly Maga-
zine, The Polyanthus. The numbers contained
j seventy-two pages 18mo., with a portrait, each.
| It was suspended in September, 1807, and re-
sumed in 1812, when two volumes of the original
size and four in octavo appeared. In January,
1809, he commenced The Ordeal, a weekly, of
sixteen octavo pages, which lasted six months.
In 1817, he commenced, with Samuel L. Knapp,
The New England Galaxy and Masonic Maga-
zine. It was started without capital by its pro-
jector, who now had a wife and six children
dependent on him, and frankly proposed to return
a dollar and a half out of the three tendered by
his first subscriber, on the plea that he did not
believe he should be able to keep up the paper
more than six months. By the aid of the Masonic
Lodges it, however, became tolerably successful.
Like his previous publications, it sided in politics
with the Federal party.
In 1S28, Mr. Buckingham sold the Galaxy, in
order to devote his entire attention to the Boston
Courier, a daily journal, which he had commenced
on the second of March, 1824. The prominent
idea of its founders was the advocacy of the
" protective system." Mr. Buckingham continued
to edit the Courier until June, 1848, when he
sold out his interest. In July, 1831, he com-
menced with his son Edwin The New England
Magazine, a monthly of ninety-six pages, and
one of the best periodicals of its class which ever
appeared in the United States. The number of
July, 1833, contains a mention of the death of
Edwin at sea, on a voyage to Smyrna, undertaken
for the benefit of health. He was but twenty-
three years of age. In November, 1834, the
publication was transferred to Dr. Samuel G.
Howe and John O. Sargent.
During the years 1828, 1831-3, 1830, 1838-9,
Mr. Buckingham was a member of the Legisla-
ture, and in 1847-8, 1850-1, of the Senate of Mas-
sachusetts. He introduced a report in favor of
the suppression of lotteries, and performed other
valuable services during these periods.
Since his retirement from the press, Mr. Buck-
ingham has published, Specimens of Newspaper
Literature, with Personal Memoirs, Anecdotes,
and Reminiscences, in two volumes duodecimo,
which has passed through two editions; and
Personal Memoirs and Recollections of Editorial
Life, in two similar volumes. They contain a
20
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
pleasant resume of his career, with notices of
the many persons with whom, at different periods,
he has heen connected.
MOSES STUART.
This eminent critic and philologist, the head of
a school of Biblical learning in America, was horn
of honest hut humble parentage in Wilton, Con- ■
necticut, March 26, 1780. He entered Yale at j
sixteen during the Presidency of Dwight, took j
his degree with the highest honors in 1709, then
turned his attention to the law, to which he gave
himself with earnestness, though he never prac-
tised the profession. From 1802 to 180-1 he was
tutor at Yale. In 1806, having in the meantime
pursued the necessary preparation, he was ordained
Pastor of the Centre Church in New Haven. His
services at this time are thus spoken of by his
thoughtful and eloquent friend and eulogist, Dr.
Adams. " The fervor, fidelity, and success of his
career as a pastor are still matters of grateful re-
membrance and distinct tradition. Distinguished
as is the reputation which he subsequently ac-
quired as a scholar, there are many who think
that his best efforts were in the pulpit. The con-
gregation over which he was ordained, accus-
tomed for a third of a century to a style of dis-
course clear, cold, and philosophic, which deserves
to be designated as ' diplomatic vagueness,1 were
startled from indifference by the short, simple,
perspicuous sentences of their new pastor, and
more than all by the unaffected earnestness and
sincerity with which they were delivered."*
In 1810 Mr. Stuart attained the marked position
of his life with which he was to be identified du-
ring the remainder of his career, extending over
a period of well nigh half a century, in his ap-
pointment to the Professorship of Sacred Lite-
rature at the Theological Seminary at Andover,
which had then recently heen engrafted upon the
academy founded by the Hon. John Phillips at
that place. Mr. Stuart succeeded to the brief
term of instruction of the Eev. Eliphalet Pearson,
who had been Professor of the Hebrew and Ori-
ental languages at Harvard from 17S6 to 1806.
It is noticeable that Stuart was chosen, " not be-
cause of extraordinary proficiency in Oriental lan-
guages, for his knowledge of Hebrew was at this
time very limited. Two years' ] ireparatiqn for the
ministry, and five years in the diligent prosecution
of his profession, had not furnished large opportu-
nities for exact and extensive study. Choice was
fixed upon him because of the general qualities
which designated him as one able and willing to
furnish himself for any station ; and upon that tho-
rough qualification he entered, with characteristic
enthusiasm, immediately upon his transfer to this
new office."
The learned labors of Stuart began at once in
his devotion to Hebrew studies, of which he knew
nothing until after his arrival at Andover. His
colleague, Dr. Woods, used to relate that he taught
* A Discnnrse nn the Life and Services of Professor Moses
Stuart; delivered in the city of New York. Sabbath evening,
January 25, 1852, by William Adams, Pastor of the Central
Presbyterian Church; an able and judicious production, which
we have closely followed as the best authority on the subject.
It io understood that a Life of Professor Stuart is in preparation
by his son-in-law, Professor Austin Phelps, of the Andover
Theological Seminary.
Stuart the Hebrew alphabet. He prepared at
first a manuscript grammar of that language,
which his pupils copied. When the requisite
Oriental type for its publication was procured
Stuart found no compositors ready for its use, and
had to commence the work with his own hands.
His first Hebrew Grammar, without points, was
published in 1821. He soon became acquainted
with the earlier labors of Gesenius, learning the
German language for that purpose. His later
Hebrew Grammar, with points, was first published
in 1831, and rapidly became the text-book in gene-
ral use for this study.* He also aided the study
by his Hebrew Chrestomathy.
Having laid this foundation in the study of the
rudiments of the language, Stuart next addressed
himself to the philosophical interpretation of the
text. In this he brought new life to the old dog-
matic theology which prevailed at the beginning
of his career. " Whatever could cast light upon
the Holy Scriptures, or the languages in which
they were contained, was to Professor Stuart a
matter of exuberant delight. Whether it was a
discussion by Middleton on the Greek article, or
an essay by Wyttenbach on the mode of studying
language, or the archfeological researches of Jahn,
or the journal of an intelligent traveller in the
Egean, or Lane's book on Egypt, or the explora-
tions of the French in the valley of the Nile,f or
a Greek chorus, or a discovery of an inscription
in Arabia Petrea, or exhumations in Nineveh —
anything, from whatever source, which explained
a difficult verse in the Bible, or illustrated an an-
cient custom of God's peculiar people, or led to a
better comprehension of the three languages in
which the name of our Lord was written upon his
cross — all was hailed by this Christian student
with unbounded satisfaction.''! The application
of his principles is thus characterized by the same
pen. " After all the discriminations of Morus and
Ernesti, republished by Professor Stuart, if I
should undertake to condense his principles and
practice concerning Biblical exegesis, aside from
all technical phraseology, I should characterize it
by common sense. Admit the distinctions as to
literal and tropical language which are recognised
in the ordinary conversation of ordinary men, and
those modifications of language which are derived
from local customs and use, and then let Scripture
interpret Scripture. Compare spiritual things
with spiritual, and let the obvions meaning of the
Sacred AYritings thus compared, be received as the
true."§
With this exercise of the understanding, Stuart
united the judgment of the heart, the verdict of a
simple, earnest, spiritual faith, which reposed on
the authority of the Bible. To this his learning
* Br. Adams records with just pride "the fourth edition of
that Grammar was republished in England by Dr. Pusey, Re-
gius Professor of Hebrew in the University of Oxford; and no
small praise is it that a self-taught Professor in a Theological
Seminary in a rural district of New England, should furnish
text-books in oriental philology to the English universities,
with their hereditary wealth of learned treasure and lordly pro-
visions for literary leisure. The Hebrew Chrestomathy of
Professor Stuart was reprinted in like manner at Oxford soon
after its appearance. The Hebrew Grammar by Dr. Lee, of
Cambridge University, England, did not appear till six years
after the publication of Mr. Stuart's first edition."
t Greppo's E-ssay on Champollion was translated in his fa-
mily.
± Dr. Adams's Discourse, pp. 29, SO.
§ Ibid. pp. SI, 32.
WILLIAM ELLEEY CHAINING.
21
and argument were subsidiary. He showed how
German learning might be employed and scrip-
tural authority maintained. This was his service
to the theology of his day and denomination.
" The great merit,'" says an accomplished Oriental
scholar, Mr. W. W. Turner, " of Professor Stuart,
and one for which the gratitude and respect of
American scholars must ever be his due, lie- in the
zeal and ability he has exhibited for a long series
of years in bringing to the notice of the English-
reading public the works of many of the soundest
phi li >logi sts and most enlightened ai id unprej udi ced
theologians of Germany ; for to his exertions it is
in a good degree owing that the names of Rosen-
miiller, Gesenius, Ewald, De Wette, Hnpfield,
Rodiger, Knobel, Hitzig, and other-:, are now fa-
miliar as household words to the present race of
biblical students in this country, and to some ex-
tent in England."*
In 1827 appeared his Commentary on the Epis-
tle to the Hebrews, vindicating the authenticity of
the work, giving a new translation with full notes
on the text, and an elucidation of the argument.
This was followed in 1832 by a Commentary on
the Epiitle to the Romans, in which the same
philological course is pursued. Other commen-
taries followed in due course, provoking more or
less of criticism, on the Apocalypse, the Book of
Daniel, of Ecolesiastes, of Proverbs, the last of
which he had just completed at the time of his
death.
Another series of works of Professor Stuart
were his numerous articles in the periodicals,
chiefly the Biblical Repository and Bibliotheca
Sacra, as also his controversial writings, his Let-
ters to Charming and others, of which he pub-
lished a collection in a volume of Miscellanies in
1846.
One of his last productions, which excited much
interest and some opposition at the time in New
England, was his defence of the policy of Daniel
Webster in his Essay on Conscience and the Con-
stitution, an assertion of the principle of obedi-
ence to the Compromise act.
Stuart diedat Andover, January 4, 1852. That
he was industrious and energetic the bare enu-
mera'ion of his works declares; but he also car-
ried his enthusiasm of labor into the exercises with
his classes, upon whom he impressed a hearty
sympathy for his studies and his manner of pur-
suing them. Death found him at the age of se-
venty-two still active, still meditating new critical
and learned labors in the inexhaustible field of
biblical investigation.
A daughter of Dr. Stuart, Mrs. Elizabeth
Phelps, the wife of Professor Austin Phelps of
Andover, attained distinction in a popular field of
literature by her felicitous sketches of New Eng-
land society, in a series of tales by H. Tf usta, an
anagram of her maiden name. They are entitled
The Angel occr the Right Shoulder ; Sunny Side;
Peep at Number Fire (a picture of clerical life) ;
Kitty Brown; Little Mary, or Talks and Tales
for Children, and The Tell Tale; or Home Se-
crets told by Old Travellers. The last was pub-
lished in 1853, shortly after the death of the
. author. These tales have a well deserved popu-
* Literary World, No. 228.
larity from their spirited style, and the life and
character which they humorously portray.
WILLIAM ELLEEY CHANNLTO
Was born at Newport, Rhode Island, April 7,
1780. He was in the fourth generation from John
Charming, who came to America from Dorset-
shire, in England. His father was William Chan-
ning, a man of education, and distinguished as a
lawyer in Newport ; his grandfather on the mo-
ther's side was William Ellery, the signer of the
Declaration. He has in one of his writings, the
Discourse on Christian Worship, at the Dedica-
tion of the Unitarian Congregational Church at
Newport in 1836, paid a tribute to the genial
influences of his birth-place upon his youth. " I
must bless God," said he, " for the place of my
nativity ; for as my mind unfolded, I became
more and more alive to the beautiful scenery
which now attracts strangers to our island. My
first liberty was used in roaming over the neigh-
bouring fields and shores; and amid this glorious
nature, that love of liberty sprang up, which has
gained strength within me to this hour. I early
received impressions of the great and the beauti-
ful, which I believe have had no small influence
in determining my model of thought and habits
of life. In this town I pursued for a time my
studies of theology. I had no professor or teacher
to guide me ; but I had two noble places of study.
One was yonder beautiful edifice,* now so fre-
quented and so useful as a public library, then so
deserted that I spent day after day, and sometimes
week after week, amidst its dusty volumes, with-
out interruption from a single visitor. The other
place was yonder beach, the roar of which has so
often mingled with the worship of this place, my
daily resort, dear to me in the sunshine, still more
attractive in the storm. Seldom do I visit it now
without thinking of the work, which there, in the
sight of that beauty, in the sound of these waves,
was carried on in my soul. No spot on earth has
helped to form me so much as that beach. There
I lifted up my voice in praise amidst the tempest;
there, softened by beauty, I poured out my
thanksgiving and contrite confessions. There, in
reverential sympathy with the mighty power
around me, I became conscious of power within.
There, struggling thoughts and emotions broke
forth, as if moved to utterance by nature's elo-
quence of the winds and waves. There began a
happiness surpassing all worldly pleasures, all
gifts of fortune, the happiness of communing
with the works of God. Pardon me this refer-
ence to myself. I believe that the worship, of
which I have this day spoken, was aided in my
own soul by the scenes in which my early life
was passed. Amidst these scenes, and in speak-
ing of this worship, allow me to thank God that
this beautiful island was the place of my birth."
He completed his education at Harvard with the
highest honors in 1798. He then engaged for a
while as tutor to a family in Virginia, where his
health became permanently enfeebled. He was
ordained pastor of the Federal Street Church,
Boston, June 1, 1803 ; visited Europe subse-
* The Eedwood Library.
00
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
quently, and on his return continued alone in his
charge till 1824.
From that time for the remainder of his life
lie was connected with the same church, discharg-
ing its duties as his strength permitted ; with-
drawing, towards the close of his career, to strict
retirement, husbanding his delicate health for his
numerous literary efforts. In these he always
exercised an important influence, and through
them was as well known in England as in Ame-
rica. The collection of his works embraces six
volumes, the larger portion of which is devoted
to his theology, as a leader of the Unitarians.
His Moral Argument against Calvinism ap-
peared in the Christian Disciple for 1820. The
first of his writings which brought him into the
general field of literature, his Remarks on the
Character and Writings of John Milton, was
published in the Christian Examiner for 1826,
followed by his articles on Bonaparte, during the
next two years, in the same journal, and the
winning article on Fenelon in 1829. The force,
directness, and literary elegance of these papers
attracted great attention, and the more from the
bold challenge to popular discussion which was
thrown out in his uncompromising estimate of
Napoleon. Apart from his influence as a religious
leader, he had now gained the ear of the public at
large — an authority which he availed himself of
to act upon the moral sentiment of the nation,
which he addressed in his publications on Slavery,
War, Temperance, and Education. His address
on Self Culture, delivered at Boston in 1S38, has
been one of the most successful tracts of its kind
ever published. Its direct appeal to whatever of
character or manliness there may be in the young
is almost irresistible. This is the prevailing trait
of Channing's style, its single, moral energy.
The titles of his publications indicate the man
and his method. A general subject, as War, Tem-
perance, Slavery, is proposed simply by itself,
disconnected with any temporary associations or
accidents of place that might limit it by condi-
tions, and argued simply, clearly, forcibly on its
own merits, according to the universal standard
of truth and justice. Channing pushes at once to
the centre of his subject, like a man who has
business at the court of truth, and is not to be set
aside by guards or courtiers. He has the ear of
this royal mistress, and speaks from ner side as
with the voice of an oracle. Nothing can turn
him "aside from the direct forthright." How-
ever deficient this course might be for the practical
statesmanlike conduct of the world, and its cir-
cuitous progress to great ends, it< influence on
the mind of his own day, particularly on the
young, is not to be questioned. Channing's
moral vigor seemed to put new life into his
readers. Notwithstanding the delicacy of his
constitution, he appeared in public from time to
time to within a short period of his death. His
aspect was of great feebleness ; small in person
and fragile to excess, apparently contrasting with
the vigor of his doctrines, but the well developed
forehead, the full eye, the purity of expression,
and the calm musical tone showed the concentra-
tion within. His oratory always charmed his
audience, as in his winning tones he gained to
his side the pride and powers of his hearers.
The last public effort of Channing was his ad-
dress at Lenox, in Berkshire County, Mass., on
the 1st of August, 1842, the anniversary of Eman-
cipation in the West Indies. ' It shows no diminu-
tion of the acuteness of his mind or of his rare
powers of expression.
Shortly after this time, while pursuing a moun-
tain excursion, he was taken with tj'phus fever,
and died at Bennington, Vermont, October 2,
1842.
MILITAET GENIUS — FROM THE ESSAY ON NAPOLEON.
Military talent, even of the highest order, is far
from holding the first place amo.g intellectual en-
dowments. It is one of the lower forms of genius;
for it is not conversant with the highest and richest
objects of thought. We grant that a mind, which
takes in a wide country at a glance, and understands,
almost by intuition, the positions it affords for a
successful campaign, is a comprehensive and vigorous
one. The general, who disposes his forces so as to
counteract a greater force ; who supplies by skill,
science, and invention, the want of numbers; who
dives into the counsels of his enemy, and who gives
unity, energy, and success to a vast variety of opera-
tions, in the midst of casualties and obstructions
which no wisdom could foresee, manifests great
power. But still the chief work of a geneial is to
apply physical force ; to remove physical obstruc-
tions; to avail himself of physical aids and advan-
tages ; to act on matter ; to overcome rivers, ram-
parts, mountains, and human muscles; and these are
not the highest objects of mind, nor do they demand
intelligence of the highest oider; and accordingly
nothing is more common than to fii d men. eminent
in this department, who aie wanting in the noblest
energies of the soul; in habit; ot profound and
liberal thinking, in imagination and ta-te, in the ca-
pacity of enjoying works of genius, and in large and
original views of human nature and society. The
office of a great general docs not differ widely from
that of a great mechanician, whose business it is to
frame new combinations of physical forces, to adapt
them to new circumstances, and to remove new ob-
structions. Accordingly great generals, away from
the camp, are often no greater men than the meeha-
WILLIAM ELLERT CHANNING.
23
nieian taken from his workshop. In conversation
they are often dull. Deep and refined reasonings
they cannot comprehend. We know that there are
splendid exceptions. Such was Cesar, lit once the
greatest soldier and the most sagacious statesman of
his age, whilst in eloquence and literature, he left
behind liini almost all, who had devoted themselves
exclusively to these pursuits. But such eases are
rare. The conqueror of Napoleon, the hero of Wa-
terloo, possesses undoubtedly great military talents;
but we do not understand, that his most partial ad-
mirers claim for him a place in the highest class of
minds. We will not godown for illustration to such
men as Nelson, a man great on the deck, but debased
by gross vices, and who never pretended to enlarge-
ment of intellect. To institute a comparison in
point of talent and genius between such men and
Milton, Bacon, and Shakespeare, is almost an insult
on these illustrious names. Who can think of these
truly great intelligences ; of the range of their minds
through heaven and earth ; of their deep intuition
into the soul; of their new and glowing combina-
tions of thought ; of the energy with which they
grasped, and subjected to their main purpose, the
infinite materials of illustration which nature and
life afford, — who can think of the forms of transcen-
dent beauty and grandeur which they created, or
which were rather emanations of their own minds ;
of the calm wisdom and fervid imagination which
they conjoined ; of the voice of power, in which
" though dead, they still speak," and awaken intel-
lect, sensibility, and genius in both hemispheres, —
who can think of such men, and not feel the immense
inferiority of the most gifted warrior, whose ele-
ments of thought are physical forces and physical
obstructions, and whose employment is the combi-
nation of the lowest class of objects on which a
powerful mind can be employed.
EELIGION AND LITERATURE — FROM TIIE ESSAY OX FENELON.
The truth is, that religion, justly viewed, surpasses
all otiier principles, in giving a free and mauiVold
action to the mind. It recognises in every faculty
and sentiment the workmanship of God, and assigns
a sphere of agency to eaeh. It takes our whole
nature under its guardianship, and with a parental
love ministers to its inferior as well as higher grati-
fications. False religion mutilates the soul, sees evil
in our innocent sensibilities, and rules with a tyrant's
frown and rod. True religion is a mild and lawful
sovereign, governing to protect, to give strength, to
unfold all our inward resources. We believe, that,
under its influence, literature is to pa-ss its present
limits, and to put itself forth in original forms of
composition. Religion is of all principles most
fruitful, multiform, and unconfined. It is sympathy
with that Being, who seems to delight in diversify-
ing the modes of his agency, and the products of his
wisdom and power. It does not chain us to a few
essential duties, or express itself in a few unchang-
ing modes of writing. It lias the liberality and mu-
nificence of nature, which not only produces the
necessary root and grain, but pours forth fruits and
flowers. It has the variety and bold contrasts of
nature, which, at the foot of the awful mountain,
scoops out the freshest, sweetest valleys, and embo-
soms, in the wild, troubled ocean, islands, whose
vernal airs, and loveliness, and teeming fruitful-
ness, almost breathe the joys of Paradise. Reli-
gion will accomplish for literature what it most
needs ; that is, will give it depth, at the same time
that it heightens its grace and beauty. The union
of these attributes is most to be desired. Our lite-
rature is lamentably superficial, and to some the
beautiful and the superficial even seem to be natu-
rally conjoined. Let not beauty be so wronged. It
resides chiefly in profound thoughts and feelings.
It overflows chiefly in the writings of poets, gifted
with a sublime and piercing vision. A beautiful
literature springs from the depth and fulness of in-
tellectual and moral life, from an energy of thought
and feeling, to which nothing, as we believe, minis-
ters so largely as enlightened religion.
So far from a monotonous solemnity overspreading
literature in consequence of the all-pervading influ-
ence of religion, we believe that the sportive and
comic forms of composition, instead of being aban-
doned, will only be refined and improved. We
know that these are suppose'! to be frowned upon
by piety; but they have their root in the constitu-
tion which God has given us, and ought not there-
fore to be indiscriminately condemned. The pro-
pensity to wit and laughter does indeed, through
excessive indulgence, often issue in a character of
heartless levity, low mimicry, or unfeeling ridicule.
It often seeks gratification in regions of impurity,
throws a gaiety round vice, and sometimes even
pours contempt on virtue. But, though often and
mournfully perverted, it is still a gift of God, and
may and ought to minister, not only to innocent
pleasure, but to the intellect and the heart. Man
was made for relaxation as truly as for labor; and
by a law of his nature, which has not received the
attention it deserves, lie finds perhaps no relaxation
so restorative, as that in which he reverts to his
childhood, seems -to forget his wisdom, leaves the
imagination to exhilarate itself by sportive inven-
tions, talks of amusing incongruities in conduct and
events, smiles at the innocent eccentricities and odd
mistakes of those whom he most esteems, allows
himself in arch allusions or kind-hearted satire, and
transports himself into a world of ludicrous combi-
nations. We have said, that, on these occasions, the
mind seems to put off its wisdom; but the truth is,
that, in a pure mind, wisdom retreats, if we may so
say, to its centre, and there, unseen, keeps guard
over this transient folly, draws delicate lines which
are never to be passed in the freest moments, and,
like a judicious parent, watching the sports of child-
hood, preserves a stainless innocence of soul in the
very exuberance of gaiety. This combination of
moral power with wit and humor, witli comic con-
ceptions and irrepressible laughter, this union of
mirth and virtue, belongs to an advanced stage of
the character ; and we believe, that, in proportion
to the diffusion of an enlightened religion, this action
of the mind will increase, and will overflow in com-
positions, which, joining innocence to sportiveness,
will communicate unmixed delight. Religion is not
at variance with occasional mirth. In the same
character, the solemn thought and the sublime emo-
tions of the improved Christian, may be joined with
the unanxious freedom, buoyancy, and "gaiety of
early years.
We will add but one more illustration of our
views. We believe, that the union of religion with
genius will favor that species of composition to
which it may seem at first to be least propitious.
We refer to that department of literature, which
has for its object the delineation of the stronger and
more terrible and guilty passions. Strange as it
may appear, these gloomy and appalling features of
our nature may be best comprehended and portrayed
by the purest and noblest minds. The common idea
is, that overwhelming emotions, the more they are
experienced, can the more effectually be described.
We have one strong presumption against this doc-
trine. Tradition leads us to believe, that Shake
speare, though h'e painted so faithfully and fearfully
the storms of passion, was a calm and cheerful man.
24:
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
The passions are too engrossed by their objects to
meditate on themselves ; and none are more igno-
rant of their growth and subtile workings, than
their own victims. Nothing reveals to us the secrets
of our own souls like religion ; and in disclosing to
us, in ourselves, the tendency of passion to absorb
every energy, and to spread its hues over every
thought, it gives us a key to all souls ; for, in all,
human nature is essentially one, having the same
spiritual elements, and the same grand features. So
man, it is believed, understands the wild and irregu-
lar motions of the mind, like him in whom a princi-
ple of divine order has begun to establish peace.
No man knows the horror of thick darkness which
gathers over the slaves of vehement passion, like
him who is rising into the light and liberty of virtue.
There is indeed a selfish shrewdness, which is thought
to give a peculiar and deep insight into human na-
ture. But the knowledge, of which it boasts, is I
partial, distorted, and vulgar, and wholly unfit for j
the purposes of literature. We value it little. "We |
believe, that no qualification avails so much to a
knowledge of human nature in all its forms, in its
good and evil manifestations, as that enlightened,
celestial charity, which religion alone inspires ; for
this establishes sympathies between us and all men,
and thus makes them intelligible to us. A man, i
imbued with this spirit, alone contemplates vice as it
really exists, and as it ought always to be described.
In the most depraved fellow-beings lie sees partakers
of his own nature. Amidst the terrible ravnges of
the passions, he sees conscience, though prostrate,
not destroyed, nor wholly powerless. He sees the
proofs of an unextinguished moral life, in inward
struggles, in occasional relentings, insighings for lost
innocence, in reviving throbs of early affections, in
the sophistry by which the guilty mind would be-
come reconciled to itself, in remorse, in anxious fore-
bodings, in despair, perhaps in studied recklessness
and cherished self-forgetfulness. These conflicts,
between the passions and the moral nature, are the
most interesting subjects in the branch of literature
to which we refer, and we believe, that to portray
them with truth and power, the man of genius can
find in nothing such effectual aid, as in the develop-
ment of the moral and religious principles in his
own breast.
HENET T. FAEMEE.
Heney T. Faemek was a native of England, who
emigrated to Charleston, S. 0., where he was for
some time engaged in commercial pursuits. He
afterwards retired from business, and removed to
New York for the purpose of studying medicine.
He received the instructions of Drs. Francis and
Hosack, was graduated at the College of Physi-
cians and Surgeons, and licensed as a physician
in 1821. During the progress of his studies he
published Imagination; the Maniacs Dream,
and other Poems, in a small volume. The collec-
tion is dedicated to Mrs. Charles Baring, the
wife of the author's uncle. This lady was, dur-
ing a portion of her career, an actress, and the
author of Virginia, Tlie Royal Recluse, Zulaine,
and other dramas, which were performed with
success. Several of the poems of the collection,
as the Essay on Taste, which has an appeal to
" Croaker," are addressed to Dr. Francis and
others of the writer's friends.
Farmer returned to Charleston, where he prac-
tised medicine until his death, at the age of forty-
six.
His verses show a ready pen; a taste for the
poetry of his day, a kindly susceptibility, and
.occasionally sound with'effect the louder notes of
the lyre.
THE WOES OF MODERN GEEECE. A PEIZE POEM.
There was a harp, that might thy woes rehearse,
In all the wild omnipotence of verse,
Imperial Greece! when wizard Homer's skill
Charm'd the coy muses from the woodland hill ;
When nature, lavish of her boundless store,
Poured all her gifts, while art still showered more ;
Thy classic chisel through each mountain rung,
Quick from its touch immortal labors sprung ;
Truth vied with fancy in the grateful strife,
And rocks assumed the noblest forms of life.
Alas ! thy land is now aland of wo ;
Thy muse is crowned with Druid misletoe.
See the lorn virgin with dishevelled hair,
To distant climes in 'wildered haste repair ;
Chill desolation seeks her favored bowers,
Neglect, that mildew, blasts her cherished flowers;
The spring may bid their foliage bloom anew,
The night may dress them in her fairy dew;
But what shall chase the winter-cloud of pain,
And bid her early numbers breathe again?
What spring shall bid her mental gloom depart?
Tie always winter in a bioken heart.
The aged Patriarch seeks the sea-beat strand,
To leave — for ever leave his native land ;
No sun shall cheer him with so kind a beam,
No fountain bless him with so pure a stream ;
Nay, should the exile through Elysium roam,
He leaves his heaven, when he leaves his home.
But, we may deeper, darker truth unfold.
Of matrons slaughtered, and of virgins sold,
Of shrines polluted by barbarian rage,
Of grey locks rifled from the head of age,
Of pilgrims murdered, and of chiefs defied,
Where Christians knelt, and Sparta's heroes died.
Once more thy chiefs their glittering arms resume,
For heaven, for vengeance, conquest or a tomb ;
With fixed resolve to be for ever free,
Or leave all Greece one vast Thermopylae.
Columbia, rise! A voice comes o'er the main,
To ask thy blessing, nor to ask in vain ;
Stand forth in bold magnificence, and be
For classic Greece, what France was once for thee.
So shall the gods each patriot bosom sway,
And make each Greek the hero of his day.
But, should thy wisdom and thy valor stand
On neutral ground — oh ! may thy generous hand
Assist her hapless warriors, and repair
Her altars, scath'd by sacrilege and care ;
Hail all her triumphs, all her ills deplore,
Nor let old Homer's manes beg once more.
TIMOTHY FLINT.
Timothy Flint was born in Reading, Massachu-
setts, in the year 1780, and was graduated at
Harvard in 1800. After two years of theological
study, he was ordained pa^or of the Congrega-
tional Church of Lunenburg, Worcester county,
where he remained for twelve years. In October,
1815, in consequence of ill health, he left with his
family for the west, in pursuit of a milder climate,
and change of scene. Crossing the Alleganies,
and descending the Ohio, he arrived at Cincinnati,
■ where he passed the winter months. Thefollowing
spring and summer were spent in travelling in Ohio,
Indiana, and Illinois, and after a halt at St. Louis,
where he was, so far as he could learn, the first
HENRY PICKERING.
25
Protestant minister who ever administered the
communion in the place, arrived at St. Charles
on the Missouri. He here established himself as
a missionary, and remained for three years thus
employed in the town and surrounding country.
He then removed to Arkansas, but returned after
a few months to St. Charles. In 1822 he visited
New Orleans, where he remained during the win-
ter, and passed the next summer in Covington,
Florida. Returning to Mew Orleans in the au-
tumn, he removed to Alexandria on the Red
River, in order to take charge of a school, but
was forced by ill health, after a year's residence,
to return to the North.
In 1826 he published an account of these
wanderings, and the scenes through which they
had led him, in his Recollections of the last Ten
Years passed in occasional residencies and journey-
ings in the Valley of the Mississippi, in a series
of letters to the Rev. James Flint, of Salem-, Mass.
It was successful, and was followed the same
year by Francis Berrian, or the Mexican Patriot,
a story of romantic adventure with the Coman-
ches, and of military prowess in the Mexican
struggle, resulting in the fall of Iturbide. The
book has now become scarce. In its day it was
better thought of by critics for its passages of
description, than for its story, which involved
many improbable and incongruous incidents.
His third Work, The Geography and History of the
Mississippi Valley, appeared at Cincinnati in
1827, in two octavo volumes. It is arranged ac-
cording to states, and gives ample information, in
a plain style, on the subject comprised in its title.
In 1828 he published Arthur Clenning, a ro-
mantic novel, in which the hero and heroine are
shipwrecked in the Southern Ocean, reach New
Holland, and after various adventures settle down
to rural felicity in Illinois. This was followed by
George Mason the Young Backwoodsman, and in
1830 by the ShoshoneeValley, the scene of which
is among the Indians of Oregon.
His next work, Lectures upon Natural History,
Geology, Chemistry, the Application of Steam,
and Interesting Discoveries in the Arts, was pub-
lished in Boston in 1832.
On the retirement of Mr. C. F. Hoffman from
the editorship of the Knickerbocker Magazine,
Mr. Flint succeeded to his post for a few months
in the year 1833. He translated about the same
time Hart d'etre hsureuse by Droz, with ad-
ditions of his own, and a novel entitled, Celibacy
Vanquished, or the Old, Bachelor Reclaimed. In
1834 he removed to Cincinnati, where he edited
the Western Monthly Magazine for three years,
contributing to it and to other periodicals as well,
a number of tales and essays. In 1835 he fur-
nished a series of Sketches of the Literature of
the United States to the London Athenffium.
He afterwards removed to Louisiana, and in May,
1840, returned to New England on a. visit for tlie
benefit of his health. Halting at Natchez on his
way, he was for some hours buried in the rufns
of a house thrown down, with many others, by the
violence of a tornado. On his arrival at Reading
his illness increased, and he wrote to his wife
that his end would precede her reception of his
letter, an announcement which hastened her own
death and anticipated his own, by but a short
time however, as he breathed Ms last on the
eighteenth of August.
THE 6IIORES OF THE OHIO.
It was now the middle of November. The
weather up to this time had been, with the excep-
tion of a couple of days of fog and rain, delightful.
The sky has a milder and lighter azure than that of
the northern states. The wide, clean sand-bars
stretching for miles together, and now and then a
flock of wild geese, swans, or sand-hill cranes, and
pelicans, stalking along on them; the infinite varie-
ties of form of the towering bluffs; the new tribes
of shrubs and plants on the shores; the exuberant
fertility of the soil, evidencing itself in the natural
as well as cultivated vegetation, in the height and
size of the corn, of itself alone a matter of astonish-
ment to au inhabitant of the northern states, in
the thrifty aspect of the young orchards, literally
bending under their fruit, the surprising size and
raukness of the weeds, and, in the enclosures where
cultivation had been for a while suspended, the
matted abundance of every kind of vegetation that
ensued, — all these circumstances united to give a
novelty and freshness to tlie scenery. The bottom
forests everywhere display the huge sycamore,
the king of the western forest, in all places an in-
teresting tree, but particularly so here, and in au-
tumn, when you see its white and long branches
among its red and yellow fading leaves. You may
add, that in all the trees that have been stripped of
their leaves, you see them crowned with verdant
tufts of the viscus or mistletoe, with its beautiful
white berries, and their trunks entwined with grape-
vines, some of them in size not much short of the
human body. To add to this union of pleasant cir-
cumstances, there is a delightful temperature of the
air, more easily felt than described. In New Eng-
land, when the sk-y was partially covered with fleecy
clouds, and tlie wind blew very gently from the south-
west, I have sometimes had the same sensations from
the temperature there, A slight degree of languor
ensues ; and the irritability that is caused by the
rougher and more bracing air of tlie north, and which
is more favourable to physical strength and activity
than enjoyment, gives place to a tranquillity highly
propitious to meditation. There is something, too,
in the gentle and almost imperceptible motion, as you
sit on the deck of the boat, and see the trees ap-
parently moving by you, and new groups of scenery
still opening upon your eye, together with the view
of these ancient and magnificent forests, which the
axe has not yet despoiled, the broad and beautiful
river, the earth and the sky, which render such a
trip at this season the very element of poetry. Let
him that bus within him the bona indoles, the poetic
mania, asyetunwhipt of justice, not think to sail down
the Ohio under such circumstances, without venting
to the genius of the river, the rocks, and the woods,
the swans, and perchance his distant beloved, his
dolorous notes.
HENEY PICKERING.
Henry, the third son of Colonel Timothy Picker-
ing and Rebecca Pickering, was born on the 8th
of October, 1781, at Newhurgh, in the Hasbrouck
house, memorable as having been the headquar-
ters of General Washington. Colonel Pickering
was at the time quartermaster-general of the army
26
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
of the Confederated States, and was absent with
the commander-in-chief at the siege of Yorktown.
In 1801, after a long residence in Pennsylvania,
Colonel Pickering returned with his family to his
native state, Massachusetts ; and subsequently
Henry engaged in mercantile pursuits in Salem.
In the course of a few years he acquired a mode-
rate fortune, which he dispensed most liberally ;
among other things, contributing largely towards
the support of bin father's family and the educa-
tion of its younger members. In 1825, in conse-
quence of pecuniary losses, he removed from Sa-
lem to New York, in the hope of retrieving his
affairs; but being unsuccessful in business, he re-
tired from the city, and resided several years at
Eondout, and other places on the banks of the
Hudson, devoting much of his time to reading,
and finding in poetical composition a solace for
his misfortunes. His writings take occasionally
a sombre tint from the circumstances which shad-
ed the latter years of his life, although his na-
tural temperament was cheerful. He was a lover
of the beautiful, as well in art as in nature, and
he numbered among his friends the most eminent
poets and artists of our country. An amiable
trait in his character was a remarkable fondness
for children, to whom he was endeared by his
attentions. The affection with which he regarded
his mother was peculiarly strong ; and he deemed
himself highly blest in having parents, the one
distinguished for ability, integrity, and public
usefulness,, the other, beautiful, pure, gentle, and
loving.
^A>/ta,
The following just tribute to his memory ap-
peared in the Salem Gazette, in May, 1838 : —
" Died in New York on the 8th instant Henry
Pickering His remains were brought to
this city on Friday last, and deposited at the side
of the memorial which filial piety had erected to
the memory of venerated parents — and amid the
ancestral group which has been collecting since
the settlement of the country.
" A devoted, affectionate, and liberal son and
brother, he entwined around him the best and
the warmest feelings of his family circle. To his
friends and acquaintances he was courteous, deli-
cate, and refined in his deportment. "With a
highly cultivated and tasteful mind he imparted
pleasant instruction to all who held intercourse
with him, while his unobtrusive manners silently
forced themselves on the affections, and won the
hearts of all who enjoyed his society."
The poems of Pickering are suggested by sim-
ple, natural subjects, and are in a healthy vein of
reflection. A flower, a bird, a waterfall, child-
hood, maternal affection are his topics, with which
he blends his own gentle moods. The Buck-wheat
C'aJce, which we print with his own corrections,
first appeared in the New York Evening Post,
and was published in an edition, now race, in
Boston, in 1831.
THE HOUSE IN WHICH I WAS BORN : ONCE THE HEADQUAETEE8
OF WASHINGTON.
Square, and rough-hewn, and solid is the mass,
And ancient, if aught ancient here appear
Beside yon rock-ribb'd bills : but many a year
Hath into dim oblivion swept, alas!
Since bright in arms, the worthies of the land
Were here assembled. Let me reverent tread ;
For now, meseems, the spirits of the dead
Are slowly gatherii g round, while I am fann'd
By gales unearthly. Ay, they hover near —
Patriots and Heroes — the august and great —
The founders of a young and mighty state,
Whose grandeur who shall tell? With holy fear,
While tears unbidden my dim eyes suffuse,
I mark them one by one, and marvelling, muse.
ii.
I gaze, but they have vanish'd! and the eye,
Free now to roam from where I take my stand,
Dwells on the hoary pile. Let no rash hand
Attempt its desecration : for though I
Beneath the sod shall sleep, and memory's sigh
Be there for ever stifled in tins breast, —
Yet all who boast them of a land so blest,
Whose pilgrim feet may some day hither hie, —
Shall melt, alike, and kindle at the thought
That these rude walls have echoed to the sound
Of the great Patriots voice ! that even the ground
I tread was trodden too by him who fought
To make us free ; and whose unsullied name,
fetill, like the sun, illustrious shines the same.
THE DISMANTLED CABINET.
Go, beautiful creations of the mind,
Fair forms of earth and heaven, and scenes as fair —
Where Art appears with Nature's loveliest air —
Go, glad the few upon whom Fortune kind
Yet lavishes her smiles. When calmly shin'd
My hours, ye did not fail a zest most rare
To add to life ; and when oppress'd by care,
Or sadness twin'd, as she hath often twiu'd,
With cypress wreath my brow, even then ye threw
Around enchantment. But though I deplore
The separation, in the mirror true
Of mind, I yet shall see you as before:
Then, go! like friends that vanish from our view,
Though ne'er to be forgot, we part to meet no more.
THE BUCKWHEAT CAKE.
But neither breath of morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun
On this delightful land ; nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glistering with dew, nor fragra ce after showers ;
Nor grateful evening, without thee is sweet 1
Muse, that upon the top of Pindus sitt'st,
And with the enchanting accents of thy lyre
Dost soothe the immortals, while thy influence sweet
Earth's fuvor'd bards confess, be present now ;
Breathe through my soul, inspire thyself the song,
And upward bear me in the adventurous flight:
Lo the resistless theme — The Buckwheat Cake.
HENRY PICKERING.
27
Let others boastful sing the golden ear
Whose farinaceous treasures, by nice art
And sleight of hand, with store of milk and eggs,
Form'd into pancakes of an ample round,
Might please an epicure — and homebred bards
Delight to celebrate the tassell'd maize
Worn in the bosom of the Indian maid,
Who taught to make the hoe-cake, (dainty fare,
When butter'd well!) I envy not their joys.
How easier of digestion, and, beyond
Compare, more pure, more delicate, the cake
All other cakes above, queen of the whole,
And triumph of the culinary art —
The Buckwheat Cake! my passion when a boy,
And still the object of intensest love —
Love undivided, knowing no decline,
Immutable. My benison on thee,
Thou glorious Plant! that thus with gladness
crown'dst
Life's spring-time, and beneath bright Summer's eye,
Lured'st me so oft to revel with the bee.
Among thy snow-white flowers: naj', that e'en yet
Propitious, amidst visions of the past
"Which seem to make my day-dreams now of joy,
Giv'st me to triumph o'er the ills of time.
Thou, when the sun " pours down his sultry wrath,"
Scorching the earth and withering every flower,
Unlo'k'st, beneficent, thy fragrant cells,
And lavishest thy perfume on the ai]';
But when brown Autumn sweeps along the glebe,
Gathering the hoar-frost in her rustling train,
Thou eaptivat'st my heart! for thou dost then
Wear a rich purple tint, the sign most sure
That nature hath performed her kindly task,
Leaving the husbandman to sum his wealth,
And thank the bounteous Gods. O, now be wise,
Ye swains, and use the scythe most gently ; else
The grain, plump and well-ripen'd, breaks the tie
Which slightly binds it to the parent stalk,
And falls in rattling showers upon the ground.
Mocking your futile toil; or, mingled straight
With earth, lies buried deep, with all the hopes
Of disappointed man ! Soon as the scythe
Hath done its work, let the rake follow slow,
With caution gathering up into a swarth
The lusty corn ; which the prompt teamster next,
Or to the barn floor clean transports, or heaps
Remorseless on the ground, there to be thresh'd —
Dull work, and most unmusical the flail !
And yet, if ponderous rollers smooth the soil.
The earth affords a substitute not mean
For the more polish'd plank ; and they who boast
The texture of their meal — the sober race
That claim a peaceful founder for their state —
(Title worth all the kingdoms of the world!)
Do most affect the practice. But a point,
So subtile, others may debate: enough
For me, if, when envelop'd in a cloud
Of steam, hot from the griddle, I perceive,
On tasting, no rude mixture in the cake,
Gravel, or sandy particle, to the ear
Even painful, and most fearful in effect:
For should the jaws in sudden contact meet,
The while, within a luscious morsel hid.
Some pebble conies between, lo! as the gates
Of Hell, they " grate harsh thunder ;" and the man
Aghast, writhing with pain, the table spurns,
And looks with loathing on the rich repast.
But now, his garners full, and the sharp air,
And fancy keener still, the appetite
Inspiriting, to the mill, pereh'd near some crag
Down which the foamy torrent rushes loud,
The farmer bears his grist. And here I must
To a discovery rare, in time advert :
For the pure substance dense which is conceal'd
Within the husk, and which, by process quick
As simple, is trausform'd to meal, should first
Be clean divested of its sombre coat :
The which effected, 'tween the whizzing stones
Descends the kernel, beauteous, and reduced
To dust impalpable, comes drifting out
In a white cloud. Let not the secret, thus
Divulg'd be lost on you, ye delicate!
Unless, in sooth, conviue'd ye should prefer
A sprinkling of the bran ; for 'tis by some
Alleg'd that this a higher zest confers.
Who shall decide? Epicurean skill
I boast not, nor exactest taste ; but if
I am to be the umpire, then I say,
As did the Baratarian king, of sleep —
My blessing on the man who first the art
Divine invented ! Ay, let the pure flour
Be like the driven snow, bright to the eye,
And unadulterate. So jovial sous
Of Bacchus, with electric joy, behold
"The dancing ruby ;" then, impatient, toss
The clear unsullied draught. But is there aught
In the inebriate cup, to be compar'd
To the attractive object of my love,
The Buckwheat Cake? Let those who list, still quaff
The madd'ning juice, and, in their height of bliss,
Believe that such, she of the laughing eye
And lip of rose, celestial Hebe, deals
Among the Gods; but O, ye Powers divine!
If e'er ye listen to a mortal's prayer,
Still give me my ambrosia. This confers
No " pains arthritic," racking every joint.
But leaves the body healthful, and the mind
Serene and imperturb'd. — A nicer art
Than all, remains yet to be taught; but dare
I venture on the theme? Ye Momus tribes,
Who l.'iugh even wisdom into scorn— and ye,
Authoritative dames, who wave on high
Your sceptre-spit, away ! and let the nymph
Whose smiles betoken pleasure in the task,
(If task it be.) brii g forth the polish'd jar ;
Or, wanting such, one of an humbler sort,
Earthen, but smooth within: although nor gold,
Nor silver vase, like those once used, in times
Remote, by the meek children of the Sun,
(Ere tyrant Spain had steep'd their land in gore,)
Were of too cosily fabric. But, at once,
Obedient to the precepts of the muse,
Pour in the tepid stream, warm but not hot,
And pure as water from Castnlian spring.
Yet interdicts she not the balmy tide
Which flows from the full udder, if preferr'd;
This, in the baking, o'er the luscious cake,
Diffuses a warm golden hue — but that
Frugality commends and Taste approves:
Though if the quantity of milk infus'd
Be not redundant, none can take offence.
Let salt the liquid mass impregnate next ;
And then into the deep, capacious urn,
Adroitly sift the inestimable dust,
Stirring, meanwhile, with paddle firmly held,
The thickening fluid. Sage Discretion here
Can best determine the consistence fit,
Nor thin, nor yet too thick. Last add the barm —
The living spirit which throughout the whole
Shall quickly circulate, and airy, light,
Bear upward by degrees the body dull.
Be prudent now, nor let the appetite
Too keen, urge forward the last act of all.
Time, it is true, may move with languid wing,
And the impatient soul demand the eate
Delicious ; yet would I advise to bear
A transient ill, and wait the award of Fate,
2S
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
The sluggish mass must be indulg'd, till, wak'd
By the ethereal spirit, it shall mount
From its dark cell, and court the upper air ;
For, bak'd too soon, the cake, compact and hard,
To the dissolving butter entrance free
Denies, while disappointment and disgust
Prey on the heart. Much less do thou neglect
The auspicious moment ! Thee, nor business then
Must urgent claim, nor love the while engross :
For, ever to the skies aspiring still,
The fluid vivified anon ascends,
Disdains all bound, and o'er the vase's side
Flows awful ! till, too late admonish'd, thou
The miserable waste shalt frantic see,
And, in the acid draff within, perceive
Thy hopes all frustrate. Thus Vesuvius in
Some angry hour, 'mid flames and blackening smoke,
From his infuriate crater pours profuse
The fiery lava — deluging the plains,
And burying in its course cities, and towns,
And fairest works of art! But, to avert
Catastrophe so dire, the griddle smooth, —
Like steely buckler of the heroic age,
Elliptical, or round — and for not less
Illustrious use design'd — make ready quick.
Rubb'd o'er the surface hot, a little sand
Will not be useless ; this each particle
Adhesive of the previous batch removes,
And renders easy the important work,
To gracefully reverse the half-bak'd cake.
With like intent, the porker's salted rind,
Mov'd to and fro, must lubricate the whole :
And this perform'd, let the white batter stream
Upon the disk opaque, 'till silver'd o'er
Like Cynthia's, it enchants the thoughtful soul.
Impatient of restraint, the liquid spreads.
And, as it spreads, a thousand globules rise,
Glistening, but like the bubble joy, soon burst,
And disappear. Ah, seize the occasion fair,
Nor hesitate too long the cake to turn ;
Which, of a truth, unsightly else must look,
And to the experiene'd, nicer palate, prove
Distasteful, See ! 'tis done : and now, O now
The precious treat ! spongy, and soft, and brown ;
Exhaling, as it comes, a vapor bland :
While, all emboss'd witli flowers, (to be dissolv'd,
Anon, as with the breath of the warm South,)
Upon the alluring board the butter gleams —
Not rancid, fit for appetite alone
Of coarsest gust, but delicate and pure,
And golden like the morn. Yet one thing more ; —
The liquid amber which, untir'd, the bee
From many a bloom distils for thankless man ;
For man, who, when her services are o'er,
The little glad purveyor of his board
Remorseless kills. But to the glorious feast !
Ye Gods ! from your Olympian heights descend,
And share with me what ye, yourselves, shall own
Far dearer than ambrosia. That, indeed,
May haply give a zest to social mirth,
And, with the alternate cup, exhilarate
The sons of heaven : but my nepenthe rare.
Not only cheers the heart, but from the breast
Care, grief, and every nameless ill dispels —
Yielding a foretaste of immortal joy !
HENEY J. FINN.
Heney J. Finn was born in the city of New
York, in the year 1782. When a boy he sailed
for England, on the invitation of a rich uncle
resident there. The vessel sank at sea, and the
passengers and crew were for many days exposed
in small boats until they were picked up by a ship
which landed them at Falmouth. Finn resided
in London until the death of his uncle, who made
no mention of him in his will. He then returned
to New York in 1799, studied law for two years,
— became tired of the profession, returned to
London, and made his first appearance at the
Haymarket Theatre ■' in the little part of Thomas
in the Sleep Walker." He continued on the stage
with success, and in 1811 returning to America
made his first appearance at Montreal. He next
performed in New York, and afterwards became
a member of the stock company of the Federal
Street Theatre, Boston. Here he remained for
several years, and was at one time manager of
the theatre. He was extremely successful here,
and in every part of the country which he sub-
sequently visited, as a comic actor, and accumu-
lating a handsome fortune, retired in the intervals
of his engagements to an elegant residence at
Newport, fie was on his way to his pleasant
home, when with many others he met a sudden
and awful death, in the conflagration of the steam-
boat Lexington on the night of January 13, 1840.
Finn was celebrated as a comic writer as well
as a comic actor. He published a Comic Annual,
and a number of articles in various periodicals.
The bills of his benefit nights were, says Mr.
Sargent, " usually made up of the most extra-
ordinary and inconceivable puns, for which his
own name furnished prolific materials."* He
wrote occasional pathetic pieces, which possess
much feeling and beauty, and left behind him a
MS. tragedy, portions of which were published
in the New York Mirror, to which he was a con-
tributor in 1839. He also wrote a patriotic drama
entitled Montgomery, or the Falls of Montmo-
renci, which was acted at Boston with success
and published. He was a frequent versifier, and
turned off a song with great readiness. He also pos-
sessed some ability as a miniature and landscape
painter. Of his ingenious capacity in the art of
punning, a paragraph from a sketch of May Day
in New York in his " Comic Annual," may be
taken as a specimen.
Then hogs have their essoine, the cart-horse is
thrown upon the cart, and clothes-horses are broken
upon the wheel. Old jugs, like old jokes, are cracked
at their owners' expense, sofas lose their castors,
and castors forsake their cruets, tumblers turn sum-
mersets, plates are dished ; bellows, like bankrupts,
can raise the wind no more, dog-irons go to pot, and
pots go to the dogs ; spiders are on the fly, the safe
is not safe, the deuce is played with the tray, straw
beds are down. It is the spring with cherry trees,
but the fall with cherry tables, for they lose their
leaves, and candlesticks their branches. The whole
family of the brushes — hearth, hair, hat, clothes,
flesh, tooth, nail, crumb, and blacking, are brushing
off. Books, like ships, are outward bound ; Scott's
novels become low works, Old Mortality is in the
dust, and Kenilworth is worthless in the kennel.
Presidential pamphlets are paving the way for new
candidates, medical tracts become treatises on the
stone, naval tacticians descend to witness the novelty
of American flags having been put down, and the
advocates of liberality in thought, word, and deed,
are gaining ground. Then wooden ware is every
where. Pails are without the pale of preservation,
* Life by Epes Sargent, in Griswold's Biographical Annual.
1841,
DANIEL WEBSTER.
29
and tlie tale of a tub, at which the washerwoman
wrings her hands, in broken accents tells
Of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents byjiood and field,
Tbat wind up the travel's history
of a New York comic annual celebration.
DANIEL WEBSTER.
Daniel Webstek was born in the town of Salis-
bury, New Hampshire, Jan. 18, 1782. His father,
a farmer, and according to the habit of the conn-
try and times an inn-keeper, a man of sterling
character and intelligence, Major Ebenezer Web-
ster, was a pioneer settler in the region on one of
the townships?" established after the conclusion
of the old French War, in which he had served
under Amherst at Ticonderoga. He was subse-
quently a soldier of the Revolution, with Stark at
Bennington, and saw the surrender of Burgoyne
at Saratoga. lie closed his life in the honorable
relation of Judge of the Court of Common Pleas
in 1806, at the age of sixty-seven. His son, in
one of his Franklin letters, describes him as " the
handsomest man I ever saw, except my brother
Ezekiel," and adds, " he had in him what, I
recollect to have been the character of some of
the old Puritans. He was deeply religious, but
not sour — on the contrary, good-humored, face-
tious— showing even in his age, with a contagious
laugh, teeth, all as white as alabaster — gentle,
soft, playful — and yet having a heart in him that
lie seemed to have borrowed from a lion."t Web-
ster's first speech at the bar was while his father
was on the bench; he never heard him again.
The future orator received his first education
from his mother. In 1796 he was for a few
months at Phillips (Exeter) Academy, under the
charge of Dr. Benjamin Abbott,! making his
preparations for college, which he completed
under the Rev. Dr. Samuel Wood, of Boscawen,
one of the trustees who facilitated his admission.
He entered Dartmouth in 1797, and having over-
come by his diligence the disadvantages of his
hasty preparation, took his degree, with good
* It was in reference to this early habitation that Daniel
Webster, in a speech at Saratoga in 1840, paid an elegant tri-
bute to the memory of his lather. He described the log-cabin
in which his elder brothers and sisters were born, " raised
amid the snow-drifts of New Hampshire, at a period so early,
that when the smoke first rose from its rude chimney, and
curled over the frozen hills, there was no similar evidence
of a white man's habitation between it and the settlements on
the rivers of Canada. Its remains still exist. I make to it an
annual visit. I carry iny childreu to it, to teach them the
hardships endured by the generations which have gone before
them. *' * I weep to think that none of those who inhabited
it are now among the living, and if ever I am ashamed of it,
or if I ever fail in affectionate veneration for him who raised
it and defended it against savage violence and destruction,
cherished all the domestic virtues beneath its roof, and through
the- tire and blood of a seven years' revolutionary war. shrunk
from no danger, no toil, no sacrifice to serve his country, and
to raise his children to a condition better than his own. may
my name and the name of my posterity, be blotted for ever
from the memory of mankind.''
t Letter of Webster, Franklin, Mav 3, 1S46. Memorials
(Appleton). ii. 243.
i This school was founded in 1778 by John Phillips, a gra-
duate of Harvard, son of a pious minister of Andovcr, ia con-
junction with his bro ber, Samuel Phillips, of Andover. In
17S9 John Phillips gave a further sum of $20,000, and be-
queathed two thirds of his estate to the same object. He died
in 179o. Dr. Abbott was the principal of this academy for fiftv
years, from 17S9. At the close of that period he retired from
his position, on which occasion a festival of the pupils was
held, and speeches were made by Webster, Everett, and
others. .Anions his pupils, of the public men of the country,
had been Cass, Woodbury, the Everetts, Sparks, Bancroft.
reputation as a scholar, Aug. 26, 1801. In con-
sequence of a difficulty with the Faculty respect-
ing the appointments, he did not speak at the
Commencement. There was a sharp feeling of
competition growing out of the rival literary
societies, which led him to resent the assignment
of the chief post, the Latin Salutatory, to another;
while the Faculty thought his fine talents in Eng-
lish composition might be better displayed in an
oration on the fine arts or a poem.* He deli-
vered a discourse the day previously, before the
College Societies, on The Influence of Opinion.
Subsequently, in 1806, he pronounced the Phi
Beta Kappa College oration, on The Patronage
of Literature.
While in College, in his nineteenth year, in
1800, he delivered a Fourth of July oration at
the request of the citizens of Hanover, which was
printed at the time. It is patriotic of cuurse,
and energetic, well stored with historical mate-
rial, for Webster was not, even in a Fourth of
July oration in youth, a sounder of empty words.
A funeral oration, which he pronounced a short
time before leaving college, on the death of
Ephraira Simonds, a member of the Senior Class,
has that dignity of enumeration which is notice-
able in Webster's later orations of this description.
" All of him that was mortal," he spoke, " now
lies in the charnel of yonder cemetery. By the
grass that nods over the mounds of Sumner, Mer-
rill, and Cooke, now rests a fourth son of Dart-
mouth, constituting another monument of man's
mortality. The sun, as it sinks to the ocean,
plays its departing beams on his tomb, but they
reanimate him not. The cold sod presses on his
bosom ; his hands hang down in weakness. The
bird of the evening chants a melancholy air on the
poplar, but her voice is stillness to his ears.
While his pencil was drawing scenes of future
felicity', — while his soul fluttered on the gay
breezes of hope. — an unseen hand drew the cur-
tain, and shut him from our view.''!
Upon leaving college, Webster began the study
of the. law with Thomas W. Thompson, a lawyer
of distinction, who was subsequently sent to the
United States Senate, and presently left, to take
charge, for a year, of the town academy at Frye-
burg, in Maine, with a salary of three hundred
and fifty dollars, which he was enabled to save
by securing the post of Assistant to the Register
i of Deeds to the county, and with which he
managed to provide something to support him in
; his legal studies, and for his brother Ezekiel's
, education. In 1802 he returned to the office of
Thompson at Salisbury, and two years afterwards
went to Boston, where he completed his legal
studies with the Hon. Christopher Gore. lie
' was admitted to the Suffolk bar in 1S05. To be
near his father lie opened an office fir the prac-
tice of his profession at Boscawen, N. H. After
his father's death he removed to Portsmouth in
his native state, where he maintained himself till
1816. In 1808 he had married the daughter of
the Rev. Mr. Fletcher, of Hopkinton," N". H.f
* Prof. Sanborn, of Dartmouth. Eulogy on Wcoster before
the Students of Phillips Academy, Andover.
t Lyman's Memorials of Webster, i. 246.
% This lady died in 1S27, leaving four children— Grace, who
died early : Fletcher, who survives his father; Julia, married
to Mr. Appleton, of Boston, and since dead; and Edward, who
30
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
In 1812 he delivered a Fourth of July oration at
Portsmouth, hefore the Washington Benevolent
Society, on the Principal Maxims of Washing-
tori's Administration.
In 1813 he was elected to the House of Repre-
sentatives, and made his maiden speech on the
Berlin and Milan decrees. In 1814 he was re-
elected. In New Hampshire his legal course was
sustained by association with Dexter, Story,
Smith, and Mason. In Congress, he at once took
his place with the solid and eloquent men of the
House. In 1816 he removed to Boston, pursuing
his profession with the highest distinction. In
1823 he again took his seat in the House of Re-
presentatives, and made his speech on the Greek
Revolution, 19th Jan., 1824, a speech which
added greatly to his reputation. He was re-
elected— out of five thousand votes only ten being
cast against him, and a similar event took place
in 1826. The more prominent general addresses
date from this period.
In December, 1820, while a member of the
Convention to revise the Ctn^titution of Massa-
chusetts, he delivered his Plymouth oration on
The First Settlement of New England.
The first Bunker Hill speech was delivered
June 17, 1825. when the corner-stone of the
monument was laid ; the second exactly eighteen
years afterwards on its completion. His Discourse
in Commemoration of Jefferson and Adams was
pronounced at Faneuil Hall, August 2, 1826.
In 1827 he was elected to the Senate, where he
continued for twelve years, during the adminis-
trations of Jackson and Van Buren. His brother,
Ezekiel Webster, fell in court at Concord while
pleading a cause, and died instantaneously, of
disease of the heart, in 1829. In 1830, his cele-
brated oratorical passage with Col. Robert Y.
Hayne, of South Carolina,* occurred, in reply to
an attack upon New England, and an assertion
of the nullification doctrines. The scene has
been described both by pen and pencil, the artist
Healy having made it the subject of a large his-
torical picture. The contest embodied the an-
tagonism for the time between the North and
the South. Hayne, rich in elocution and ener-
getic in bearing, was met by the cool argument
and clear statement of Webster rising to his grand
peroration, which still furnishes a national watch-
word of Union. It was observed, on this occa-
sion, that Webster wore the colors of the Whig
party of the Revolution, a blue coat and butt'
fell a Major In the Mexican war. In 1531 'Webster married a
second time. Caroline, daughter of Herman Le Roy, of New
York, by whom be bad no children.
* Robert Y. Hayne was born in the parish of St. Paul. South
Carolina. Nov. In. 1791. His grandfather was a brother of the
Revolutionary martyr, Col. Isaac Hayne. He was a law pupil
of Langdon Cheves, and rose rapidly at the bar in Charleston.
He began his political career in the state legislature in his
twenty-third year, Was soon Speaker of the House, and Attor-
uey-Geneial of the State. He took his seat in the United
States Senate, in his thirty-first year, as soon as he was eligible
for the office. He resigned his seat in 1S82. to take the "post
of Governor of the State in the nullification days, when he
issued ;i counter proclamation in reply to that of President
Jackson. When the matter was adjusted he turned his atten-
tion to state improvement, in the midst of which be was
taken with a mortal illness, and died in his forty-eighth 3rear,
Sept., 1S89. Besides his speeches in the Senate, characterized
by their ability and eloquenc , he was .the author of the papers
in the old Smittiern Review on improvement of the navy, and
the vindication of the memory of his relative, Col, Hayne. —
Life, Character, and Speeches, of the late Robert Y. Hayne,
Oct., 1S46.
waistcoat, which was afterwards his not unusual
oratorical costume. Webster's stalwart appear-
ance, his fine olive complexion, his grave weighty
look, his " cavernous eyes," which Miss Mar-
tineau and the newspaper writers celebrated,
were no unimportant accessories to his oratory.
Qttffn^- #&&&*.
Many of the speeches of Webster of this period
were in opposition to the financial policy of the
government. In the spring and summer of 1839
he visited England and France, and was received
with the greatest distinction in both countries;
where his reputation, personal and political, as a
man and an orator was well established. He spoke
on several public occasions, but the only instance in
wdiich his remarks have been preserved at length
was his speech on his favorite topic of agriculture
at the Triennial Celebration of the Royal Society
of Agriculture at Oxford.* On his return he en-
gaged in the presidential contest which resulted
in the election of General Harrison, under wdiose
administration he became Secretary of State in
1841. To complete the adjustment of the boun-
dary question and other outstanding difficulties
j with England, he retained office under Tyler till
j 1843. In 1845, in the Presidency of Polk, he
i returned to his seat in the Senate, where he con-
tinued till he was called by Fillmore to the de-
partment of State again in 1850. He had pre-
viously sustained the Compromise Measures with
the full weight of his ability, both in Congress
and in numerous "Union" speeches throughout
■ the country. He should have had the Whig no-
: mination to the Presidency, but the availability
1 of Scott interposed. The frequent engagements of
Webster at Conventions and gatherings through
the States, endeared him much in his latter days
to the people. He spoke at the opening of the
Erie Railroad in 1851 ; he delivered a discourse
on his favorite books and studies before the New
York Historical Society, in February, 1852; and
in the same month presided at the Metropolitan
Hall assembly, when Bryant read his eulogy on
• July 18, 1S30.
DANIEL WEBSTER.
31
the novelist Cooper. In May he made his last
great speech in Faneuil Hall to the men of
Boston.
It was in office, the active service of the public,
with scant intervals for recreation, and but a few
months' travel away from his native land, that he
had passed his life, and in the harness of office, as
Secretary of State, he died. Since the deaths
of Washington and Hamilton, no similar event
had so deeply moved the country. The national
heart throbbed with the pulsations of the telegraph
which carried the news of his last moments
through the land. Calmly, courageoudy, in the
full exercise of his faculties, he discharged his
last duties for his country, and watching the fall-
ing sands of life, discoursed with his friends of
religion and immortality. The first intimation
which the public received of his serious illness,
was mist touchingly conveyed in a newspaper
article which aopaared in the Boston Courier
of the date of October 20, entitled, " Mr. Webster
at Marshfield." Its author, who is understood to
have been Professor C. C. Felton of Harvard
College, after reviewing his recent political course,
described the noble natural features of his farm,
as a framework for a notice of its owner, to
whom the writer passed by a masterly transition.
"As you look down from thjse hills, your heart
beats with the unspeakable emotion that such ob-
jects inspire; but the charm is heightened by the
reflection that the capabilities of nature have
been unfolded by the skill and taste of one whose
faui3 fills the world; that an illustrious existence
has here blended its activity with the processes
of the genial earth, and breathed its power into
the breath of heaven, and drawn its inspiration
from the air, the sea, and the sky, and around and
above ; and that here, at this moment, the same
illustrious existence is, for a time, struggling in
doubtful contest with a foe to whom all men
must, sooner or later, lay down their arms. * *
Solemn thoughts exclude from his mind the in-
ferior topics of the fleeting hour ; and the great
and awful themes of the future now seemingly
opening before him— themes to which his mind has
alwavs and instinctively turned its profoundest
meditations, now fill the hours won from the weary
Iassitu le of illness, or from the public duties
which sickness an I retirement cannot make him
forget or neglect. The eloquent speculations of
Cicero on the immortality of the soul, and the ad-
mirable argumsnts against the Epicurean philoso-
phy put into the mouth of one of the colloquists
in the book of the Nature of the Gods, share his
thoughts with the sure testimony of the Word of
God." Two days after, the telegraph bore this
brief announcem ;nt from B iston — " A special mes-
senger from Marshfield arrived here this morning,
with the melanch dy intelligencs that Daniel
Webster cannot live through the day." From
that moment, almo?t hourly, news was borne
through the country to the end, between two and
three o'clock on the morning of Sunday, October
21, 1852.
Am mg the last words which .Webster listened
to, and in which be expressed an interest, were
some stanzas of Gray's Elegy, which he had endea-
vored to recall, and the sublime consolation of the
Psalmist, repeated by his physician, Dr. Jeffries :
— " Though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death I will fear no evil, for Thou art
with me ; Thy rod and thy staff they comfort
me." The last words he uttered were, " I still
live."*
Then it was felt how great a heart the mask of
life had covered. Death, in the grand language
of Bacon, had " opened the gate to good fame,
and extinguished envy." Traits of the nobility
of the man were called to mind. It was remem-
bered how he had dwelt upon the simple uni-
versal ideas of the elements, the sea rolling before
him at Marshfield ; the starry heavens shining
through the foliage of the elm at his door; the
purpling of the dawn ;t his admiration of the
psalms and the prophets, and the primeval book
of Job ; bis dying kindness to his friend Har-
vey,]: and the friendly intercourse which he had
sustained with the country people around, whose
love for their rural occupations he bad exalted;
and bow in bis last days, when too feeble to leave
his room, he bad refreshed his mind with those
favorite pursuits, by looking at the cattle, which
he had caused to be driven to the window.
Funeral honors were paid to his memory in the
chief cities of the Union by processions and orations.
His interment took place at Marshfield on Friday
the 29th October. His remains, dressed as when
living, were conveyed from the library to a bier in
front of the bouse, beneath his favorite elm. The
funeral services were performed by the pastor of
the neighboring church at South Marshfield, when
the numerous procession, including delegates from
various public bodies of several States, followed to
the tomb, built for its new occupant, for his fa-
mily and himself, on an elevation commanding a
view of the country around, and of the sea.
Here he rests. A marble block, since placed in
front of the tomb, bears the legend : " Lord, I
believe, help thou my unbelief."§
* It may be recalled that the poet Dwight, in his last hours,
was consoled by the same text of Scripture ; and that a similar
expression was among the lost which fell from the lips of
Priestley.
An authentic account of Webster's illness and death was
prepared by Mr. George Tirknor, and is published in the ele-
gantly printed volume " A Memorial of Daniel Webster, from
the city of Boston," published in 1S53, which contains the obi-
tuary proceedings and orations of the courts and various so-
cieties, as well as Professor Fclton's notice of" the last autumn
at Marshfield."
t lie took refuge in these remote Starr}' suggestions, placing
the temporizing politics of the hour at an infinite distance
from him, when he was called up one night at Washington,
by a crowd of citizens, to receive the news of Scott's nomina-
tion for the Presidency. — " Gentlemen : this is a serene aud
beautiful night. Ten thousand thousand of the lights of hea-
ven illuminate the firmament They rule the night. A few
hours hence their glory wilt be extinguished.
You meaner beauties of the night,
Which poorly satisfy our eyes,
What are you when the sun doth rise?
Gentlemen: There is not one among you who will sleep bet-
ter to-night than I shall. If I wake' I shall learn the hour
from the constellations, and I shall rise in the morning, God
Willing, with the lark ; and though the lark is abetter songster
than lam. yet he will not leave the dew and the daisies, and
spring upward to greet the purpling east, with a more blithe
and jocund spirit than I shall possess.11
} The day before lie died be Called for his friend Peter Har-
vey, a merchant of Boston, whom he requested not to leavo
him till he was dead. He had shortly before written an order
— " My son, take some piece of silver, let it be handsome, and
put a suitable inscription on it, and give it, with my love, to
.Peter Harvey. Marshfield, Oct. 2-3, 1S52."
§ With regard to Webster's religious views, be had probably
no strongly defined system of observance. Early in life, it is
said, he was a member of the Presbyterian church, latterly he
Was in communion with the Episcopal church. — Letter ofthc
Hon. E. Barnwell P.hett, Charleston Mercury. Nov. 1652.
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
In his death, 'Webster remembered his love of
country, and personal associations with the home
of Marshfield. He left the property in the hands
of trustees for the use of his son Fletcher, during
his life, and alter to his children, connecting, by
provision, his books, pictures, plate, and furni-
ture, with the building ; " it being my desire and
intention that they remain attached to the house,
while it is occupied by any of my name and
blood." His respect for his writings, which had
been carefully arranged by his friend Edward
Everett, was coupled with regard to his family
and friends, to some of whom he dedicated se-
parately each of the sis volumes.* His literary
executors, whom he left in charge of Ids papers
by will, were Edward Everett, George Ticknor,
Cornelius C. Felton, George T. Curtis.
The career of Webster remains as a study for
Jus countrymen. Its lessons are not confined to
oratory or political life. He was an example of
manly American culture, sucli as is open to and
may be shared by thousands through the land.
His youth was one of New England self-denial
and conscientious perseverance. Nature har-
dened her thriving son in a rugged soil of endur-
ance.
The numerous anecdotes of his early life will
pass to posterity as the type of a peculiar cul-
ture and form of civilization, which have made
many men in America. There was a vein of the
stout old Puritanic granite in his composition,
which the corruptions of Washington life, the
manners of cities and the arts of politics, never
entirely overlaid.! To this he was true to ths
end. In whatever associations he might be
placed there was always 'this show of strength
and vigor. It was felt that whatever might ap-
pear otherwise was accidental and the etfect of
circumstances, while the substantive man, Daniel
Webster, was a man of pith and moment, built
up upon strong ever-during realities. An "I this
is to be said of all human greatness, that it is but
as the sun shining in glimpses through an ob-
scured day of clouds and darkness. Clear and
bright was that life at its rising ; great warmth
did it impart at its meridian ; and a happy omen
was the final Sabbath morn of strange purity and
peace, with whose dawn its beams were at last
blended.
Daniel Webster had completed the solemn al-
lotment of three score and ten. It was his for-
tune at once to die at home, in the midst of the
sanctities of his household, and in the almost in-
* Works of Daniel Webster, with " Biographical Memoir of
the Public Life," by Everett. Boston : Little and Brown.
1851.
t It is not to be denied that the associations and habits of
Washington life detracted something from the position gained
by the early manhood of Webster. His fortune broken by his
separation from a lucrative practice, which he abandoned for
public life, was afterwards too much dependent on the subscrip-
tions of his mercantile friends. In his personal habits he be-
came careless of expense, and in his financial affairs embarrassed.
The intemperance of Webster became a popular notion, which
was doubtless much exaggerated, as his friend Dr. Francis baa
demonstrated from physiological reasons, and Charles A. Stet-
ton has shown in his vindication of him in this particular, in
his remarks made at the celebration of his birth-day at the
Astor House in 1854. and which he has since published. The
use of stimulants appears, too, from the statement of his phy-
sicians (in the aceouut of his illness and the autopsy in the
American Medical Journal of Science for January, 1853), to
have been resorted to as a sedative for physical pain'and weak-
ness.
stant discharge of his duties to the State. His
public life to its close was identified with im-
portant questions of national concern and mo-
ment.
Of his capacities as an orator and writer — of
his forensic triumphs and repute — of his literary
skill and success much may be said. His speech
had strength, force, and dignity ; his composi-
tion was clear, rational, strengthened by a pow-
erful imagination — in his great orations " the
lightning of passion running along the iron links
of argument."* The one lesson which they teach,
to the youth of America is self-respect, a manly
consciousness of power, expressed simply and di-
rectly— to look for the substantial qualities of the
thing, and utter them distinctly as they are felt
intensely. This was the sum of the art which
Webster used in his orations. There was no cir-
cumlocution or trick of rhetoric beyond the old
Horatian recommendation, adopted by a generous
nature :
Verbaque provisam rem non intita sequentur.
Tins habit of mind led Webster to the great
masters of thought. He found his fertile nourish-
ment in the books of the Bible, the simple energy
of Homer, and the vivid grandeur of Milton. He
has left traces of these studies on many a page.
There was about Webster a constant air of no-
bility of soul. Whatever subject he touched lost
nothing of its dignity with him. The occasion
rose in his hands, as he connected it with inte-
rests beyond those of the present moment or the
passing object. Two grand ideas, capable of fill-
ing the soul to its utmost capacity, seem to have
been ever present with him : the sense of nation-
ality, of patriotism, with its manifold relations;
and of the grand mutations of time. He lived
for half a century in the public life of his country,
with whose growth he grew, from the first gene-
ration of patriots, and in whose mould, as it was
shaped over a continent, he was moulded. He
seemed to be conscious himself of a certain his-
toric element in his thoughts and actions. This
will be remembered as a prevalent trait of his
speeches and addresses, whether in the capitol or
before a group 'of villagers. He recalled the ge-
nerations which had gone before, the founders of
states in colonial times on our western shores;
the men of the days of Washington; our sires of
the Revolution. He enumerated the yeomanry
and peasantry ; the names memorable in his
youth, as they are recorded in the pages of the
Iliad or the iEneid : —
Fortemque Gyan, fortemque Cloanthum,
or as imperishable history chronicles them in the
sacred annals of Judea.
MORAL FOECE OF PFBLIO oriNION — FROM TrTE SPEECH ON THS
REVOLUTION IN GREECE.
It may be asked, perhaps, Supposing all this to be
true, what can we do ? Are we to go to war ? Arev
we to interfere in the Greek cause, or any other
European cause ? Are we to endanger our pacific
relations? No, certainly not. What, then, the
question recurs, remains for us ? If we will not en-
* Address by George S. Hillard, at a meeting of citizens in
Faneuil Hall, in honor of the memory of Webster, October 27,
1852.
DANIEL WEBSTER.
33
danger our own peace, if we will neither furnish
armies nor navies to the cause which we think the
just one, what is there within our power?
Sir, this reasoning mistakes the age. The time
has been, indeed, when fleets, and armies, and sub-
sidies, were the principal reliances even in the best
cause. But, happily for mankind, a great change
has taken place in this respect. Moral causes come
into consideration, in proportion as the progress of
knowledge is advanced ; and the public opinion of
the civilized world is rapidly gaining an ascendency
over mere brutal force. It is already able to oppose
the most formidable obstruction to the progress of
injustice and oppression ; and as it grows more in-
telligent and more intense, it will be more and more
formidable. It may be silenced by military power,
but it cannot be conquered. It is elastic, irrepres-
sible, and invulnerable to the weapons of ordinary
warfare. It is that impassible, unextinguishable
enemy of mere violence and arbitrary rule, which,
like Milton's, angels,
Vital in every part,
Cannot, but by annihilating, die.
Until this be propitiated or satisfied, it is vain for
power to talk either of triumphs or of repose. No
matter what fields are desolated, what fortresses sur-
rendered, what armies subdued, or what provinces
overrun. In the history of the year that has passed
by us, and in the instance of unhappy Spain, we have
seen the vanity of all triumphs in a cause which vio-
lates the general sense of justice of the civilized
world. It is nothing, that the troops of France have
passed from the Pyrenees to Cadiz ; it is nothing that
an unhappy and prostrate nation lias fallen before
them; it is nothing that arrests, and confiscation,
and execution, sweep away the little remnant of na-
tional resistance. There is an enemy that still exists
to check the glory of these triumphs. It follows the
conqueror back to the very scene of his ovations ; it
calls upon him to take notice that Europe, though
silent, is yet indignant; it shows him that the scep-
tre of his victory is a barren 'sceptre; that it shall
confer neither joy nor honor, but shall moulder to
dry ashes in his grasp. In the midst of his exalta-
tion, it pierces his ear with the cry of injured jus-
tice ; it denounces against him the indignation of an
enlightened and civilized age; it turns to bitterness
the cup of his rejoicing, and wounds him with the
sting which belongs to the consciousness of having
outraged the opinion of mankind.
THE UNION — PERORATION OF SECOND SPEECH ON FOOT'S RESO-
LUTION IN REPLY TO HAYNE.
Mr. President, I have thus stated the reasons of
my dissent to the doctrines which have been ad-
vanced and maintained. I am conscious of having
detained you and the Senate much too long. I was
drawn into the debate witli no previous deliberation,
such as is suited to the discussion of so grave and
important a subject. But it is a subject of which
my heart is full, and I have not been willing to sup-
press the utterance of its spontaneous sentiments. I
cannot, even now, persuade myself to relinquish it,
without expressing once more my deep conviction,
that, since it respects nothing less than the Union of
the States, it is of most vital and essential importance
to the public happiness. I profess, Sir, in my career
hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prospe-
rity and honor of the whole country, and the pre-
servation of our Federal Union. It is to that Union
we owe our safety at home, and our consideration
and dignity abroad. It is to that Union that we are
chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud
of our country. That Union we reached only by the
vol. n. — 3
discipline of our virtues in the severe school of ad-
versity. It had its origin in the necessities of dis-
ordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined
credit. Under its benign influences, these great inte-
rests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and
sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its
duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility
and its blessings ; and although our territory has
stretched out wider and wider, and our population
spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its
protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a
copious fountain of national, social, and personal
happiness.
I have not allowed myself, Sir, to look beyond the
Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark re-
cess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances
of preserving liberty when the bonds that unite us
together shall be broken asunder. I have not accus-
tomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion,
to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom
the depth of the abyss below ; nor could I regard
him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this govern-
ment, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on con-
sidering, not how the Union may be best preserved,
but how tolerable might be the condition of the peo-
ple when it should be broken up and destroyed.
While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gra-
tifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our
children. Beyond that I 6eek not to penetrate the
veil. God grant that in my day, at least, that cur-
tain may not rise ! God grant that on my vision
never may be opened what lies behind ! When my
eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the
sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the
broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious
Union ; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent;
on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may
be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and
lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign
of the republic, now known and honored throughout
the. earth, still full high advanced, its arms and tro-
phies streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe
erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, bear-
ing for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as
" What is all this worth?" nor those other words of
delusion and folly, " Liberty first and Union after-
wards;" but everywhere, spread all over in charac-
ters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as
they float over the sea and over the land, and in every
wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment,
dear to every true American heart, — Liberty and
Union, now and for ever, one and inseparable!
THE SECRET OF MUEDEE — THE TRIAL OF KNAPP FOE THE
MURDER OF WHITE.
He has done the murder. No eye has seen him,
no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, and it
is safe !
Ah! Gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake.
Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole crea-
tion of God has neither nook nor corner where the
guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak
of that eye which pierces through all disguises, and
beholds every thing as in the splendor of noon, such
secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by
men. True it is, generally speaking, that " murder
will out." True it is, that Providence hath so or-
dained, and doth so govern things, that those who
break the great law of Heaven by shedding man's
blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Es-
pecially, in a case exciting so much attention as this,
discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later.
A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man,
every thing, every circumstance, connected with the
time' and place ; a thousand ears catch every whis-
34
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
per; a thousand excited minds intensely dwell on
the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to kin-
dle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of disco-
very. Meantime the guilty soul cannot keep its
own secret. It is false to itself ; or rather it feels an
irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself.
It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not
what to do with it. The human heart was not made
for the residence of such an inhabitant. It fii:ds
itself preyed on by a torment, which it dares not
acknowledge to God or man. A vulture is devour-
ing it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance,
either from heaven or earth. Tlie secret which the
murderer possesses soon comes to possess him ; and,
like the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes
him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels
it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and de-
manding disclosure. He thinks the whole world
6ees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost
hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts.
It has hecoine his master. It betrays his discretion,
it bieaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence.
When suspicions from without begin to embarrass
him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him,
the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence
to burst forth. It must be confessed, it will be con-
fessed ; there is no refuge from confession but sui-
cide, and suicide is confession.
FROM TnE ADDRESS BEFORE TTTE NEW TORE HISTORICAL
SOCIETY, 1S52.
Unborn ages and visions of glory crowd upon my
soul, the realization of all which, however, is in the
hands and good pleasure of Almighty God, but, un-
der his divine blessing, it will be dependent on the
character and the virtues of ourselves, and of our
posterity.
If classical history has been found to be, is now,
and shall continue to be, the concomitant of free in-
stitutions, and of popular eloquence, what a field is
opening to us for a:. other Herodotus, another Thu-
cydides, and another Livy! And let me say, Gen-
tlemen, that if we, and our posterity, shall be true
to the Christian religion, if we and they shall live
always in the fear of God, and shall respect his com-
mandments, if we, and they, shall maintain just,
moral sentiments, and such conscientious convictions
of duty as shall control the heart and life, we may
have the highest hopes of the future fortunes of our
country ; and if we maintain those institutions of
government and that political union, exceeding all
praise as much as it exceeds all former examples of
political associations, we may be sure of one thing,
that, while our country furnishes materials for a
thousand masters of the Historic Art, it will afford
no topic for a Gibbon. It will have no Decline and
FalL It will go on prospering and to prosper. But,
if we and our posterity reject religious instruction
and authority, violate the rules of eternal justice,
trifle with the injunctions of morality, and recklessly
destroy the political constitution which holds us to-
gether, no man can tell, how sudden a catastrophe
may overwhelm us, that shall bury nil our glory in
profound obscurity. Should that catastrophe hap-
pen, let it have no history ! Let the horrible narra-
tive never be written ! Let its fate be like that of
the lost books of Livy. which no human eve shall
ever read, or the missing Pleiad, of which no man
can ever know more, than that it is lost, and lost
for ever !
LETTER ON THE MORNING. — TO MRS. J. W. PAIGE.
Richmond, Va.. J
Five o'clock, A. M., April 29, 1852. )
My DearFkiexd: — Whether it be a favor or an
annoyance, you owe this letter to my early habits of
rising. From the hour marked at the top of the
page, you will naturally conclude that my compa-
nions are not now engaging my attention, as we have
not calculated on being early travellers to-day.
This city has a " pleasant seat." It is high ; the
James river runs below it, and when I went out, an
hour ago, nothing was heard but the roar of the
Falls. The air is tranquil and its temperature mild.
It is morning, and a morning sweet and fresh, and
delightful. Everybody knows the morning in its
metaphorical sense, applied to so many occasions.
The health, strength, and beauty of early years, lead
us to call that period the " morning of life." Of a
lovely young woman we say she is " bright as the
morning," and no one doubts why Lucifer is called
" sou of the morning."
But the morning itself, few people, inhabitants of
cities, know anything about. Among all our good
people, no one in a thousand sees the sun rise once
in a year. They know nothing of the morning;
their idea of it is, that it is that part of the day which
comes along after a cup of coffee and a beefsteak, or
a piece of toast. With them morning is not a new
issuing of light, a new bursting forth of the sun, a
new waking up of all that has life from a sort of
temporary death, to behold again the works of God,
the heavens and the earth; it is only a part of the
domestic day, belonging to reading the newspapers,
answering notes, Eending the children to school, and
giving orders for dinner. The first streak of light,
the earliest purpling of the east, which the lark
springs up to greet, and the deeper and deeper co-
loring into orange and red, till at length the " glo-
rious sun is seen, regent of the day" — this they never
enjoy, for they never see it.
Beautiful descriptions of the morning abound in
all languages, but the}' are the strongest perhaps in
the East, where the sun is often an object of worship.
King David speaks of taking to himself the " wings
of the morning." This is highly poetical and beau-
tiful. The wings of the niornii g are the beams of
the rising sun. Rnys of light are wings. It is thus
said that the sun of righteousness shall arise "with
healing in his wings" — a rising sun that shall scatter
life, health, and joy through the Universe.
Milton has fine descriptions of mornii g. but not so
many as Shakespeare, from whose writings pnges of
the most beautiful imagery, all founded on the glory
of morning, might be filled.
I never thought that Adam had much the advan-
tage of us from having seen the world while it was
new.
The manifestations of the power of God, like His
mercies, are " new every mornii, g," and fresh every
moment.
We see as fine risings of the sun as ever Adam saw ;
and its risings are as much a miracle now as they
were in his day, and I think a good deal more, be-
cause it is now a part of the •miracle, that for thou-
sands and thousands of years he has come to his ap-
pointed time, without tiie variation of a millionth
part of a second. Adam could not tell how this
might be. I know the morning — I am acquainted
with it, and, I love it. I love it fresh and sweet as it
is — a daily new creation, breaking forth and calling
all that have life and breath and being to new ado-
ration, new enjoyments, and new gratitude.
Daniel Webster.
JOHN C. CAMOUSr.
Jorrx Caldwell Calhoun* was burn in Abbe-
ville District, South Carolina, March 18, 1782.
His father, Patrick Calhoun, was an Irishman by
birth, who emigrated to Pennsylvania at an early
JOHN C. CALilOUN.
35
age, removed to 'Western Virginia, and, after
Braddock's defeat, to South Carolina. lie was a
man of a vigorous frame of mind as well as
body, and w.is distinguished among his neighbors
by his jealousy of the encroachments of govern-
ment, carrying his principle so far as to oppo-e
the adoption of the federal constitution on the
ground that it gave other states tiie power of tax-
ing his own. He married Miss Caldwell, of
Charlotte County, Virginia.
The father's residence was situated in the wild,
upper portion of the state, and was known as tiie
Calhoun Settlement. The future senator was
sent at the age of thirteen to the nearest academy,
which was fifty miles distant. It was presided
over by the Rev. Dr. Waldell, a Presbyterian,
his brother-in-law. In consequence of the death
of this gentleman's wife not long after, the school
win broken up. Calhoun continued to reside
with Mr. Waddell, who happened to have in
charge the circulating library of the village.
This small collection of books was eagerly de-
voured by the young student, whose tastes even
then led him to the graver departments of litera-
ture, lie read the histories of Eollin, Robert-
Bon, and V >ltaire, with such assiduity, that in
fourteen wejkshe had despatched several of each,
in addition to Cook's Voyages, and a portion of
Locke on the Understanding. This intense ap-
plication injured his eyes and his general health
to such an extent that his mother interposed, and
by a judicious course of ont-door physical exer-
cise, succeeded in restoring the natural vigor of
his constitution, and giving him a taste for rural
sports which was of service then, and afterwards,
as a relief to his mental labors.
After four years spent at home, Calhoun en-
■a^ffllilllte
tered Yale College in 1S02, on the completion of
his course studied law at the celebrated school of
Litchfield, and was admitted to practice in 1807.
In 1808 he was elected to the Legislature of South
Carolina, and in 181 1 to the National House of
Representatives. In 1817 he was appointed Se-
cretary of War by President Monroe, an office
which he held for seven years, introducing
during his incumbency an order and vigor in its
administration, which was of eminent service to
the future operations of the department. In
1825 he was elected Vice-President, with Mr.
Adams as President, and again in 1829. In 1831
he resigned the office, to take General Hayne's
place, vacated by his election as Governor of
South Carolina, in the Senate. He retired at the
clo<e of his term. During Mr. Tyler's adminis-
tration, he was appointed Secretary of State. In
1845 he was again returned to the Senate, where
he remained in activeservice until his death, which
occurred at Washington, March '31, 1850.
Mr. Calhoun was a warm advocate of the war of
1812, of the nullification proceedings in his native
6tate during General Jackson's administration, and
was for many years the leading statesman of the
Southern States. He took extreme ground in
regard to State rights and the slavery question.
Webster, in his tribute in the Senate to Calhoun,
noticed the qualities of his mind, and the simple,
single pursuits of his life. " His eloquence was
part of his intellectual character. It was plain,
strong, terse, condensed, concise ; sometimes im-
passioned, still always severe. Rejecting orna-
ment, not often seeking far for illustration, his
power consisted in the plainness of his proposi-
tions, in the closeness of his logic, and in the
earnestness and energy of his manner" — adding,
"I have known no man who wasted less of life
in what is called recreation, or employed less of
it in any pursuits not connected with the immedi-
ate discharge of his duty. He seemed to have
no recreation but the pleasure of conversation
with his friends."* Ingersoll, too, in his History
of the Second War with England, condenses in a
few vigorous words a striking picture of Calhoun
as an orator, including the marked characteristics
of the man : — :i Speaking with aggressive aspect,
flashing eye, rapid action and enunciation, un-
adorned argument, eccentricity of judgment, un-
bounded love of rule; impatient, precipitate in
ambition, kind in temper; with conception, per-
ception, and demonstration, quick and clear; with
logical precision arguing paradoxes, and carrying
home conviction beyond rhetorical illustration;
his own impressions so intense, as to discredit,
scarcely to listen to any other suggestions."
The publication of Calhoun's works, edited by
Richard K. Cralle, under the direction of the
General Assembly of the State of South Carolina,
was commenced in Charleston in 1851, and
shortly after transferred to the Messrs. Appleton
of New York. Four volumes have been issued,
and others are to follow. The first includes the
posthumous work on which the author had been
engaged in 1848 and 1840, A Disquisition on,
Government, and a Discourse on the Constitution
and Government of the United States; the re-
mainder are occupied with Speeches delivered in
the House of Representatives, and in the Senate
of the United States. His Documentary Writings
and a Life are in preparation.
Calhoun's view of state rights is expressed in
broad terms in his Disquisition on Government,
in his theory of the right of the minority, which
is the essence of the volume. This, like his other
* Remarks in tho Senate, April 1, 1S50.
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
views, even when they are pushed to excess, is
handled in a straightforward manner, without
concealment or subterfuge. It leads him in his
theory to maintain the right of veto in a single
member of a confederacy over the remaining a—
sociates — a proceeding which would practically
stop the wheels of the national movement ; and
which is little likely to be adopted, however logi-
cally the argument may be drawn out in print.
In his personal character Calhoun was of great
purity and simplicity of character. His mode of
life on his plantation at Fort Hill was simple and
unostentatious, but ever warm-hearted and hospi-
table. An inmate of his household, Miss Bates,
for many years the governess of his children,
bears honorable testimony to the purity and ele-
vation of character of the great statesman in the
private relations of the family. " Life with him,"
she says, " was solemn and earnest, and yet all
about him was cheerful. I never heard him utter a
jest ; there was an unvarying dignity in his man-
ner ; and }Tet the playful child regarded him fear-
lessly and lovingly. Few men indulged their
families in as free, confidential, and familiar inter-
course as did this great statesman. Indeed, to
those who had an opportunity of observing him
in his own house, it was evident that his cheerful
and happy home had attractions for him superior
to those which any other place could offer."
He enjoyed the out-door supervision of his
plantation at Fort Hill, and like Clay and "Web-
ster aimed at an agricultural reputation. His
tastes were as simple as refined, and he carried
his avoidance of personal luxury to a degree al-
most of abstemiousness.
His conversation was eagerly sought for its
rare exhibition of logical power and philosophical
acumen, especially in the range of government
topics. Although he did not aim at brilliancy,
his clear expression of deep thought, his exten-
sive and thorough information, his readiness on
every topic, his courtesy and sympathy with the
mode of life and character of others, made his
society a coveted enjoyment.
He cared little for what others said of him.
Anonymous letters he never read, and those of
mere abuse or flattery, after receiving a slight
glance, shared the same reglec'.*
BTATE BOVEEEIGNTT — FROM THE SPEECH ON THE FOECE BFLL
IN THE SENATE, FEERUAUY, ltS3.
Notwithstanding all that lias been said, I may say
that neither the Senator from Delaware (Mr. Clay-
ton), nor any other who has spoken on the same side,
has directly and fairly met the great question at
issue : Is this a federal union ? a union of States, as
distinct from that of individuals? Is the sovereignty
in the several States, or in the American people in
the aggregate? The very language which we are
compelled to use when speaking of our political in-
stitutions, affords proof conclusive as to its real cha-
racter. The terms union, federal, united, all imply
a combination of sovereignties, a confederation of
States. They are never applied to an association of
individuals. Who ever heurd of the United State
of New York, of Massachusetts, or of Virginia ? Who
ever heard the term federal or umon applied to the
* Oration on the Life, Character, and Services of John C.
Calhoun, by J. II. Hammond : 1S51. Homes of American
Statesmen, pp. 897-415.
aggregation of individuals into one community ? Nor
is the other point less clear — that the sovereignty ia
in the several States, and that our system is a union
of twenty-four sovereign powers, under a constitu-
tional compact, and not of a divided sovereignty be-
tween the States severally and the United States.
In spite of all that has been said, I maintain that
sovereignty is in its nature indivisible. It is the
supreme power in a State, and we might just aa well
speak of half a square, or half of a triangle, as of half
a sovereignty. It is a gross error to confound th«
exercise of sovereign powers with sovereignty itself,
or the delegation of such powers with the surrender
of them. A sovereign may delegate his powers to
be exercised by as many agents as he may think
proper, under such conditions and with such limit-
ations as he may impose ; but to surrender any por-
tion of his sovereignty to another is to annihilate
the whole. The Senator from Delaware (Mr. Clay-
ton) calls this metaphysical reasoning, which he
says he cannot comprehend. If by metaphysics he
means that scholastic refinement which makes dis-
tinctions without difference, no one can hold it in
more utter contempt than I do ; but if, on the con-
trary, he means the power of analysis and combi-
nation— that power which reduces the most complex
idea into its elements, which traces causes to their
first principle, and, by the power of generalization
and combination, unites the whole in one harmonious
system — then, so far from deserving contempt, it is
the highest attribute of the human mind. It is the
power which raises man above the brute — which
distinguishes his faculties from mere sagacity, which
he holds in common with inferior animals. It is this
power which has raised the astronomer from being
a mere gazer at the stars to the high intellectual
eminence of a Newton or a Laplace, and astronomy
itself from a mere observation of insulated facts into
that noble science which displays to our admiration
the system of the universe. And shall this high
power of the mind, which has effected such wonder3
when directed to the laws which control the mate-
rial world, be for ever prohibited, under a senseless
cry of metaphysics, from being applied to the high
purpose of political science and legislation ? 1 hold
them to be subject to laws as fixed as matter itself,
and to be as fit a subject for the application of the
highest intellectual power. Denunciation may, in-
deed, fall upon the philosophical inquirer into these
first principles, as it did upon Galileo and Bacon
when they first unfolded the great discoveries which
have immortalized their names ; but the time will
come when truth will prevail in spite of prejudice
and denunciation, and when politics and legislation
will be considered as much a science as astronomy
and chemistry.
In connexion with this part of the subject, I un-
derstood the Senator from Virginia (Mr. Rives) to
say that sovereignty was divided, and that a portion
remained with the States severally, and that the
residue was vested in the Union. By Union, I sup-
pose the Senator meant the United States. If such
be his meaning — if he intended to affirm that the
sovereignty was in the twenty-four States, in what-
ever light he may view them, our opinions will not
disagree ; but according to my conception, the whole
sovereignty is in the several States, while the exer-
cise of sovereign powers is divided — a part being
exercised under compact, through this General Go-
vernment, and the residue through the separate
State Governments. But if the Senator from Vir-
ginia (Mr. Rives) means to assert that the twenty-
four States form but one community, with a single
sovereign power as to the objects of the Union, it
will be but the revival of the old question, of whe-
EOBEET WALSH.
37
ther the Union is a union between States, as distinct
communities, or a mere aggregate of the American
people, as a mass of individuals; and in this light
his opinions would lead directly to consolidation.
But to return to the bill. It is said that the bill
ought to pass, because the law must be enforced.
The law must be enforced I The imperial edict must
be executed ! It is under such sophistry, couched in
general terms, without looking to the limitations
which must ever exist in the practical exercise of
power, that the most cruel and despotic acts ever
have been covered. It was such sophistry as this
that cast Daniel into the lion's den, and the three
Innocents into the fiery furnace. Under the same
sophistry the bloody edicts of Nero and Caligula
were executed. The law must be enforced. Yes,
the act imposing the "tea-tax must be executed."
This was the very argument which impelled Lord
North and his administration to that mad career
which for ever separated us from the British crown.
Under a similar sophistry, " that religion must be
protected," how many massacres have been perpe-
trated ? and how many martyrs have been tied to
the stake? What! acting on this vague abstraction,
are you prepared to enforce a law without consi-
dering whether it be just or unjust, constitutional or
unconstitutional? Will you collect money when it
is acknowledged that it is not wanted ? He who
earns the money, who digs it from the earth with the
sweat of his brow, has a just title to it against the
universe. No one has a right to touch it without
his consent except his government, and this only to
the extent of its legitimate wants ; to take more is
robbery, and you propose by this bill to enforce
robbery by murder. Yes: to this result you must
come, by this miserable sophistry, this vague ab-
straction of enforcing the law, without a regard to
the fact whether the law be just or unjust, consti-
tutional or unconstitutional.
In the same spirit, we are told that the Union must
be preserved, without regard to the means. And
how is it proposed to preserve the Union? By
force ! Does any man in his senses believe that this
beautiful structure — this harmonious aggregate of
States, produced by the joint consent of all— can be
preserved by force? Its very introduction will be
certain destruction to this Federal Union. No, no.
You cannot keep the States united in their consti-
tutional and federal bonds by force. Force may,
indeed, hold the parts together, but such union
would be the bond between master and slave — a
union of exaction on one side and of unqualified
obedience on the other. That obedience which, we
are told by the Senator from Pennsylvania (Mr.
Wilkins), is the Union ! Yes, exaction on the side
of the master; for this very bill is intended to collect
what can be no longer called taxes — the voluntary
contribution of a free people — but tribute — tribute
to be collected under the mouths of the cannon !
Your custom-house is already transferred to a gar-
rison, and that garrison with its batteries turned, not
against the enemy of your eountry, but on subjects
(I will not say citizens), on whom you propose to
levy contributions. Has reason fled from our bor-
ders? Have we ceased to refleet? It is madness
to suppose that the Union can be preserved by force.
I tell you plainly, that the bill, should it pass, cannot
be enforced. It will prove only a blot upon your
statute-book, a reproach to the year, and a disgrace
to the American Senate. I repeat, it will not be
executed; it will rouse the dormant spirit of the
people, and open their eyes to the approach of des-
potism. The eountry has sunk into avarice and
political corruption, from which nothing can arouse
t but some measure, on the part of the Government,
of folly and madness, such as that now under con-
sideration.
Disguise it as you may, the controversy is one
between power and liberty ; and I tell the gentlemen
who are opposed to me, that, as strong as may be
the love of power on their side, the love of liberty
is still stronger on ours. History furnishes many in-
stances of similar struggles, where the love of liberty
has prevailed against power under every disadvan-
tage, and among them few more striking than that
of our own Revolution ; where, as strong as was the
parent country, and feeble as were the colonies, yet,
under the impulse of liberty, and the blessing of
God, they gloriously triumphed in the contest.
There are, indeed, many and striking analogies
between that and the present controversy. They
both originated substantially in the same cause —
with this difference — in the present ease, the power
of taxation is converted into that of regulating in-
dustry ; in the other, the power of regulating indus-
try, by the regulation of commerce, was attempted
to be converted into the power of taxation. Were I
to trace the analogy further, we should find that the
perversion of the taxing power, in the one case, has
given precisely the same control to the Northern
section over the industry of the Southern section of
the Union, which the power to regulate commerce
gave to Great Britain over the industry of the colo-
nies in the other ; and that the VQi-y articles in which
the colonies were permitted to have a free trade,
and those in which the mother-country had a mo-
nopoly, are almost identically the same as those in
which the Southern States are permitted to have a
free trade by the act of 1S32, and in which the
Northern States have, by the same act, secured a
monopoly. The only difference is in the means. In
the former, the colonies were permitted to have a
free trade with all countries south of Cape Finisterre,
a cape in the northern part of Spain ; while north
of that, the trade of the colonies was prohibited, ex-
cept through the mother-country, by means of her
commercial regulations. If we compare the pro-
ducts of the country north and south of Cape Finis-
terre, we shall find them almost identical with the
list of the protected and unprotected articles con-
tained in the act of last year. Nor does the analogy
terminate here. The very arguments resorted to at
the commencement of the American Revolution, and
the measures adopted, and the motives assigned to
bring on that contest (to enforce the law), are almost
identically the same.
EOBEET WALSH.
Robert Walsh was born in the city of Baltimore
in 1784. His father was by birth an Irishman,
bearing the same name ; his mother was of
Quaker Pennsylvanian origin. He received his
early education at the Catholic College at Balti-
more, and the Jesuit College at Georgetown. He
was sent to Europe after passing through the
usual school course to complete his education,
and remained abroad until his twenty-fifth 3'ear,
when lie returned, married, and commenced the
practice of the law, having prosecuted his studies
under the superintendence of Robert Goodloe
Harper. Owing in part, probably, to his deaf-
ness, he soon abandoned this profession.
He commenced his literary career as a writer
in the Port Folio, and in 1809 published A
Letter on the Genius and Disposition of the
French Government, including a View of the
Taxation of the French Empire, in which he
commented with severity on the measures of
38
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Napoleon. It contained a large mass of informa-
tion respecting the internal economy of the go-
vernment of Napoleon, which was entirely new
to English readers. The work was written with
spirit, and was received with favor not only in
his own country, but, what was then a rarity,
in England, where it parsed through four editions,
and the Edinburgh gave a hearty endorsement to
its merits in a leading article.
ftfrfksth 4j&a£4fx
In 1811 he commenced with the year the pub-
lication of the first quarterly attempted in Ame-
rica, The American Review of History and
Politics. Eight numbers appeared, carrying the
work through two years. Most of the articles
were from the pen of the editor.
In 1813 his Correspondence with Robert Good-
Toe Harper respecting Russia* and Essay on the
Future State of Europe appeared. lie also fur-
nished several biographical prefaces to an edition
of the English poets,in fifty eighteenmo. volumes,
then in course of publication in Philadelphia. In
1817 he became the editor of The American
Register, a valuable statistical publication, which
was continued for two years only. In 1818
he published, in JJelaplaine's Repository, a long
and elaborate biographical paper on Benjamin
Franklin, which still remains one of the most
interesting memoirs of the sage. In 1819 Mr.
"Walsh published An Appeal from the Judgments
of Great Britain respecting the United States of
America. Part First, containing an Historical
Outline of their Merits and Wrongs as Colonies,
and Strictures upon the Calumnies of the British
Writers. This work, forming an octavo volume
of five hundred and twelve closely printed pages,
was called forth by the long-continued calumnies
of the British press, and particularly of the Edin-
burgh and Quarterly Reviews, in their endoive-
ments of the foolish and unfounded slanders set
forth by hasty, ignorant, and irresponsible travel-
lers through the United States. These reviews,
* Vida ante, vol. i. 638.
I representing the deliberate judgment of the two
great political parties of their country, excited a
! resentment in American readers which has left
j its traces to the present day.
I Mr. Walsh met these assailants with facts drawn
1 from English testimony of undoubted authority,
often from previous admissions of the assailants
themselves. The work is divided into sections
on the history of the British maladministration
of the American colonies, " the hostilities of the
British Reviews,-" and the topic of negro slavery.
It is careful in its statements, calm in tone, and
at the same time energetic. It was at once ac-
cepted as an able vindication by the Americans,
and did much to mend the manners of the Eng-
lish journals.
In 1821 he commenced, with Mr. William Fry,
the National Gazette, a small newspaper, pub-
lished on alternate afternoons. It was eoon en-
larged, and published daily. Mr. Walsh remained
connected with this journal for fifteen years, and
during that period did much to enlarge the scope
of the newspaper literature of the country by
writing freely and fully upon books, science, and
the fine arts, as well as politics, and by joining in
his treatment of the latter topic a little of the
suaviter in modo, which had hitherto been some-
what lacking in the American press, b>thefortiter
in re, which required no increase of intensity.
Mr. Walsh was also connected with the editor-
ship of The American Magazine of Foreign Lite-
rature, the forerunner of the Museum and Liv-
ing Age of Mr. Littell, but in 1822 resigned
that charge for the more agreeable task of the
resuscitation of his original Review. The first
number of the American Review was published
in March, 1837. It was continued with great
ability for ten years, and among its many excel-
lent qualities is to be commended for its frequent
and thorough attention to home literature and
other subjects of national interest.
In 1837, Mr. Walsh finding the Gazette was fail-
ing to furnish its former support, retired from it.
He published, abemt the same time, two volumes
selected from his contributions to its columns,
and from article-: sti.l in manuscript, under tho
title f)f Didactics. He removed in the same year
to Paris, where he has since resided, filling, until
a few years since, the post of United States Con-
sul. He has maintained a constant and promi-
nent literary connexion with his country by his
regular foreign correspondence to the National
Intelligencer, and more recently to the Now York
Journal of Commerce.
No American abroad has enjoyed more inti-
mate relations with the savans and politicians of
Europe, or has traced with greater interest the
progress of government and science.
SENTENCES — FROM DIDACT1C3.
We should endeavour to poetize our existence ; to
keep it clear of the material and grosser woilA.
Music, flowers, verse, beauty, and natural scenery,
the abstractions of philosophy, the spiritual refine-
ments of religion are all important to that end.
Liberty is a boon which few of the European
nations are worthy to receive or able to enjoy
When attempts to give it have been vainly mnde,
let tis, before we speak cf them, inquire whether
they were practicable.
HENRY WHEATON.
39
We should keep acknowledged evil out of the
■way of youth and its fealty ; as we would avert
frost from the blossom, and proteet vegetable or
animal life of any kind in its immaturity, from
perilous exposure.
Maxim for a Republic. — Let the cause of every
single citizen be the cause of the whole; and the
cause of the whole be that of every single citizen.
Real sympnthy and gratitude show themselves,
not in words and pageants, but acts, sacrifices, which
directly afford " comfort and consolation."
Let none of us cherish or invoke the spirit of
religions fanaticism: — the ally would be quite as
pestilent as the enemy.
We should never inquire into the faith or profes-
sion, religious or political, of our acquaintance ; we
should be satisfie 1 when wefiiid usefulness, integrity,
beneficence, tolerance, patriotism, cheerfulness, sense,
and manners. We encounter every day really good
men, practical Christians, and estimable citizens,
belonging respectively to all the sects and classes.
There is nothing, however good in itself, which
may not be converted into ." s!;uff," by making a
jumble of it, and interpolating trash; and there is
no journalist who may not be represented as incon-
siste it, no allowance being made for ditferenee of
times and circumstances, and the just and vivid
impressions of particular periods and events.
It is well observed that good morals are not the
fruit of metaphysical subtleties; nor are good politi-
cal constitutions or salutary government. Abstrac-
tions and refinements are far from being enough for
human nature and human communities.
Truth should never be sacrificed to nationality ;
but it is a sort of treason to decry unjustly indi-
genous pro luctions, exalting at the same time those
of a foreign country, without due examination or
real grounds — to pretend national mortification in
cases to which the opposite sentiment is due. Good,
instructive literature and general politics need, in
our country, liberal treatment in every quarter.
They are subject to obstacles and disadvantages
enough, without precipitate, sweeping, quackish
opinions.
The effusions of genius, or rather, the most suc-
cessful manifestations of what is called talent, are
often the effects of distempered nerves and com-
plexional spleen, as pearls are mo bid secretions.
How much of his reputation for superiority of intel-
lect did not Mr. J. Randolph owe to his physical ills
and misanthropic spirit!
The more the heart is exercised in the domestic
affections, the more likely it is to be sympathetic
and active with regard to external objects.
There are some human tongues which have two
sides, like those of certain quadrupeds — one, smooth ;
the other very rough.
Restraints laid by a people on itself are sacrifices
made to liberty ; and it often shows the greatest
wisdom in imposing them.
Write as wisely as we may, we cannot fix the
minds of men upon our writings, unless we take
them gently by the ear.
_ Candour is to be always admired, and equivoca-
tion to be shunned ; but there is such a thing as
supererogation, and very bold and ingenuous
avowals may do much more harm than good.
It is an old saying that it is no small consolation
to any one who is obliged to work to see another
voluntarily take a share in his labour: since it
seems to remove the idea of the constraint.
It would be well to allow some things to remain,
as the poet says, "behind eternity; — hid in the
secret treasure of the past."
A prudent man ought to be guided by a demon-
strated probability not less than by a demonstrated
certainty.
Men of wit have not always the clearest judgment
or the deepest reason.
The perusal of books of sentiment and of descrip-
tive poetry, and the frequent survey of natural
scenery, with a certain degree of feeling and fancy,
must have a most beneficial effect upon the imagina-
tion and the heart.
The true Fortunatus's purse is the richness of tha
generous and tender affections, which are worth
much more for felicity, than the highest powers
of the understanding, or the highest favours of
fortune.
IIENET "WnEATOIT.
Henet Wiieatox was a descendant from Robert
Wheaton, a Baptist clergyman who emigrated in
the reign of Charles I. to Salem, and afterwards
removed to Rhode Island. He was born in Pro-,
vidence, November, 1785, and entered Brown
University at the age of thirteen. After the
completion of his course he studied law, and in
1800 went to Europe, to complete liis education.
Z^>
Ho resided for several months at Poitiers, engaged
in the study of the French language, and of the
recently established Code Napoleon. He after-
wards devoted some time to the study of English
law in London, and was an intimate of the
American minister, Mr. Monroe. On his return
he was admitted to the bar, and practised at Pro-
vidence until 1813, when, in the meanwhile having
married his cousin, the daughter of Dr. Wheaton
of the same city, he removed to New York. Before
his departure, he delivered a fourth of July oration,
chiefly devoted to a consideration of the wars
then raging in Europe, of which lie spoke with
detestation. After his establishment in New
York he became the editor of the National Ad-
vocate, which he conducted for two years with
marked ability. During this period he was ap-
pointed Judge of the Marine Court, and held for
a few months the office of Army Judge Advo-
cate. In 1815 he resumed practice, and in tha
same year published a Treatise on the Law of
Maritime Captures and Prizes, regarded as the
best work which had then appeared on the subject.
In 1816 he was appointed Reporter of the Su-
preme Court at Washington, a position which he
retained until 1827, publishing during his in-
cumbency twelve volumes of Reports. In 1821
he was elected a member of the Convention
called to revise the Constitution of the State of
New York, and in 1825 was appointed by the
Legislature one of the commissioners to revise,
upon a new and systematic plan, all the statute
40
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
laws of the State, a work which engaged his at-
tention until his appointment by President Adams,
in 1827, as Charge d' Affaires to Denmark. He
resided at Copenhagen until 1835, when he was
appointed Minister Resident to the court of Prus-
sia by President Jackson. In 1837 he was made
Minister Plenipotentiary to the same court by
President Van Buren. He retained this position
until 1846, when he was recalled by President
Polk.
Mr. Wheaton had, previously to his departure
for Europe, delivered an Address before the New
York Historical Society in 1820, and in 1824 at the
opening of the New York Athenaeum, an institu-
tion afterwards merged into the Society Library.
He also contributed to the North American Re-
view, and in 1826 published the Life of Wil-
liam Pin&ney, with whom he had become per-
sonally acquainted during his residence at AVash-
ington. He afterwards prepared an abridgment
of the work for Sparks's American Biography.
He also translated the Code Napoleon, the manu-
script of which was unfortunately consumed by
fire soon after its completion.
This valuable literary career, side by side with
laborious professional and public services, was
continued with still greater efficiency in Europe.
In 1831 he published in London The History
ef the Northmen, a work of great research, and
one of the first on its subject in the language.
It was translated into French in 1842, and its
author was engaged in preparing a new American
edition at the time of his death. In 1836 his
Elements of International Law appeared in Eng-
land and the United States. It was republished
in 1846 with additions. In 1841 he wrote a
work in French, Histoire du Droit des Gens de-
puis la Paix de Westphalie, which was compli-
mented by the French Institute, republished at
Leipsic in 1844, and translated in New York,
with the title of History of the Law of Nations.
It is regarded as a standard authority, and has
received the highest commendations throughout
Europe. In 1842 he published in Philadelphia,
An Enquiry into the British Claim of a Eight
of Search of American Vessels.
In 1843 Mr. Wheaton was made corresponding
member of the Section of Moral and Political
Sciences of the French Institute, and in 1844 of
the Academy of Sciences in Berlin. He took
great interest in these associations, and enjoyed
the intimacy of then- most eminent members.
In 1844 he signed a convention with Baron
Bulow, the Prussian Minister of Foreign Affairs,
regulating the commercial intercourse between
the United States and theZollverein, on which he
had labored for several years. It was, greatly to
Ms regret, rejected by the Senate.
The long residence of Mr. Wheaton at one of
the leading courts of Europe, combined with his
extensive studies in international law, caused him
to be frequently consulted by the representatives
of his country in other parts of Europe, and he
thus rendered eminent public services beyond the
range of his own mission. He was universally
regarded as the head of our foreign diplomacy,
and his recall was lamented by considerate men of
all parties as a national misfortune.
After a few months' residence in Paris, he re-
turned in May, 1847, to New York, where a
public dinner was given him soon after his arrival.
A similar honor was tendered him in Philadelphia,
but declined. His native city had his portrait
painted by Healy, and placed in her council hall.
He delivered an address in September of the
same year before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of
Brown University, on the Progress and Prospects
of Germany. He was about to commence his duties
as Professor of International Law at Harvard
University, to which he had been elected soon
after his return, when he was attacked by a dis-
ease which closed his life, on the eleventh of
March, 1848.
Robert, the second son of the Hon. Henry
"Wheaton, was born in New York, October 5,
1826. His childhood was passed in Copenhagen,
whither his father removed as Charge d' Affaires
of the United States shortly after his birth. In
1836 the family removed to Berlin, and in 1838,
Robert, after a careful course of preliminary
mental training by his father, was placed at
school at Paris. In 1840 he lost his only brother
Edward, a bereavement which afflicted him
deeply. In 1841 he left school, and devoted two
years to the study of engineering with a private
tutor. Owing, however, to apprehensions that
his health was too delicate for the out-door ex-
posure incident to the practical duties of the pro-
fession, he abandoned it in 1843, and entered the
school of MM. Barbe and Masson at Paris.
After a year spent in classical studies he attended
lectures at the Sorbonne and the College de
France. He was at the same time cultivating his
fine musical taste, and became a proficient in the
science. His summers were passed in visits to
his family at Berlin, and to friends in a few other
cities of central Europe. In April, 1847, after
his father's recal, he returned with him to the
United States, and in the following September
entered the Cambridge law school. On the com-
pletion of his course in 1850, he became a student
in the office of Messrs. Dana and Parker of Bos-
ton, and in July, 1851, was admitted to practice.
In the September following, while on his way to
visit his family at Providence, he took cold,
owing to exposure in consequence of the cars
running off the track. His illness rapidly in-
creased, and on the ninth of October, 1851, he
breathed his last.
A volume of Selections from the Writings of
Robert Wheaton appeared in 1854. It contains
a sympathetic memoir of his brief but interesting
life, with extracts from his journals and cor-
respondence, and articles on the Sources of the
Divina Commedia, Jasmin, Coquerel's Experi-
mental Christianity, the Revolutions in Prussia
and Sicily, and on a few other subjects, from the
North American Review, and other periodicals,
all ably and thoughtfully written.
CHAELES J. INGEESOIX.
Ciiari.es J. Ingersoll was born at Philadelphia
on the third of October, 1782. His father, Jared
Ingersoll, though belonging to a family who for
the most part adhered to the Royalists in the
Revolutionary contest (his father, Jared Ingersoll,
of Connecticut, being Stampinaster-General under
the Act of Parliament which provoked the Ame-
rican Revolution), was an active advocate of the
CHARLES J. INGERSOLL.
41
popular side, and a member of the Convention
which formed the Federal Constitution. He early
settled in Philadelphia.
Mr. Ingersoll received a liberal education, and
on its conclusion visited Europe, where he tra-
velled in company with Mr. King, the American
minister to London.
In 1801, a tragedy from his pen, Edwy and
Elgiva, was produced at the Philadelphia theatre,
and published.
In 1808 he wrote a pamphlet on the Eights
and Wrongs, Power and Policy of the United
States of America, in defence of the commercial
measures of Jefferson's administration.
In 1809 he published anonymously a work
which created a sensation, Inchiquirfs Letters*
The " Letters" are introduced by the ancient
mystification of the purchase, at a bookseller's
stall in Antwerp, of a broken picket of letters
from America, which turn out to be sent from
Washington by Inchiquin, a Jesuit, to his friends
in Europe, who, in one or two introductory
epistles, express the greatest anxiety touching
his mission to a land of savages, with consi-
derable curiosity respecting the natives. A bur-
lesque letter from Caravan, a Greek at Wash-
ington, gives a ludicrous account of the perils
of the capital, and the foreign minister hunting
in its woods. Inchiquin describes the houses of
Congress and their oratory ; runs over the cha-
racters of the Presidents, from Washington to
Madison; the literature of Barlow's Coluinbiad
and Marshall's Washington ; the stock and popu-
lation of the country ; its education, amusements,
resources, and prospects. The Columbiad is
shrewdly criticised. One remark will show the
pretensions, at that time, of the author. " Criti-
cally speaking, Homer, Virgil, and Milton occupy
exclusively the illustrious (epic) quarter of Par-
nassus, and time alone can determine whether
Barlow shall be seated with them. The ' dearth
of invention,' ' faintness of the characters,' ' lack
of pathos,' and other ' constitutional defects,' are
set off against the learned, benevolent, elegant
style of the performance." The Abbe Eaynal
is quoted for a maximum calculation of the pros-
pective population of America at ten millions.
Among other patriotic hits there is a humorous
account of the foreign prejudiced or disappointed
travellers who, in those days, gave the world its
impressions of America.
In 1812 Ingersoll was elected a member of the
House of Eepresentatives. He took his seat at
the special session called in May, 1813, to pro-
vide for the conduct of the war. He was one of
the youngest members of that body, and more
, youthful in appearance even than in years, so
that at his first entrance the doorkeeper refused
him admittance. He was an earnest advocate of
every measure brought forward for the vigor-
ous prosecution of the war. In 1814, in an
elaborate speech, he proclaimed and enforced the
American version of the law of nations, that
* Inchiquin the Jesuit's Letters, during a late residence in
the United States of America: being a fragment of a Private
Correspondence, accidentally discovered in Europe; contain-
ing a favorable view of the Manners, Literature, and State of
Society of the United States, and a refutation of many of the
aspersions cast upon this country by former residents and
tourists. By some unknown foreigner. New York : J. Riley.
I " free ships make free goods," a doctrine which,
now generally recognised as a great peace mea-
sure, had at that time few advocates. On
the expiration of his term of service the same
3'ear he was not re-elected, but was soon after
appointed by Madison District Attorney of the
State of Pennsylvania, an office which he held for
fourteen years, until his removal by General
Jackson at the commencement of his first Pre-
sidential term. During his second term, his
administration had the warm support of Mr.
Ingersoll. In 1826, at a convention of the ad-
vocates of the internal improvements of his state,
Ingersoll presented a resolution in favor of the
introduction of railroads worked by steam-power,
similar to those which had just made their appear-
ance in England. The plan was rejected by a
large majority. As a member of the Legislature,
a few years after, in 1820-30, one of the first
railroad bills in the United States was enacted on
his motion and report.
In 1837, by a report on currency, presented to
the convention for reforming the Constitution of
Pennsylvania, he anticipated by some months
President Van Buren's recommendation to Con-
gress of the Independent Treasury. He was an
active member of the House of Eepresentatives
from 1839 to 1849.
C/JJo^jeA46lt'
In 1845 he published the first volume of his
Historical Sketch of the Second War between the
United States of America and Great Britain,
embracing the events of 1812-13, completing the
work in three volumes. A second series, of
the events of 1814-1815, appeared in 1852. The
style of his history is irregular and discursive,
but vivid and energetic. Its general character is
that of a book of memoirs, strongly influenced by
the democratic partisan views of the narrator.
It contains numerous details of the principles and
measures of public policy in which he was an
eminent participant, with many matters of a more
strictly personal character, especially in his ac-
count of the Bonaparte family, of whom, from his
long friendship with Joseph Bonaparte, he had
42
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
original sources of information. Some three hun-
dred pages of the " History" are thus occupied
-with the fortunes of the Napoleon dynasty. One
of the most noteworthy of the American topics
discussed is the defence of the system of privateer-
ing which has been since substantially set forth
by President Pierce, in his Message of 1854.
There are also, among other personal anecdotes,
some animated descriptions of Washington and of
Jefferson.
Mr. Ingersoll is at present engaged on a History
of the Territorial Acquisitions of the United
States.
Joseph Reed Ingersoll, the brother of Charles
J. Ingersoll, a distinguished lawyer, for many
years a prominent Whig in the House of Repre-
sentatives^ the author of a translation of Roccus's
treatise De Naoibus et Nmito, of an address deli-
vered in 1837 before the Phi Beta Kappa Society
of Bowduin College on The Advantages of
Science and Literature, which attracted much
attention, and of several other discourses of a
similar character.
Edward, a third brother of the same family,
wrote poems on the times entitled Horace i:i
Philadelphia, which appeared in the Port Folio,
and w.as a writer on political subjects ill Walsh's
Gazette.
BOOK-MAKING TRAVELLERS IN AMERICA — FROM TIIE INXIII-
QUIN LETTERS.
The labors of this class of writing travellers in
America have been seconded by those uf another,
who, as their writings are confined to bills of ex-
change and accounts current, have contented them-
selves with being oral haberdashers of small stories,
and retailers of ribaldry. Swarms of noxious in-
sects swept from the factories and spungh g-houses
of Europe, .after enjoying a full harvest of emolu-
ment and importance in the cities of this country,
return to tiieir original insignificance at home, to
buzz assertions through their " little platoons of
society," and then come back again to bask in the
sunshine they feign to slight. Apprentices and
understrappers, mo grel abbes and genu d'industric,
in the course of their flight over the Atlantic, are
transmuted into fine gentlemen and virtuosi, shocked
at the barbarian customs of this savage republic;
the hospitality of whose citizens they condescend to
accept, while they commiserate and calumniate their
hosts, and consider it their especial errand and
office to vilify, disturb, and overturn the govern-
ment. The time was when these sturdy beggars
walked without knocking into every door, taking
the chief scats in the synagogue, and the uppermost
rooms at feasts, devouring widows' houses, reviling
with impunity the food they fed on. But so many
ludicrous and so many serious explosions have gone
off of these transatlantic bubbles, so many indivi-
duals have been put to shame, so many respectable
families to ruin, by their polluting contact, that the
delusion is broke, and they begin to be seen in their
essential hideousness. Persons of condition from
abroad have so often proved to be hostlers and foot-
men, and men of learning mountebank doctors,
that the Americans find it necessary to shake these
forc;ga vermin f;om their skirts, and to assert a
dignity and self-respect, which are the first steps to
that consideration from others, hitherto by this
excrescent usurpation repelled from their society,
IIlc nigrie succus loliginis, haec est
jLrugo rocra ■
At the inn, where I lodged on my first arrival, it
was my fobttune to be assorted at every meal with
half a dozen agents from the manufacturing towns
of England, some Frenchmen exiled from tit. Do-
mingo, a Dutch supercargo, a Chinese mandarin — as
a caitiff from Canton entitled himself — the young
Greek, a copy of one of whose letters I sent you
some time ago, and a countryman of mire; all of
whom, after a plentiful regale, and drinking each
other's healths till their brains were addled with
strong liquors, would almost every day chime into
a general execration of the fare, climate, customs,
people, and institutions of this nether region. One
of the Englishmen, a native of Cornwall, who was
never out of a mist in his life till he left the parish
of his birth, complained of the variableness of the
weather, another of the beef, and a third of the
porter, alleviations, without which they pronounced
existence insupportable, takiig care to accompany
their complaints with magnificent eulogiums on the
clear sky, cheap living, and other equally unques-
tionable advantages of their own country, with
occasional intimations thrown in of their personal
importance at home. The Creole French, in a bas-
tard dialect, declaimed at the dishonesty and fickle-
ness of the Americans, the demureuess of their man-
ners, and provoking irregularity of the language:
winding up their philippic with a rapturous recol-
lection of the charms of Paris; where in all proba-
bility no one of them ever was, except to obtain pass-
ports for leaving the kingdom.
They talk of beauties that they never saw,
And fancy raptures that they never knew.
The Chinese, who never was free from a sweat till
he doubled the Cape of Good Hope, and who, when
in Canton, never forgot in his prayers to implore the
blessings of a famine or pestilence, catching the con-
tagion of the company, and mechanically imitative,
though he could not speak so as to be understood,
endeavored, by signs and shrugs, to show that he
suffered from the heat, and gave us to understand
that an annual plague must be inevitable in such a
climate. The Irishman, who swallowed two bottles
of claret with a meal, besides brandy and malt
liquors, swore the intemperate weather gave him
fevers. The Hollander smoked his phlegmatic pipe
in silence, looking approbation ; and the complying
Greek nodded assent, while at table, to every syl-
lable that was uttered, though he afterwards coin-
cided with me in a contradiction of the whole.
"When I was formerly in America, I knew several
foreigners, then well stricken in years, who had
resided here since the peace of 1783, always grum-
bling over the privations of this country, and sigh-
ing as usual; but fat and satisfied, and indulging not
the least expectation of ever exchanging their for-
lorn state here for their brilliant prospects else-
where. Like a well-fed curate, they dwell for ever
on the fascinations of futurity, as contrasted with
the wretchedness of mortality, recommending all
good men to hasten from the one to the other, but
without any wish for themselves to leave this world
of tribulation.
LEWIS CASS.
Lewis Cass, the son of Jonathan Cass, a soldier
of the Revolution, was born at Exeter, New Hamp-
shire, October 9, 1782, He was a schoolfellow
THOMAS HART BENTON.
43
of Daniel Webster. At the age of seventeen,
after having received an ordinary English educa-
tion in his native placj, he crossed the Allegha-
nies on foot and settled in Marietta, Ohio. In
1807 he was elected a member of the state legis-
lature, where he introduced a bill which led to the
arrest of Colonel Burr and the defeat of his plans.
He was appointed about the same time Marshal
of the State by Jefferson, an office which he re-
signed in 1811 to take part as a volunteer to repel
the attacks of the Indians on the northern fron-
tier. In 1812 he entered the United States army.
He served with distinction at Detroit, and after-
wards at the Battle of the Thames, and was ap-
pointed Governor of the territory of Michigan in
1813 by Madison, a position which he held until
his appointment as Secretary of War by General
Jackson in 1831. In this period, in 1S19 and
1820, he projected and was engaged in carrying
into effect a scientific exploration of the upper
region of the Mississippi, which has identified his
name permanently with the geography of the
country. In 1836 he was appointed Minister to
France, where ho rendered important service in
opposing the admission of the right of search in
the quintuple treaty for the suppression of the
Slave Trade. In consequence of oppo -ition to the
treaty made with Great Britain on this subject
in 1842, which he regarded as involving his of-
ficial position, he requested a recall and returned
home. He published, in 1840, a volume entitled
France, its King, Court, and Governrne it, of his-
toric interest for its sketch of the travels of Louis
Philippe in America, which the minister had lis-
tened to from the lips of the royal adventurer at the
Tuileries. Mr. Cass also contributed to the South-
ern Literary Messenger several papers on Canilia
and Cyprus. In 1843 he was elected United
States Senator from Michigan, but resigned his
seat in May on his nomination as the candidate of
the Democratic party for the Presidency. Af.er
the election of General Taylor he was in 1840 re-
elected to the Senate for the unexpired portion of
his term, and still remainsa member of that body.
In 1848 be delivered an address before the New
England Society of Michigan at Detrc ir, which
was published at the time. In this eloquent dis-
course he thus contra ts the past of the old world
■with the present and future of America.
The hardy emigrant is ascending the passes of the
Bucky Mountains, and a. ready the forest is giving
way before the axe of the woodsman on the very
shores that look out upon China and Japan. In
many portions of the old world, and in the oldest too,
time has done its work. History has closed its re-
cord. Their high places have a world-renown in
human annals, but they are solitudes. The pilgrim
from other lands may go up to visit them, but it is
for what they have been, and not for what they are.
It is not to survey a prosperous country and a happy
people ; but to meditate upon the instability of hu-
man power, where the foundations of power were
the deepest and the broadest. I have seen the wan-
dering Arab, the descendant of Ishmael, sittii.g upon
the ruins of Baalbeek, himself a ruin, not less marked
and melancholy than they. Think you that visions
of far away splendor passed before his eyes, and shut
out the prospect of that wretchedness, which has
bowed down his race for centuries ? Think you that
such dreams" waking though they may be, can give
back to him his vale of Coslo-Syria, covered with
green pastures and rich flocks and herds, as in the
days of the Patriarch? No, it is better to look round
on prosperity than back on glory. The events of
ages elsewhere seem here to be compressed within
the ordinary life of man. Our birth is of yesterday;
our growth of to-day. We have no past. No monu-
ments, that have come down to us, glorious in their
ruins, t ell i c g the story of former magnificence in the
very solitude, that tells the story of present decay.
Sometimes the shadows of bygone dajTs pass over
me. and I awake as from a dream, asking myself, is
this great country, north of the Ohio and west of
these broad Lakes, teeming with life, liberty, and
prosperity ; is this the country I entered half a cen-
tury ago, shut out f om the light of heaven by the
primitive forests that covered it? Is this the coun-
try, which then contained one territory, and which
now contains five States of this Union ; whose popu-
lation then numbered a few thousands, and now
numbers five millions of people? And these flourish-
ing towns, animated with the busy hum of industry,
where they are, can I have slept under gigantic
trees, throwing their broad branches over an un-
broken soil? Ami the railroad, docs it follow the
war path, where I have followed the Indian ? And
the church bell, which summons a Christian com-
munity to prayer and to praise in the house of God,
how brief the interval, since the solitude was broken
by the war drum and the war song? We are real-
izing the fictions of Eastern imagination, and a better
genius than him of Aladdin's lamp, the genius of in-
dustry and enterprise, is dob g that mighty work,
whose ultimate issue it is not given to human saga-
city to foretell.
THOMAS IIAET BENTOX.
Thomas n.\i:T Bex-ton was born in Orange
county, North Carolina, in 1783. He was edu-
cated, but did not complete the full course, at the
college at Chanel Hill. After leaving this insti-
tution be studied law with Mr. St. George Tucker,
entered the United States army in 1810, and in
$)■■>>
£n^O
Wct&t-cta^ ' J^PZet^pt
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1811 commenced the practice of the law in
u
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Nashville, Term. Following the example of his
family, both on the father's and mother's side,
who had been active in the promotion of western
emigration, he soon afterwards removed to Mis-
souri, where, in 1820, he was elected one of her
first United States Senators. In the interval of
a year between his election and the admission of
the state, he devoted himself to the study of the
Spanish language, and to a preparation for the
vigorous fulfilment of his duties. He took his
seat in the Senate August 10, 1821, and retained
it, by constant re-election, for the long period of
thirty years, during which he took a leading
part in the discus-ion of the great questions
which came before that body, and was especially
prominent in the debates on the United States
Bank and the Sub-Treasury, being a warm friend
of the latter measure.
Colonel Benton's moderate course on the slavery
question not being approved by the majority of
the Senate of his state, and his independent
course on other questions as well having added
to the number of his enemies as well as his
friends, he lost his election to the Senate in 1851.
He offered himself at the next popular election as
a candidate for the House of Representatives, and
was successful. In 1854 he was, however, de-
feated— members of the Democratic party having
united with and elected the candidate of the
"Whigs. In 1853 Colonel Benton published the
first volume of his autobiographic work, Thirty
Years' View ; or a History of the Working of the
American Government fur Thirty Years, from
1820 to 1850. The thirty years is the period of
Mr. Benton's senatorship. extending from the
Presidency of Madi-on to that of Fillmore. The
plan of the work, giving to a great mass of material,
simplicity and clearness, is simply to treat in
chronological order, in one view, the leading
epochs of each question, connecting it with some
memorable personage or crisis of debate. This is
done by a disposition of the matter, in short,
well discriminated chapters, easily referred to in
a table of contents ; devoted mainly to the imme-
diate proceedings of Congress, but relieved by
such episodes of a personal character as obituaries,
or retirement from office of eminent actors on the
scene. Thus there are chapters on the Admis-
sion of Missouri, on the Panama Mission, the
Retirement of Rufus King, the arrival of La
Fayette, the Deaths of Adams and Jefferson.
The book is thus a succession of historical
tableaux. In one point of view it is highly com-
mendable, for its clear succinct narrative — the
ease and bonhommie of the style. It is fluent
without being diffuse, and exhibits the result of
a long habit of imparting important information
in the readiest and most intelligible way.
In addition to the ordinary narrative of events,
which might be looked for in a view of the times,
the book has two specialities in the reprint of
the anthor's speeches bearing on the subjects,
or of such portions of them as he still chooses to
adopt, and the use of the unpublished papers of
General Jackson which are to be drawn upon.
Mr. Benton's opportunities as an actor and
eye-witness, give him great advantages in this
species of historical memoir — for such it is,
neither exactly history nor biography. In his
preface he quotes Macaulay, and justly claims the
prestige of his experience in public affairs for his
work. If Gibbon, and Fox, and Mackintosh,
wrote better for being Parliament men, Mr. Ben-
ton can set forth as well for his story the g-xou'wm
pars magna fui. " I was," says he, " in the
Senate the whole time of which I write — an
active, business member, attending and attentive
— in the confidence of half the administrations,
and a close observer of the others — had an inside
view of transactions of which the public saw only
the outside, and of many of which the two sides
were very different — saw the secret springs and
hidden machinery by which men and parties were
to be moved, and measures promoted or thwarted
— saw patriotism and ambition at their respective
labors, and was generally able to discriminate
between them."
"While the second volume was in progress, early
in 1855, Mr. Benton's house at Washington was
destroyed by fire, and his library and manuscripts
perished in the flames. A letter which he wrote
to his publishers will show the prospects of the
work, and the prominent characteristics of the
man in energy and literary industry.
Washington City, March 2, 1855.
Messrs. D. Appleton t£' Co. :
Gentlemen : It is not necessary to tell you what
has happened, cela va sans dire. The point is, the
effect — and what is to be done. The answer is, first,
it will more than double my labor ; next, it will de-
lay the second volume say six months, or until the
spring of 1856; third, there are some things lost
which cannot be replaced, but which were chiefly
for a posthumous volume, not coming under our
present agreement — most of it composed of corres-
pondence, such as I had deemed worthy, both for
the character of the writers and the matter, to go to
posterity. For the rest, I go to work immediately
(after my return from St. Louis), and work inces-
santly.
Yours truly
Thomas H. Benton.
Mr. Benton's style as an orator is calm, full,
and dignified. He speaks with ease, displays his
subject with practised art ; is indefatigable in the
collection of his material, and convincing in its
use. His devotion of late to the advancement of
discovery and civilization in the great West,
coupled with the labors of his son-in-law Fre-
mont, have added a general interest to his more
strictly Congressional reputation. His advocacy
of the Pacific Railroad, and other measures, con-
nects his name with scientific progress.
CHARACTER OF NATHANIEL HACON-
TIEW.
-FROM THE THIRTY TEAES
Philosophic in his temperament and wise in his
conduct, governed in all his actions by reason and
judgment, and deeply embued with Bible images,
this virtuous and patriotic man (whom Mr. Jefferson
called " the last of the Romans") had long fixed the
term of his political existence at the age which the
Psalmist assigns for the limit of manly life : " The
days of our years are threescore years and ten ; and
if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet
is their strength labor and sorrow, for it is soon cut
off, and we fly away." He touched that age in
1828 ; and true to all his purposes, he was true to
his resolve in this, and executed it with the quietude
and indifference of an ordinary transaction. He was
in the middle of a third senatorial term, and in the
HENRY A. S. DEARBORN; JOHN SANDERSON.
45
full possession of all his faculties of mind and body ;
but his time for retirement had come — -the time fixed
by himself, but fixed upon conviction and for well
considered reasons, and inexorable to him as if
fixed by fate. To the friends who urged him to
remain to the end of his term, and who insisted that
his mind was as good as ever, he would answer,
that it was good enough yet to let him know that
he ought to quit office before his mind quit him, and
that he did not mean to risk the fate of the Arch-
bishop of Grenada. He resigned his senatorial
honors as he had worn them — meekly, unostenta-
tiously, iu a letter of thanks and gratitude to the
General Assembly of his State ; — and gave to repose
at home that interval of thought and quietude
which every wise man would wish to place between
the turmoil of life and the stillness of eternity. He
had nine years of this tranquil enjoyment, and
died without pain or suffering June 29th, 1837, —
characteristic in death as in life. It was eight
o'clock in the morning when he felt that the supreme
hour had come, had himself full-dressed with his
habitual neatness, walked in the room and lay upon
the bed, by turns conversing kindly with those who
were about him, and showing by his conduct that
he was ready and waiting, but hurrying nothing. It
was the death of Socrates, all but the hemlock, and
in that full faith of which the Grecian sage had only
a glimmering. He directed his own grave on the
point of a sterile ridge (where nobody would wish to
plough), and covered with a pile of rough flint-
stone (which nobody would wish to build with),
deeming this sterility and the uselessness of this rock
the best security for that undisturbed repose of the
bones which is still desirable to those who are indif-
ferent to monuments.
In almost all strongly-marked characters there is
usually some incident or sign, in early life, which
shows that character, and reveals to the close ob-
server the type of the future man. So it was with
Mr. Mncon. His firmness, his patriotism, his self-
denial, his devotion to duty and disregard of office
and emolument; his modesty, integrity, self-control,
and subjection of conduct to the convictions of rea-
son and the dictates of virtue, all so steadily exem-
plified in a long life, were all shown from the early
age of eighteen, iu the miniature representation of
individual action, and only confirmed in the subse-
quent public exhibitions of a long, beautiful, and
exalted career.
HENRY A. S. DEARBORN.
Henry1 Alexander Soammelt, Dearborn was
born at Exeter, New Hampshire, in 1783. He
was the son ol General Dearborn, an officer in
the American Revolution, the author of a MS.
journal of his expedition to Canada, imprisonment
in Quebec, expedition to Wyoming, and other ad-
ventures during the war, printed in his life by
Ms son. lie was afterwards Secretary of War
during Jefferson's administration, served in the
war of 1312, and was made minister to Portugal.
Henry Dearborn was educated at William and
Mary College, studied law, and practised at Sa-
lem, Massachusetts. He subsequently removed
to Portland, where he superintended the erection
of the forts in the harbor. He was appointed
Collector of Boston by Madison, and at the com-
mencement of the war of 1812 commanded the
troops in Boston harbor. He was a member of
the convention called to revise the constitution of
the state in 1821, and in 1829 a representative
from Eoxbury, and from 1831 to 1833 member
of Congress from the Norfolk District. In 184T
he was chosen Mayor of Roxbury, an office ha
retained until his death, July 29, 1851.
General Dearborn published, in 1819, a Memoir
on fke Commerce of the Black Sea, in two vols.
8vo., with a quarto volume of maps (Boston) ; in
1839, Letters on the Internal Improvements and
Commerce of the West (Boston) ; and was also the
author of a Biography of Commodore Bainbridge,
and of his father.
JOHN SANDERSON,
The author of the lively sketches of French so-
ciety in that attractive book The American in.
Paris, was a native of Pennsylvania, born in Car-
lisle in 1783. He first studied the classics (favor-
ite passages of which, at the close of his life, he
interwove in his essays with happy effect) with a
clergyman of his region, travelling some seven
miles from home daily for his instruction. In 1806
he studied law at Philadelphia, but requiring a
means of immediate support became a teacher
in the Clermont Seminary, afterwards marrying
the daughter of the principal, John T. Carre, and
becoming a partner in the enterprise. He con-
tributed to the Port Folio, and wrote occasion-
ally for the Aurora. The Lives of the Signers of
the Declaration of Independence, published in
1820, were written by himself and his brother.
Our author's share of this work was the compo-
sition of the first and second volumes. In 1833
he defended his favorite classical literature, as a
branch of study, in the letters signed Bobertjeot,
directed against a plan of education proposed for
the Girard College. His health failing he em-
barked for Havre in the summer of 1835, and re-
mained in Paris nearly a year, writing the series
of descriptive papers which he afterwards pub-
lished in 1838, entitled Sketches of Paris: in Fa-
miliar Letters to his Friends, by an American
Gentleman. He also visited England before his
return, of which he commenced a similar account
in several papers in the Knickerbocker Magazine.
Returning to America he taught the Greek and
Latin languages in the Philadelphia High-School.
Though broken in health he maintained a habit
of cheerfulness, exercising his talent in humor
and sarcasm. Griswold, who saw him in his last
days, speaks of his mirth and tenderness, and
fondness for his daughter, and his cherished re-
collections of his departed wife.* He died at
Philadelphia, April 5, 1844.
The peculiar merit of his Sketches of Paris
consists in their light French tone of enjoyment.
He caught the spirit of the place and admirably
transfused it into the style of his letters, mingled
with quotations from Ovid and, Horace, and with
an occasional freedom of expression borrowed
from the gay memories of the capital of which he
was writing.
THE PARISIAN "PENSION."
If a gentleman comes to Paris in the dog-days,
when his countrymen are spread over Europe, at
watering-places and elsewhere, and when every soul
of a French man is out of town — if he is used to love
his friends at home, and be loved by them, and to
see them gather around him in the* evenings — let
* Biog. Notice, Prose Writers of America.
46
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
him not set a foot in that unnatural thing, a bache-
lor's apartment in a furnished hotel, to live alone, to
eat alone, and to sleep alone ! If he does, let him
take leave of his wife and children, and settle up his
affairs. Nor let him seek company at the Tavern
Ordinary; here the guest arrives just at the hour,
hangs up his hat, sits down in his usual place, cross-
es his legs, runs his fingers through his hair, dines,
and then disappears, all the year round, without
farther acquaintance. But let him look out a " Pen-
sion," having an amiable landlady, or, which is the
same, amiable lodgers. He will become domiciliated
here after some time, and find some relief from one
of the trying situations of life. You know nothing
yet, happily, of the solitude, the desolation of a po-
pulous chj to a stranger. How often did I wish,
during the first three months, for a cot by the side
of some hoar hill of the Mahonoy. Go to a " Pen-
sion," especially if you are a suckling child, like me,
in the ways of the world ; and the lady of the house,
usually a pretty woman, will feel it enjoined upon
her humanity to counsel and protect you, and com-
fort you, or she will manage a:i acquaintance be-
tween you and some countess or baroness, who lodges
with her, or at some neighbor's. I live now with a
most spiritual little creature ; she tells me so many
obliging lies, and no offensive truths, which I take
to be the perfection of politeness in a landlady ; and
she admits me to her private parties — little family
"re-unions" — where I play a; loto with Madame
Thomas, and her three amiable daughters, just for a
little cider, or cakes, or chestnuts, to keep up the
spirit of the play ; and then we have a song, a solo
on the violin, or harp, and then a dance ; and Dual-
ly, we play at little games, which inflict kisses, em-
braces, and other such penalties. French people are
always so merry, whatever be the amusement; they
never let conversation flag, and I don't see any rea-
son it should. One, for example, begins to talk of
Paris, then the Passage Panorama, then of Mrs. Alex-
ander's fine cakes, and then the pretty girl that sits
behind the counter, and then of pretty girls that sit
anywhere ; and so one just lets oneself run with the
association of ideas, or one makes a digression from
the main story, and returns or not, just as one pleas-
es. A Frenchman is always a mimic, an actor, and
all that nonsense which we suffer to go to waste in
our country, he economises for the enjoyment of
society.
I am settled down in the family; I am adopted ;
the lady gives me to be sure now and then " a chance,"
as she calls it, of a ticket in a lottery ("the only one
left"), of some distinguished lady now reduced, or
some lady who has had three children, and is likely
for the fourth, where one never draws anything ; or
" a chance" of conducting her and a pretty cousin of
hers, who has taken a fancy to me, who adores the
innocency of American manners, and hates the dis-
sipation of the French, to the play. Have you never
felt the pleasure of letting yourself be duped ? Have
you never felt the pleasure of letting your little bark
float down the stream when you knew the port lay
the other way. I look upon all this as a cheap re-
turn for the kindnesses I have so much need of; I
am anxious to be cheated, and the truth is, if you
do not let a French landlady cheat you now and
then, she will drop your acquaintance. Never dis-
pute any small items overcharged in her monthly
bill ; or she that was smooth as the ermine will be
suddenly bristled as the porcupine; and why, for
the sake of limiting some petty encroachment upon
your purse, should you turn the bright heaven of
her pretty face into a hurricane? Your actions
should always leave a suspicion you are rich, and
then you are sure she will anticipate every want and.
wish you may have with the liveliest affection ; she
will be all ravishment at your successes ; she will
be in an abyss of chagrin at your disappointments.
Helas ! oh, mon Dieu ! and if you cry, she will cry
with you! AVe love money well enough in Ame-
rica, but we do not feel such touches of human kind-
ness, and cannot worlt ourselves up into such fits of
amiability, for those who have it. I do not say it
is hypocrisy; a Frenchwoman really does love you
if you have a long purse ; and if you have not (I do
not say it is hypocrisy neither), she really does hate
you.
A great advantage to a French landlady is the
sweetness and variety of her smile; a quality in
which Frenchwomen excel universally. Our Ma-
dame Gibou keeps her little artillery at play during
the whole of the dinner-time, and has brought her
smile under such a discipline as to suit it exactly to
the passion to be represented, or the dignity of the
person with whom she exchanges looks. You can
tell any one who is in arrears as if you were her
private secretary, or the wealth and liberality of a
guest better than his banker, by her smile. If it be
a surly knave who counts the pennies with her, the
little thing is strai gled in its birth ; and if one who
owes his meals, it miscarries altogether; and for a
mere visiter she lets off one worth oaly three francs
and a half; but if a favorite, who never looks into
the particulars of her bill and takes her lottery tick-
ets, then you will see the whole heaven of her face
in a blaze, and it does not expire suddenly, but like
the fine twilight of a summer evening, dies away
gently on her lips. Sometimes I have seen one flash
out like a squib, and leave you at once in the dark ;
it had lit on the wrong person ; and at other times
I have seen one struggling long for its life ; I have
watched it while it was gasping its last; she has a
way too of knocking a smile on the head ; I observed
one at dinner to-day, from the very height and bloom
of health fall down and die without a kick.
SELLECK OSBOEU.
Selleck Oseop.n was born at Trumbull, Fairfield
County, Conn., in the year 1783. He received
the rudiments of an ordinary English education,
and at the age of twelve was placed in a news-
paper printing-office at Danbury. During his ap-
prenticeship he wrote several short poems, and
shortly after its expiration, on his attaining the
age of twenty-one, became the editor of a Jefter-
sonian paper called the Witness. The federalists
were largely in the majority in the county, and
the journal, which was conducted in a violent
tone, had many enemies. One of these sued for
an alleged libel which appeared in its columns.
The editor was found guilty, and sentenced to pay
a heavy fine. In default of payment he was con-
fined in the Litchfield jail, greatly to the indigna-
tion of his political friends, who marched in proces-
sion to the place of his confinement. After his
release he returned to his paper, which he edited
for several years. About 1809 he married a lady
of New Bedford, who died a few years after.
During the war of 1815-14 he served as a captaip
in the United States army, and was stationed on
the Canada frontier. After the peace he resumed
the editorial profession at Bennington, Vermont,
where he remained a number of years, and then
removed to Wilmington, Delaware. He was for
a short time during the year 1835 the editor of a
paper devoted to the support of John C. Calhonn
for the Presidency. He next removed to Phila-
delphia, where he died in October, 1826.
WASHINGTON IRVING.
47
His small volume of Poems, Moral, Sentimental,
and Satirical, published at Boston in 1823, is a
selection of hid fugitive piece* written at various
period-!, mostly in a feeble vein of morality, with
some crude attempts at humor. A sketch of
Thanksgiving Day, in a descriptive account of
New England, has a homely air of reality.
NEW ENGLAND.
Nurse of my earliest hope, my ripest joy !
What theme more grateful could my verse employ ?
Thy copious breast is bounteous, if not fair —
My heart unweaaed, still clings and nestles there.
Though doomed to exile by stem Fate's decree,
Still memory :md mind ea.i visit thee.
Borne oa Imagination's buoyant wings,
Again I view thy g.-oves, thy hills, thy springs;
Thy coy, reluctu it, but relenting soil,
Woo'd and sub lu^d by perseveri. g toil —
Thy various coast; where frowns the roeky shore,
Whe e the rule breakers beat with ceaseless roar ;
Or where the lazy billows slowly reach
And gmbol on the far extended beach —
Where islands in fantastic groups are seen,
And pigmy promontories, crowned with green ;
Wiiere rise the hulks that float 0:1 distant seas,
In tropic climes that scorch, or climes that freeze,
Whose prows, directed by each hardy crew,
The giant whale or valued col pursue —
Where ma ly a fearless tar was early bred,
The lig'it of victory round our flag to spread:
To sea 1 all climes and visit every re:ilm —
And o'er earth's surface guide the subject helm.
■WASHINGTON IRVING.
Washington Irving was born April 3, 1783, in
the city of New York,* the youngest son of a mer-
chant, William Irving, a native of Scotland, who
had married an English lady and been settled in
his njiv country some twenty years. His early
education was much influenced by the tastes of
his brothers, who had occupied themselves with
literature ; and he fell in himself with a stock of
the best old English authors, the study of which
generou ly unfolded his happy natural disposition.
Chaucer and Spenser were his early favorites.
He had an ordinary school education, and at the
age of sixteen commenced the study of the law.
In 1832 he wrote for the Morning Chronicle, a
New York paper, edited by his brother Dr. Peter
Irving, a series of essays on the theatres, manners
of the town, and kindred topics, with the signa-
ture of Jonathan Oldstyle. A pamphlet edition
of these was published in 1824 without the sanc-
tion of the author. In 1804, led by some symp-
toms of ill health, apparently of a pulmonary
affection, he visited the South of Europe, sailing
from New York for Bordeaux in May, ami travel-
ling on his arrival by Nice to Genoa, where he
passed two months, thence to Messina in Sicily,
making a tour of that island, and crossing from
Palermo to Naples. Thence through Italy and
Switzerland to France, where he resided several
months in Paris, and readied England through
Flanders and Holland, gathering a stock of mate-
rials for his future writings. While at Rome on
this journey he became acquainted, with Wash-
ington Allston, and so far participated in his stu-
dies as to meditate for a time the profession of a
* The house in which he was horn was next to the corner of
Fulton street in William, now, by tlte widening of the former
street, on the corner, and one of tho Washington Stores.
painter, for which he has naturally a tasta. In
the reminiscences of Allston from Irving's pen,
in previous pages of this work, will be found an
interesting account of this episode of artistical
life and di-tinguished friendship.*
After an absence of two years lie returned to
New York in March, 18)6. He took up again
the study of the law, and was admitted at the
close of the year attorney-at-law. He, however,
never practised the profession.
S dmag undi ; or, th; Whim- Whams and Opi-
nions of Lwncelot L mgstaff, Esq., and others,
was at that time projected, and the publication
commenced in a series of sm ill eighteenmo num-
bers, appearing about once a fortnight from tho
Shakespeare Gallery of Longworth. The first is
dated January 24, 1807. It was continued for a
year, through twenty numbers. Paulding wrote
a good portion of this work, William Irving tho
poetry, and Washington Irving the remainder.
The humors of the day are hit off in this squib in
so agreeable a style that it is still read with inte-
rest, what was piquant gossip then being amusing
history now. It was the intention of Irving to
have extended these papers by carrying out the
invention and marrying Will Wizard to the eldest
Miss Cockloft — with, of course, a grand wedding
at Cockloft Hall, the original of which mansion
was a veritable edifice owned by Gouverneur
Kemble on the Passaic, a favorite resort of Geof-
frey Crayon in his youthful days. Among other
originals of these sketches we have heard it men-
tioned that some of tho peculiarities of Dennic,
the author, were hit off in the character of Launce-
lot Langstaff. The well-defined picture of " My
Uncle John'' is understood to have been from the
pen of Paulding ; his, too, was the original sketch
of the paper entitled "Autumnal Reflections,"
though extended and wrought up by Irving,
Knickerbockers History of New Yorlf was pub-
li-hed in December, 1800. It was commenced by
Washington Irving in company with his brother
Peter Irving, with the idea of parodying a hand-
book, which had just appeared, entitled A Picture
of New York. In emulation of an historical ac-
count in that production, it was to burlesque tho
local records, and describe in an amusing way
the habits and statistics of the town. Dr. Ir-
ving departing for Europe, and leaving tho work
solely with his brother, the latter confined it to
the historical part, which had grown in his hands
into a long comic history. The humorous capa-
bilities of tho subject wero turned to account in
the happiest way, tho fun being broad enough
not to be confounded with the realities, though a
venerable clergyman, who was on the lookout
for a history upon that subject from a clerical
brother, is said to have begun the work in good
faith, and to have been only gradually warmed to
a consciousness of the joke. The highest honor
ever paid to the authentic history of Knicker-
bocker was tho quotation from it — in good Latin
* Ant*, p. 14
t A History of New York, from the Beginning of tho World
to the end of the Dutch Dynasty; containing, among many
surprising and carious matters, the Unutterable Pondei 'ings of
Walter the Doubter; tho Disastrous Projects of William tho
Testy; and the Chivalric Achievements of Peter the Head-
strong; the three Dutch Governors of New Amsterdam : be-
ing the only Authentic History of tho Times lhat ever hath
been or ever will be published. By Dicdrich Knickerbocker.
48
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
phrase — by Goeller, German annotator of Thu-
cydides, in illustration of a passage of the Greek
author: Addo locum Washingtords Irvingii Hist.
Kovi Eboraci, lib. vii. cap. 5.* To humor the
pleasantry preliminary advertisements were in-
serted before the publication in the Evening Post,
calling for information of " a small elderly gentle-
man, dressed in an old black coat and cocked hat,
by the name of Knickerbocker" etc., who had left
his lodgings at the Columbian Hotel in Mulberry
street ; then a statement that the old gentleman
had left " a very curious kind of a written book
in his room," followed by the announcement of
the actual book " in two volumes duodecimo,
price three dollars," from the publishers Inskeep
and Bradford — to pay the bill of his landlord.
To the last revised edition of this work in 1850,
which contains some very pleasant additions, the
author has prefixed an "Apology," which, how-
ever, offers little satisfaction to the irate families
who have considered their honor aggrieved by
the publication of this extravagant burlesque —
for the incorrigible author insists upon it that he
has brought the old Dutch manners and times
into notice, as proved by the innumerable Knick-
erbocker hotels, steamboats, ice-carts, and other
appropriations of the name ; and has added not
only to the general hilarity but to the harmony of
the city, the popular traditions which he has set
in vogue " forming a convivial currency; Unking
our whole community together in good humor and
good fellowship ; the rallying points of home feel-
ing; the seasoning of civic festivities; the staple
of local tales and local pleasantries.''t We should
attach little importance to the subject had it not
been made a matter of comment in the New York
Historical Society, in an address before which
body it was gravely held up to reprehension. The
truth of the matter is that the historians should
have occupied the ground earlier, if possible, and
not have given the first advantage to the humor-
ist. We do not find, however, that the burlesque
has at all damaged the subject in the hands of
Mr. Brodhead, who has at length brought to bear
a system of original investigation and historical
inquiry upon the worthy Dutch settlers of New
Amsterdam ; or deteriorated a whit the learned
labors of O'Callaghan, who has illustrated the
early Dutch annals with faithful diligence. The
style of Knickerbocker is of great felicity. There
is just enough flavor of English classical reading
to give the riant, original material, the highest
gusto. The descriptions of nature and manners
are occasionally very happy in a serious way, and
the satire is, much of it, of that universal cha-
racter which will bear transplantation to wider
scenes and interests. The laughter-compelling
humor is irresistible, and we may readily believe
the story of that arch wag himself, Judge Brack-
enridge, exploding over a copy of the work, which
he had smuggled with him to the bench.
In 1810 Irving wrote a biographical sketch of
the poet Campbell, which was prefixed to an edi-
tion of the poet's works published in Philadelphia.
The circumstance which led to this was Irving's
acquaintance with Archibald Campbell, a brother
* Classical Museum, Oct., 1S49.
t The author's Apology, preface to edition of Knickerbocker,
1S4S.
of the author, who was then residing in New
York, and who was desirous of finding a pur-
chaser for an American edition of " O'Connor's
Child," which he had just received from London.
To facilitate this object Irving wrote the prelimi-
nary sketch from facts furnished by his brother.
It afterwards led to a personal acquaintance be-
tween the two authors when Irving visited Eng-
land. In 1850, after Campbell's death, when his
" Life and Letters," edited by Dr. Beattie, were
being republished by the Harpers in New York,
Irving was applied to for a few preliminary words
of introduction. He wrote a letter, prefixed to
the volumes, in which he speaks gracefully and
nobly of his acquaintance with Campbell, many
of the virtues of whose private life were first dis-
closed to the public in Dr. Beattie's publication.
After the perpetration of the Knickerbocker,
Irving engaged with two of his brothers in mer-
cantile business, as a silent partner. The second
war with Great Britain then broke out, when he
took part in the spirit of the 'day; edited the
Analectic Magazine, published at Philadelphia,
by Moses Thomas, writing an eloquent series
of biographies, accompanying portraits of the
American Naval Captains; and, in 1814, joined
the military staff of Governor Tompkins as aide-
de-camp and military secretary, with the title of
Colonel. "When the war was ended the next
year, he sailed for Liverpool in the month of May,
made excursions into Wales, some of the finest
counties of England, and to the Highlands of
Scotland, intending to visit the continent. The
commercial revulsions which followed the war
overwhelmed the house with which he was con-
nected, and he was thrown upon his resources as
an author. Repairing to London his excursions
and his observations on rural life and manners
furnished materials for some of the most attract-
ive portions of his Sketch Book. The publication
of this was commenced in New York, in large
octavo pamphlets, a style afterwards adopted
by Dana in his "Idle Man," and Longfellow
in his " Outre Mer." When the first volume
had appeared in this form it attracted the notice
of Jerdan, who received a copy brought over
from America by a passenger, republished some
of the papers in his Literary Gazette* and a
reprint of the whole was in prospect by some
bookseller, when the author applied to Murray to
undertake the work. The answer was civil, but
the publisher declined it. Irving then addressed
Sir Walter Scott, by whom he had previously
been cordially received at Abbotsford, on his
visit in 1819, of which he has given so agreeable
an account in the paper in the Crayon Mis-
cellany,! to secure his assistance with Con-
stable. Scott, in the most friendly manner,
promised his aid, and offered Irving the editorial
chair of a weekly ^periodical to be established
at Edinburgh, with a salary of five hundred
pounds, but he had too vivid a sense of the toils
and responsibilities of such an office to ac-
* Autobiography of William Jerdnn, ii. 2S8.
t Scott had been an admirer of Irving's early writings, hav-
ing received a copy of Knickerbocker, not long after its pub-
lication, through Mr. HeDry Brevoort. Irving carried him a
letter of introduction from Campbell, to whom Scott sent a
message, thanking him for "one of the best and pleasantcst
acquaintances I have made this many a day." — Lockhart's
Scott, ch. xxiis.
WASHINGTON IRVING.
cept it. He put the first volume of the Sketch
Book to press at his own expense, with John
Miller, February, 1820; it was getting along
tolerably, when the bookseller failed in the first
month. Scott came to London at this time,
reopened the matter with Murray, who issued the
entire work, and thenceforward Irving had a
publisher for his successive works, " conducting
himself in all his dealings with that fair, open,
and liberal spirit which had obtained for him the
well merited appellation of the Prince of Book-
sellers."* Murray bought the copyright for two
hundred pounds, which he subsequently increased
to four hundred, with the success of the work.
In 1820 Irving took up his residence for a 3-ear
in Paris, where he became acquainted with the
poet Moore, and enjoyed his intimacy with the
best English society in the metropolis. In the
spring of 1821, Moore speaks in his Diary of
Irving's being hard at work writing his Brace-
bridge Hall, having in the course of ten days
written about one hundred and thirty pages of
the size of those in the Sketch Book, adding,
"this is amazing rapidity." Bracebridge Ball,
or the Humourists, is a series of sketches of
English rural lite, holiday customs, and refined
village character of Sir Roger de Ooverley por-
traiture, centring about a fine old establishment
in Yorkshire. The characters of Master Simon,
Jack Tibbett-*, and General Ilarbottle do credit to
the school of Goldsmith and Addison. The Stout
Gentleman, the Village Choir, the delicate story
of Annette Delarbre display the best powers of
the author; while the episodes of the Dutch
tales of Dolph Heyliger and the Storm Ship
relieve the monotony of the English description.
The winter of 1822 was passed by Irving at
Dresden. He returned to Paris in 1823, and in the
December of the following year published his
Tales of a Traveller, with the stories of the
* Author's Preface to the Revised Edition of Sketch Book,
1S4S.
VOL. II. i
Nervous Gentleman, including that fine piece of
animal spirits and picturesque description, the
Bold Dragoon, the series of pictures of literary
life in Buckthorne and his Friends — in winch
there is som.e of his happiest writing, blending
humor, sentiment, and a kindly indulgence for the
failures of life, — the romantic Italian Stories, and,
as in the preceding work, a sequel of New World
legends of Dutchmen and others, built upon the
writer's invention in the expansion of the fertile
theme of Captain Kidd, the well known piratical
and money-concealing adventurer. For this work
Moore tells us that Murray gave Irving fifteen
hundred pounds, and " he. might have had two
thousand."* These books were still published
in the old form in numbers in New York, simul-
taneously witli their English appearance.
The following winter of 1825 was passed
by Irving in the South of France, and early
in the next year he went to Madrid, at the sug-
gestion of Alexander H. Everett, then minister
to Spain, for the purpose of translating the im-
portant series of new documents relating to the
voyages of Columbus, just collected by Navar-
rete. For a translation was substituted the
History 0/ the Life and Voyages of Christopher
Columbus,f to which the Voyages and Discoveries
of the Companions of Columbus were afterwards
added. The Columbus was published in 1828,
and the English edition brought its author three
thousand guineas. A tour to the South of Spain
in this and the following year provided the
materials for A Chronicle of the Conquest of
Grenada, and The Alhambra, or the New Sketch
Book. The latter is dedicated, May, 1832, to
Wilkie, the artist, who was a companion with the
author in some of his excursions. Irving spent
three months in the old Moorish palace. He some
time after in America, published his Legends of the
Conquest of Spain (in 1835), which with his
Mahomet and his Successors (1819-50) complete
a series of Spanish and Moorish subjects, marked
by the same genial and poetic treatment; the
fancy of the writer evidently luxuriating in the
personal freedom of movement of iiis heroes, their
humor of individual character, and the warm
oriental coloring of the theme.
In July, 1829, Irving left Spain for England,
having been appointed Secretary of Legation to
the American Embassy at London, when Mr.
M'Lane was Minister, ne retired on the arrival
of Van Buren. The University of Oxford con-
ferred on him in 1831 the degree of LL.D. He
arrived in America on his return, May 21, 1832,
after an absence of seventeen years, and his
friends at New York commemorated his arrival
by a public dinner, at which Chancellor Kent
presided. A few months later, in the summer,
Irving accompanied Mr. Ellsworth, one of the
commissioners for removing the Indian tribes
west of the Mississippi, in his journey, which ha
has described in his Tour on the Prairies, pub-
lished in the Crayon Miscellany in 1835. His
Abhotsford and. Nexcsteal Abbey formed another
volume of the series. In 1836 he published his
* "Diary. 17 Jane, 1S24.
t The Colnmbus gained him a high honor in the receipt of
one of the fifty-guinea ixold medals, provided by George IT.
for eminence inbistorical writing, its companion being assign-
ed to Hallam.
50
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
Astoria, attracted to the subject by an early fond-
ness for the character of the trappers and voy-
ageurs whom he had seen in his youth in Canada.
He was assisted in the preparation of this work
by his nephew, Mr. Pierre M. Irving.*
Another undertaking of a similar character
was his Adventures of Captain Bonneville,
U.S.A., in the Rocky Mountains and the Far
West, prepared from ihe MSS. of that traveller,
but made an original work by the observation
and style of the writer. From 1839, for two
years, Irving contributed a series of papers
monthly to the Knickerbocker Magazine. Among
these tales and sketches are two narratives, The
Early Experiences of Ralph Eingwood. and
Mount joy, or some Fassages out of the Life of a
Castle Builder. A number of these papers, with
some others from the English Annuals and other
sources, have been collected in 1S55 in a volume,
with the title of Wolfert's Roost.
In February, 1842, he was appointed Minister
to Spain, an office which he occupied for the next
four years. He then returned home, and has since
Sunnyside.
continued to reside at his cottage residence,
" Sunnyside," near Tarry town, on the banks of
the Hudson, the very spot which he had described
years before in the " Legend of Sleepy Hollow,"
as the castle of the Heer van Tassel, illuminated
with the throng of country beauties, and that pro-
digality of " a genuine Dutch country tea-table,"
in the presence of which the mouth of the
schoolmaster Ichabod watered, and his skin di-
lated as it embraced the ample cheer. Of this
neighborhood, Irving also wrote in that tale of
his youth : — " If ever I should wish for a re-
treat, whither I might steal from the world
and its distractions, and dream quietly away
the remainder of a troubled life, I know
of none more promising than this little val-
ley." At this retreat since his last return
from Europe he has lived, in the midst of a family
circle composed of his brother and his nieces.
* An interesting communication from Irving on this sub-
ject, contradicting a story of Mr. Astor having paid him five
thousand dollars to "take up the MSS.'1 will be found in the
Literary World for November 22, 1851. The only compensa-
tion Irving received was his share of the profits from his
publisher.
hospitably entertaining his friends, occasionally
visiting different portions of the country, and em-
ploying his pen in the composition of his Life of
Washington, the first volume of which, as we
write, is in progress through the press. The pre-
paration of this, the publication of Oliver Gold-
smith, a Biography, an enlargement of a life
which he had prefixed to an edition in Paris of
that author's works, adapting the researches of
Prior and Forster, and a revised edition of his
own writings published by Putnam, of which
several of the volumes have been published in a
more costly form, enriched by the vigorous and
refined designs of Darley, have been his latest
literary productions.
In estimating the genius of Irving, we can
hardly attach too high a value to the refined
qualities and genial humor which have made his
wi-itings favorites wherever the English language
is read. The charm is in the proportion, the
keeping, the happy vein which inspires happiness
in return. It is the felicity of but few authors,
out of the vast stock of English literature, to
delight equally young and old. The tales of Ir-
ving are the favorite authors of childhood, and
their good humor and amenity can please where
most literature is weariness, in the sick room of
the convalescent. Every influence which breathes
from these writings is good and generous. Their
sentiment is always just and manly, without cant
or affectation; their humor is always within the
bounds of propriety. They have a fresh inspira-
tion of American nature, which is not the less
nature for the art with which it is adorned.
The color of personality attaches us throughout
to the author, whose humor of character is
always to be felt. This happy art of presenting
rude and confused objects in an orderly pleasur-
able aspect, everywhere to be met with in the
pages of Irving, is one of the most beneficent in
literature. The philosopher Hume said a turn
for humor was worth to him ten thousand a
year, and it is this gift which the writings of
Irving impart. To this quality is allied an active
fancy and poetic imagination, many of the
choicest passages of Irving being interpenetrated
by this vivifying power. On one or two occa-
sions only, we believe, in some stanzas to the
Passaic River, some delicate lines, descriptive of
a painting by Gilbert Stuart Newton,* and a
theatrical address, once pronounced by Cooper at
the Park Theatre, has he ever put pen to verse ;
but he is an essential poet in prose, in many ex-
quisite passages of vivid description from West-
minster Abbey and English rural scenery to the
waste beauties of the great region beyond the
Mississippi. Parallel with the ruder but more
* An old philosopher is reading, in this picture, from a folio,
to a young beauty who is asleep in a chair on the other side
of the table. It is a fine summer's day. and the warm atmo-
sphere is let in through the open casement. These are the
lines which Irving wrote at his friend Newton's request, as a
description of the picture: —
THE DULL LECTURE.
Frost.ie age. frostie age,
Vain a 1 thy learning;
Drowsie page, drowsie page,
Evermore turning.
Young head no lore will heed.
Young heart's a reckless rover,
Young beauty, while you read,
Sleeping dreams of absent lover.
WASHINGTON IRVING.
51
robust and athletic writings of Cooper, _ the
volumes of Irving improved American society,
and rendered the national name beloved and
respected abroad. Both, to the honor of the
country, have never lacked admirers from the
start; "both have been followed by diligent
schools of imitators, and their books will con-
tinue to be read together, with equal honor, as
the complement of each other.
We may here properly introduce some notices
of the elder brothers of Washington Irving, who,
together with himself, established the family re-
putation in literature. They were four : — Wil-
liam, Peter, Ebenezer, and John Treat. All were
engaged in literary or professional life except
Ebenezer, who pursued a mercantile career.
William Irving was born in New York,
August 15, 1766. He commenced life as an
Indian trader, residing at Johnstown and Caugh-
awaga on the Mohawk, from 1787 to 1791. He
married a sister of the author, James K. Paul-
ding, November 7, 1703. At the date of Salma-
gundi he was a merchant at New York, with the
character of a man of wit and refinement, who
had added to a natural genial temperament the
extensive resources of observation, and a fresh
experience of the world, gathered in his border
life. The part which he took in Salmagundi was
chiefly the contribution of the poetical pieces,
which are mainly from his pen — the letters and
proclamations, t'.ie humorous and sentimental
verse, "from the mill of Pindar Cockloft." These
poems are in a happy vein, and if separately
published with the author's name, would have
long since given him a distinct place in the col-
lections of the American literati. In furtherance
of the prevailing humor of the book, they cele-
brate the simpler manners of former days, and
the eccentricities and scandals of the passing
time. The satire is pungent and good-natured,
and the numbers felicitous. A few stanzas will
show how pleasantly Pindar Cockloft, Esq.,
blended mirth with sentiment.
VISION OF TWO SISTERS IN A BALL-ROOM.
How oft I breathe the inward sigh,
And feel the dew-drop in my eye,
When I behold some beauteous frame,
Divine in everything but name,
Just venturing, in the tender age,
On Fashion's late new-fangled stage!
Where soon the guileless heart shall cease
To bent in artlessness and peace;
Where all the flowers of guy delight
With which youth decks its prospects bright,
Shall wither 'mid the cares— the atrife —
The eold realities of life !
Thus lately, in my careless mood,
As I the world of fashion viewed,
While celebrating e/rcat mid small,
That grand solemnity — a ball,
My roving vision chanced to light
On two sweet forms, divinely bright;
Two sister nymphs, alike in face,
In mien, in loveliness and grace ;
Twin rose-buds, bursting into bloom,
In all their brilliance and perfume ;
Like those fair forms that often beam,
Upon the eastern poet's dream:
For Eden had each lovely maid
In native innocence arrayed, — ■
And heaven itself had almost shed
Its sacred halo round each head 1
They seemed, just entering hand in hand,
To cautious tread this fairy land;
To take a timid hasty view,
Enchanted with a scene so new.
The modest blush, untaught by art,
Bespoke their purity of heart;
And every timorous act unfurled
Two souls unspotted by the world.
Oh, how these strangers joyed my sight,
And thrilled my bosom with delight!
They brought the visions of my youth
Back to my soul in all their truth,
Recalled fair spirits into day,
That time's rough hand had swept awayl
Thus the bright natives from above,
Who come on messages of love,
Will bless, at rare and distant whiles,
Our sinful dwelling by their smiles !
Oh ! my romance of youth is past,
Bear airy dreams too bright to last !
Yet when such forms as these appear,
I feel your soft remembrance here ;
For, ah ! the simple poet's heart,
On which fond love once played its part,
Still feels the soft pulsations beat,
As loth to quit their former seat.
Just like the harp's melodious wire,
Swept by a bard with heavenly fire,
Though ceased the loudly swelling strain,
Yet sweet vibrations long remain.
Full soon I found the lovely pair
Had sprung beneath a mother's care,
Hard by a neighbouring streamlet's side,
At once its ornament and pride.
The beauteous parent's tender heart
Had well fulfilled its pious part;
And, like the holy man of old,
As we're by sacred writings told,
Who, when he from his pupil sped,
Poured two-fold blessing* on his head, —
So this fond mother had imprest
Her early virtues in each breast,
And as she found her stock enlarge,
Had stampt new graces on her charge.
The fair resigned the calm retreat,
Where first their souls in concert beat,
And flew on expectation's wing,
To sip the joys of life's gay spring ;
To sport in fashion's splendid maze,
Where friendship fades, and love decays.
So two sweet wild flowers, near the side
Of some fair river's silver tide,
Pure as the gentle stream that laves
The green banks with its lucid waves,
Bloom beauteous in their native ground,
Diffusing heavenly fragrance round:
But should a venturous hand transfer
These blossoms to the gay parterre
Where, spite of artificial aid,
The fairest plants of nature fade;
Though they may shine supreme awhile,
Mid pale ones of the stranger soil,
The tender beauties soon decay,
And their sweet fragrance dies away.
Blest spirits ! who enthroned in air,
Watch o'er the virtues of the fair,
And with angelic ken survey,
Their windings through life's chequered way ;
52
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
"Who hover round them as they glide
Down fashion's smooth deceitful tide,
And guard them o'er that stormy deep
Where Dissipation's tempests sweep:
Oh, make this inexperienced pair,
The objects of your tenderest care.
Preserve them from the languid eye,
The faded cheek — the long drawn sigh ;
And let it be your constant aim
To keep the fair ones still the same :
Two sister hearts, unsullied, bright
As the first beam of lucid light,
That sparkled from the youthful sun,
When first his jocund race begun.
So when these hearts shall burst their shrine,
To wing their flight to realms divine,
They may to radiant mansions rise
Pure as when first they left the skies.
In his poem entitled Tea, which is " earnestly
recommended to the attention of all maidens of
a certain age," there is this introduction of the
time-out-of-mind scandal associated with that
beverage.
In harmless chit-chat an acquaintance they roast,
And serve up a friend, as they serve up a toast,
Some gentle faux pas, or some female mistake,
Is like sweetmeats delicious, or relished as cake;
A bit of broad scandal is like a dry crust,
It would stick in the throat, so they butter it first
With a little affected good-nature, and cry
" No body regrets the thing deeper than I."
Our young ladies nibble a good name in play,
As for pastime they nibble a biscuit away:
While with shrugs and surmises, the toothless old
dame,
As she mumbles a crust she will mumble a name ;
And as the fell sisters astonished the Scot,
In predicting of Banquo's descendants the lot,
Making shadows of kings, amid flashes of light,
To appear in array and to frown in his sight ;
So they conjure up spectres all hideous in hue,
Which, as shades of their neighbors, are passed in
review.
In the more concentrated social humors of that
day, there was opportunity for much satirical
pleasantry, which is now lost among the nu-
merous interests of metropolitan life. The fops
and belles were then notabilities and subjects to
be cared for by men of wit and society. One of
the clever pleasantries of William Irving of that
now distant time, which has never before ap-
peared in print, was recently called up for us by
Washington Irving, who recited the lines from
memory, and kindly furnished us with a copy.
It is in a style formerly in vogue in the days of
Pindar and Colman — a trifle in allusion to an
absurdity in the whisker line of the fops in the
early years of the century.
Sir! said a barber to a thing going by his shop,
Sir, said he, will you stop
And be shaved? for I see you are lathered already,
I've a sweet going razor, and a hand that is steady.
Sir! damme,said the creature standing stiff on two
feet,
Damme, Sir,' — do you intend to bore one in the
street?
Don't you see that ct la mode de Cockney, I am
shaved and drest?
Lord, Sir, said the barber, I protest,
I took that load of hair, and meal, and lard,
That lies about your mouth to be a lathered beard.
This fashion of lathered whiskers and a rat's tail
behind,
Is the most ojusest thing that you can find.
And what makes it more ojus to me, is that,
It's a sure sign of a Tory or a harry stuck cat.
For mark it when you will, I assert it before ye,
The larger the whisker the greater the tory.
To the prose of Salmagundi William Irving
furnished occasional hints and sketches, which
were worked up by his brother. Among these
were the letters of Mustapha in numbers five and
fourteen, the last of which is the amusing sketch
of the political logocracy. Mr. Irving was in
Congress from 1813 to 1819. He died in New
York, November 9, 1821.
Petee Ieving, the second brother, was born
October 30, 1771. He studied medicine, with-
out, however, devoting himself to the profession,
though it gave him the title of Doctor through
life. He was proprietor and editor of the Morn-
ing Chronicle newspaper, the first number of
which he published in New York, October 1,
1802. This paper was in the democratic interest,
and for the time was a warm advocate of Burr.
It had among its contributors, besides the editor's
brothers, Washington and John T. Irving, Paul-
ding, William A. Duer, and Paidolph Bunner.
As a tender to the daily, a more convenient
method of parrying the opposition, and serving
a temporary purpose on the eve of an election,
the Corrector, a weekly newspaper, the work of
several hands, was issued anonymously in March
and April, 1804. Dr. Irving would probably
have returned the compliments of the articles
which his brother Washington had published in
his newspaper, by contributing to Salmagundi,
but he was abroad travelling in Europe during
the time that work was issued. He left in De-
cember, 1806, and returned in January, 1808.
He then projected with his brother the work
which afterwards grew in the hands of the latter
into Knickerbocker's New York ; but before it
was written sailed for Europe at the beginning
of 1809, and remained there until the spring of
1836, when he embarked for home. In this
period a novel appeared from his pen in New ,
York, from the press of "Van Winkle in 1820.
It was, as its title intimates, an adaptation from
the French, though with extensive alterations,
Giovanni Sbogarro: A Venetian Tale [taken
from the French], by Perchal G . It is a
stirring tale of piratical adventure, in a now
somewhat exploded school of fiction, and is
written in a happy style.
Dr. Irving did not long survive his return to
America. He died at his residence in New York,
June 27, 1838.-
Ebexezee Ieving was horn January 27, 1776.
He has long since retired from mercantile life,
and his residence with his brother is one of the
pleasing associations of the family home at Sun-
nyside.
John T. Irving was born May 26, 1778. He
studied the profession of the law, in which he ac-
quired a reputation that secured him, on the ere- ^
ation of the Court of Common Pleas for the city |
and county of New York in 1821, the appoint-
ment of First Judge. He presided in this court
for seventeen 3'ears, till his death. As a judge,
he is worthily pronounced to have been "in many
"WASHINGTON IRVING.
53
respects a model for imitation. To the strictest
integrity and a strong love of justice, he united
the most exact and methodical habits of busine-s ;
attentive, careful, and painstaking, few judges in
this state ever have been more accurate, or per-
haps more generally correct in their decisions."*
In his early days we have seen him a c mtributor
to his brother's newspaper. He was fond of oom-
po ition, had the family elegance of style, and
wrote brilliant political verses in the party con-
flict i of his day. He died in New York, March
15, 1838.
Of the younger members of the family, John
Treat Irving, son of Judge Irving, is the author
of several works of distinguished literary merit.
In 1835 he published Indian Sketches, a narra-
tive of an expedition to the Pawnee Tribe-!, a
book of lively, spirited description. He is also
the author of two novels, remarkable for their
striking pathetic and humorous qualities: The
Attorney, and Harry Hurson, or the Benevolent
Bachelor. Both of these were first published in
the Knickerbocker Magazine, with the signature
of John Quod, the well known title to many a
pjleasant article in that journal. The locality is
New York, and the interest of each turns upon
passages of the author's profession, the law.
With the graver themes of rascality are mingled
the humors of low life, both sketched with a Ann
hand.
Theodore, the son of Ebenezer Irving, joined
his uncle, Washington Irving, in Europe in 1S2S,
and resided with him in Spain and England.
From 183(5 to 1849 he was Professor of History
and Belles Lettres at Geneva College, and sub-
sequently held a similar position in the Free
Academy in New York. In 1835 he published an
historical work, The Conquest of Florida, by
Hernando de Soto, to the composition of winch he
was led by his studies in Spain. It is written with
ease and elegance, and lias been well received,
having been recently reprinted in 1851. Mr.
Irving is also the author of a devotional volume,
The Fountain of Living Waters. In 1854 he re-
ceived orders in the Protestant Episcopal Church.
TIIE 6TOUT GENTLEMAN — FROM BfiACEBP.rDGE IIAI.L.
It was a rainy Sunday in the gloomy month of
November. I had been detained, in the course of a
journey, by a slight indisposition, from which I was
recovering; but was still feverish, and obliged to
keep within doors all day, in an inn of the small
town of Derby. A wet Sunday in a country inn ! — ■
whoever has had the luck to experience one can
alone judge of my situation. The rain puttered
against the casements ; the bells tolled for church
with a melancholy sound. I went to the windows
in quest of something to amuse the eye; but it
seemed as if I had been placed completely out of
the reach of all amusement. The windows of my
bedroom looked out among tiled roofs and stacks of
chimneys, while those of my sitting-room comman-
ded a full view of the stable-yard. I know of
nothing more calculated to make a man sick of this
world than a stable-yard on a rainy day. The
place was littered with wet straw that had been
kicked about by travellers and stable-boys. In one
corner was a stagnant pool of water, surrounding an
island of muck ; there were several half-drowned
* Daly's History of Judicial Tribunals of New York, p. 65.
fowls crowded together tinder a cart, among which
was a miserable, crest-fallen cock, drenched out of
all life and spirit; his drooping tail matted, as it
were, into a single feather, along which the water
trickled from his back ; near the cart was a half-
dozing cow, chewing the cud, and standing patiently
to be rained on, with wreaths of vapor rising from
her reeking hide ; a wall-eyed horse, tired of the
loneliness of the stable, was poking his spectral head
out of a window, with the rain dripping on it from .
the eaves; an unhappy cur, chained to a doghouse
hard by, uttered something every now and then,
between a bark and a yelp ; a drab of a kitchen
wench tramped backwards and forwards through
the yard in pattens, looking as sulky as the weather
itself; every thing, in short, was comfortless and
forlorn, except a crew of hardened ducks, assembled
like boon companions round a puddle, and making a
riotous noise over their liquor. *>
I was lonely and listless, and wanted amusement.
My room soon became insupportable. I abandoned
it, and sought what is technically culled the travel-
lers'-room. This is a public room set apart at most
inns for the accommodation of a class of wayfarers,
called travellers, qr riders; a kind of commercial
knights-errant, who are incessantly scouring the
kingdom in gigs, on horseback, or by coach. They
are the only successors that I know of at the present
day, to the knights-errant of yore. They lead the
same kind of roving adventurous life, only changing
the lanee for a driving whip, the buckler for a pat-
tern-card, and the coat of mail for an upper Benja-
min. Instead of vindicating the charms of peerless
beauty, they rove about, spreading the fame and
standing of some substantial tradesman or manu-
facturer, and are ready at any time to bargain
in his name; it being the fashion no\v-a-d;iys to
trade, instead of fight, with one another. As the
room of the hostel, in the good old fighting times,
would be hung round at night with the armor of
way-worn warriors, such as coats of mail, falchions,
and yawning helmets; so the travellers'-room is
garnished with the harnessing of their successors,
with box-coats, whips of all kinds, spurs, gaiters, and
oil-cloth covered hats.
I was in hopes of finding some of these worthies
to talk with, but was disappointed. There were,
indeed, two or three in the room ; but I could make
nothing of them. One was just finishing his break-
fast, quarrelling with his bread and butter, and
huffing the waiter; another buttoned on a pair of
gaiters, with many execrations at Boots for not hav-
ing cleaned his shoes well; a third sat drumming
on the table with his fingers and looking at the rain
as it streamed down the window-glass; they all ap-
peared infected by the weather, and disappeared,
one after the other, without exchanging a word.
I sauntered to the window, and stood gazing at
the people, picking their way to church, with petti-
coats hoisted midleg high, and dripping umbrellas.
The bell ceased to toll, and the streets became silent.
I then amused myself with watching the daughters
of a tradesman opposite ; who, being confined to the
house for fear of wetting their Sunday finery, played
off their charms at the front windows, to fascinate
the chance tenants of the inn. They at length were
summoned away by a vigilant vinegar-faced mother,
and I had nothing further from without to amuse me.
Whatwaslto do to pass away the long-lived day?
I waB sadly nervous and lonely; and everything
about an inn seems calculated to make a dull day
ten times duller. Old newspapers, smelling of beer
and tobacco smoke, and which I had already read
half a dozen times. Good for nothing books, that
were worse than rainy weather. I bored myself to
54
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
death with nn old volume of the Lady's Magazine.
I read all the commonplaced names of ambitious
travellers scrawled oa the panes of glass; the eter-
nal families of the Smiths, and the Browns, and the
Jacksons, and the Johnsons, and all the other sons;
and I deciphered several scraps of fatiguing in-win-
dow poetry which I have met with in all parts of
the world.
The day continued lowering and gloomy ; the
slovenly, ragged, spongy clouds drifted heavily
along ; there was no variety even in the rain : it
was one dull, continued, monotonous patter — patter
— patter, excepting that now and then I was enli-
vened by the idea of a brisk shower, from the rattling
of the drops upon a passing umbrella.
It was quite refreshing (if I may be allowed a
hackneyed phrase of the day) when, in the course
of the mornii g, a horn blewr, and a stage-coach
whirled through the street, with outside passengers
stuck all over it, coweri. g under cotton umbrellas,
and seethed together, and reeking with the steams
of wet box-coats and upper Benjamins.
The sound brought out from their lurking-places
a crew of vagabond boys, and vagabond dogs, and
the carroty-headed hostler; and that nondescript
animal 3-cleped Boots, and all the other vagabond
race that infest, the purlieus of an inn ; but the bus-
tle was transient; the coach again whirled on its
way ; and boy and dog, and hostler and Boots, all
slunk back again to their holes; the street again
became silent, and the rain continued to rain on.
In fact, there was no hope of its clearing up ; the
barometer pointed to rainy weather: mine hostess's
tortoise-shell cat sat by the fire washing her face,
and rubbing her paws over her ears ; and, on refer-
ring to the Almanac, I found a direful prediction
stretching fiom the top of the page to the bottom
through the whole month, " expect — much — rain —
about— this — time !''
I was dreadfully hipped. The hours seemed as
if they would never creep by. The very ticking of
the clock became irksome. At length the stillness
of the house was interrupted by the ringing of a
bell. Shortly after I heard the voice of a waiter at
the bar: "The stout gentleman in No. 13, wants
his breakfast. Tea and bread and butter, with
ham and eggs ; the eggs not to be too much
done."
In such a situation as mine every incident is of
importance. Here was a subject of speculation pre-
sented to my mind, and ample exercise for my
imagination. I am prone to paint pictures to my-
self, and on this occasion I had some materials to
work upon. Had the guest up stairs been mentioned
as Mr. Smith or Mr. Brown, or Mr. Jackson, or Mr.
Johnson, or merely as " the gentleman in No. 13,"
it would have been a perfect blank to me. I should
have thought nothii g of it; but " The stout gentle-
man!"— the very name had something in it of the
picturesque. It at once gave the size ; it embodied
the personage to my mind's eye, and my fancy did
the rest.
He was stout, or, as some term it, lusty; in all
probability, therefore, he was advanced in life, some
people expanding as they grow old. By his break-
fasting rather late, and in his own room, he must be
a man accustomed to live at his ease, and above the
necessity of earl}' risiig; no doubt a round, rosy,
lusty old gentleman.
There was another violent ringing. The stout
gentleman was impatient for his breakfast. He wa3
evidently a man of importance; " well to do in the
world ;" accustomed to be promptly waited upon ;
of a keen appetite, and a little cross when hungry ;
" perhaps," thought I, " he may be some London Al-
derman ; or who knows but he may be a Member of
Parliament?"
The breakfast was sent up, and there was a short
interval of silence ; he was, doubtless, making the
tea. Presently there was a violent ringing; and
before it could be answered, another ringii g still
more violent. " Bless me ! what a choleric old gen-
tleman !" The waiter came down in a huff. The
butter was rancid, the eggs were over-done, the ham
was too salt: — the stout gentleman was evidently
nice in his eating ; one of those who eat and growl,
and keep the waiter on the trot, and live in a state
militant with the household.
The hostess got into a fume. I should observe,
that she was a brisk, coquettish woman : a little of
a shrew, and something of a slammcrkin, but very
pretty withal ; with a nincompoop for a husband, as
shrews are apt to have. She rated the servants
roundly for their negligence in sending up so bad a
breakfast, but said not a word against the stout gen-
tleman ; by which I clearly perceived that he must
be a man of consequence, entitled to make a noise
and to give trouble at a country inn. Other eggs,
and ham, anil bread and butter were sent up.
They appeared to be more graciously received; at
least there was no further complaint.
I had not made many turns about the travellers'-
room, when there was another riigirg. Shortly
afterwards there was a stir and an inquest about the
house. The stout gentleman wanted the Times or
the Chronicle newspaper. I set him down, therefore,
for a whig ; or rather, from his beii g so absolute and
lordly where he had a chance, I suspected him of
being a radical. Hunt, I had heard, was a laige
man; "who knows," thought I, "but it is Bunt
himself!"
My curiosity began to be aw.ikened. I inquired
of the waiter who was this stout gentleman that
was making all this stir ; but I could get no infor-
mation : nobody seemed to know his name. Ihe
landlords of bustling inns seldom tiouble their heads
about the names or occupations of their transient
guests. The color of a coat, the shape or size of the
person, is enough to srggest a travelling name. It
is either the tall gentleman, or the short gentleman,
or the gentleman in black, or the gentleman in snuff-
color; or, as in the present instance, the stout gen-
tleman. A designation of the kind once hit on
answers every purpose, and saves all further inquiry.
Rain — rain — lain! pitiless, ceaseless lain! No
such thing as putting a foot out of doors, and no
occupation nor amusement within. By and by I
heard some one walking over head. It was in the
stout gentleman's room. He evidently was a large
man by the heaviness of his tread ; and an old man
from his wearing such creakii g soles. " He is doubt-
less," thought 1, "some rich old square-toes of regu-
lar habits, and is now taking exercise after break-
fast."
I now read all the advertisements of coaches and
hotels that were stuck about the mantel-piece. The
Lady's Magazine had become an abomination to me;
it was as tedious as the day itself. I wandered out,
not knowing what to do, and ascended again to my
room. I had not been there long, when there was
a squall from a neighborii g bedroom. A door
opened and slammed violently; a chambei maid, that
I had remarked for havii g a ruddy, good-humored
face, went down stairs in a violent flurry. The stout
gentleman had been rude to her!
This sent a whole host of my deductions to the I
deuce in a moment. Tins unknown personage could
not be an old gentleman ; for old gei tlemen are not
apt to be so obstreperous to chambermaids. He
could not be a young gentleman ; for young gentle-
■WASHINGTON IRVING.
men are not apt to inspire sucli indignation. He
must be a middle-aged man, and confounded ugly
into the bargain, or the girl would not have t:iken
the matter in such terrible dudgeon. I confess I was
sorely puzzled.
In a few minutes I heard the voice of my landlady.
I caught a glance of her as she came tramping up
stairs; her face glowing, her cap flaring, her tongue
wagging the whole way. "She'd have no such do-
ings in her house, she'd warrant If gentlemen did
spend money freely, it was no rule. She'd have no
servant mail of hers treated in that way, when
they were about their work, that's what she
wouldn't."
As I hate squabbles, particularly with women,
and above all with pretty women, I slunk back into
my room, and partly closed the door, but my curi-
osity was too much excite 1 not to listen. The land-
lady marched intrepidly to the enemy's citadel, and
entered it with a storm: the door closed after her.
I heard her voice in high windy clamor for a mo-
meat or two. Then it gridually subside 1, like a
gust of wind in a garret; then there was a laugh;
then I heard nothing more.
After a little while my landlady came out with
an odd smile on her face, adjusting her cap, which
was a little on one Bide. As she went down stairs I
heard the landlord ask her what wis the matter ;
she sai 1, " Nothing at all, only the girl's a fool." — I
was more than ever perplex I'd what to make of this
unaccountable personage, who could put a gool-
nature 1 ehamberm iil in a passion, and send away a
termaga. it landlady in smiles. He could not be so
old, nor cross, nor ugly either.
J had to g> to work at his picture again, and to
paint him entirely di.ferent. I now set him down
for o le of those stmt ge itlemen that are frequently
met with swaggering abou; the doors of country
inns. Moist, merry fellows, in Belcher ha idker-
chiefs, wh >se b ilk is a little assisted by malt-liquors.
Men who have seen the world, and been sworn at
Hig'ig ate ; who are use 1 to tavern life ; up to all
the tricks of tap iters, and knowing in the ways of
sinful publicans. Free-livers on a small scale ; who
are prodigal within the compass of a guinea ; who
call all the waiters by nane, to.izle the maids, gos-
sip witli the la idlaly at the b ir, and prose over a
pint of port, or a glass of negus, after dinner.
The morning wore away in forming these and
similar surmises. As fast as I wove one system of
belief, some movement of the unknown would com-
pletely overturn it, and throw all my thoughts again
into confusion. Such are the solitary operations of
a feverish mind. I was, as I have said, extremely
nervous; and the continual meditation on the con-
cerns of this invisible personage began to have its
effect : — I was getting a fit of the fidgets.
Dinner-time came. I hope 1 the stout gentleman
might dine in the travellers'-room, and that I might
at length get a view of his person : but no — he had
dinner served in his own room. What could be the
meaning of this solitude and mystery? He could
not be a radical ; there was something too aristocra-
tical in thus keeping himself apart from the rest of
the world, and condemning himself to his own dull
company throughout a rainy day. And then, too,
he lived too well for a discoutente.l politician. He
seemed to expatiate on a variety of dishes, and to
sit over his wine like a jolly friend of goi»d living.
Indeed, my doubts on this head were soon at an end ;
for he could not have finished his first bottle before
I could faintly hear him humming a tune; and on
listening, I found it to be " God save the King."
'Twas plain, then, he was no radical, but a faithful
subject ; one who grew loyal over bis bottle, and
was ready to stand by king and constitution, wdien
he could stand by nothing else. But who could he
be! ily conjectures began to run wild. Was he
not some personage of distinction travelling incog.?
" God knows !" said I, at my wit's end ; " it may be
one of the royal family for aught I know, for they
j are all stout gentlemen !"
The weather continued rainy. The mysterious
unknown kept his room, and, as far as I could judge,
his chair, for I did not hear him move. In the
meantime, as the day advanced, the travellers'-room
j began to be frequented. Some, who had just ar-
rived, came in buttoned up in box-coats; others
I came home wdio had been dispersed about the town.
\ Some took their dinners, and some their tea. Had I
been in a different mood, I should have found enter-
: tainment in studying this peculiar class of men.
There were two especially, who were regular wags
| of the road, and up to all the standing jokes of
travellers. They had a thousand sly things to say
to the waiting-maid, whom they called Louisa, and
Ethelinda, and a dozen other tine names, changing
the name every time, and chuckling amazingly at
their own waggery. Ily mind, however, had be-
come completely engrossed by the stout gentleman.
He had kept my fancy in chase during a long
day, and it was not now to be diverted from the
scent.
The evening gradually wore away. The travel-
lers read the papers two or three times over. Some
drew round the fire and told long stories about their
horses, about their adventures, their overturns, and
breakings down. They discussed the credit of dif-
ferent merchants and different inns; and the two
wags told several choice anecdotes of pretty cham-
bermaids, and kind landladies. All this passed as
they were quietly taking what they called their
night-caps, that is to say, strong glasses of brandy
and water and sugar, or some other mixture of the
kind; after which they one after another rang for
"Boots" a id the chambermaid, and walked off to
bed in old shoes cut down into marvellously uncom-
fortable slippers.
There was now only one man left ; a short-legged,
loug-bodie 1, plethoric fellow, with a very large,
sandy head. He sat by himself, with a glass of port
wine negus, and a spoon ; sipping and stirring, and
meditating and sipping, until nothing was left but
the spoon. He gradually fell asleep bolt upright in
his chair, with the empty glass standing before him;
and the candle seemed to fall asleep too, for the
wick grew long, and black, and cabbaged at the end,
and dimmed the little light that remained in the
chnmber. The gloom that now prevailed was con-
tagious. Around hung the shapeless, and almost
spectral, box-coats of departed travellers, long since
buried in deep sleep. I only heard the ticking of
the clock, with the deep-drawn breathings of the
sleeping topers, and the drippings of the rain, drop
— drop — drop, from the eaves of the house. The
church bells chimed midnight. All at once the stout
gentleman began to walk over heal, pacing slowly
backwards and forwards. There was something ex-
tremely awful in all this, especially to one in my
state of nerves. These ghastly great-coats, these
guttural breathings, and the creaking footsteps of
this mysterious being. His steps grew fainter and
fainter, and at length died away. I could bear it
no longer. I was wound up to the desperation of
a hero of romance. " Be he who or what he may,"
said I to myself, "I'll have a sight of him!" I
seized a chamber candle, and hurried up to No. 13.
The door stood ajar. I hesitated — I entered: the
room was deserted. There stood a large, broad-bot-
tomed elbow-chair at a table, on which was an
56
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
empty tumbler, and a " Times" newspaper, and the
room smelt powerfully of Stilton cheese.
The mysterious strarger had evidently but just
retired. I turned off, sorely disappointed, to my
room, which had been changed to the front of the
house. As I went along the corridor, I saw a large
pair of boots, with dirty, waxed tops, standing at
the door of a bed-chamber. They doubtless be-
longed to the unknown ; but it would not do to dis-
turb so redoubtable a personage in his den ; he
might discharge a pistol, or something worse, at my
head. I went to bed, therefore, and lay awake half
the night in a terribly nervous state ; and even when
I fell asleep, I was still haunted in my dreams by
the idea of the stout gentleman and his wax-topped
boots.
I slept rather late the next morning, and was
awakened by some stir and bustle in the house,
which I could not at first comprehend; until getting
more awake, I found there was a mail-coach starting
from the door. Suddenly there was a cry from
below, " The gentleman has forgot his umbrella !
look for the gentleman's umbrella in No. 13!" I
heard an immediate scampering of a chambermaid
along the passage, and a shrill reply as she ran,
"Here it is! here is the gentleman's umbrella!"
Tiie mysterious stranger then was on the point of
setting oft'. This was the only chance I should ever
have of knowing him. I sprang out of bed, scram-
bled to the window, snatched aside the curtains, and
just caught a glimpse of the rear of a person get-
ting in at the eoaeh-door. The skirts of a brown
coat parted behind, and gave me a full view of the
broad disk of a pair of drnb breeches. The door
closed — " all right !" was the word — the coach
whirled off: — and that was all I ever saw of the
Btout gentleman!
THE BROKEN HEAET — FROM THE BKETCn BOOK.
It is a common practice with those who have out-
lived the susceptibility of early feeling, or have
been brought up in the gay heartlessness of dis-
sipated life, to laugh at all love stories, and to treat
the tales of romantic passion as mere fictions of
novelists and poets. My observations on human
nature have induced me to think otherwise. They
have convinced me, that however the surface of the
character may be chilled and frozen by the cares of
the world, or cultivated into mere smiles by the arts
of society, still there are dormant fires lurking in the
depths of the coldest bosom, which, when once
enkindled, become impetuous, and are sometimes
desolating in their effects. Indeed, I am a true
believer in the blind deity, and go to the full extent
of his doctrines. Shall 1 confess it? I believe in
broken hearts, and the possibility of dying of dis-
appointed love. I do not, however, consider it a
malady often fatal to my own sex ; but I firmly
believe that it withers down many a lovely woman
into an early grave.
Man is the creature of interest and ambition. His
nature leads him forth into the struggle and bustle
of the world. Love is but the embellishment of his
early life, or a song piped in the intervals of the
acts. He seeks for fame, for fortune, for space in the
world's thought, and dominion over his fellow men.
But a woman's whole life is a history of the affec-
tions. Her heart is her world : it is there her ambi-
tion strives for empires ; it is there her avarice seeks
for hidden treasures. She sends forth her sympa-
thies on adventures ; she embarks her whole soul in
the traffic of affection ; and if shipwrecked, her case
is hopeless — for it is a bankruptcy of the heart.
To a man the disappointment of love may occa-
sion some bitter pangs: it wounds some feelings of
tenderness — it blasts some prospects of felicity ; but
he is an active being — he may dissipate his thoughts
in the whirl of varied occupation, or may plunge
into the tide of pleasure; or, if the scene. of disap-
pointment be too full of painful associations, he can
shift his abode at will, and taking as it were the
wings of the morning, can "fly to the uttermost
parts of the earth, and be at rest."
But woman's is comparatively a fixed, a secluded,
and a meditative life. She is more the companion
of her own thoughts and feelings ; and if they are
turned to ministers of sorrow, where shall she look
for consolation ? Her lot is to be wooed and won ;
and if unhappy in her love, her heart is like some
fortress that lias been captured and sacked, and
abandoned and left desolate.
How many bright eyes grow dim — how many soft
cheeks grow pale — how many lovely forms fade
away into the tomb, and none can tell the cause
that blighted their loveliness! As the dove will
clasp its wings to its side, and cover and conceal the
arrow that, is preying on its vitals, so is it in the
nature of women to hide from the world the pangs
of wounded affection. The love of a delicate female
is always shy and silent. Even when fortunate,
she scarcely breathes it to herself; but when other-
wise, she buries it, in the recesses of her bosom, and
there lets it cower and brood among the ruins of
her peace. With her the desire of the heart has
failed. The great charm of existence is at an end.
She neglects all the cheerful exercises which glad-
den the spirits, quicken the pulses, and send the
tide of life in healthful currents through the veins.
Her nest is broken — the sweet refreshment of sleep
is poisoned by melancholy dreams — "dry sorrow
drinks her blood," until her enfeebled fiame sinks
under the slightest external injury. Look for her,
after a little while, and you will find friendship
weeping over her untimely grave, and wondering
that one, who but lately glowed with all the
radiance of health and beauty, should so speedily
be brought down to " darkness and the worm."
You will be told of some wintry chill, some casual
indisposition, that laid her low; — but no one knows
of the mental malady that previously sapped her
strength, and made her so easy a prey to the spoiler.
She is like some tender tree, the pride and beauty
of the grove ; graceful in its form, bright in its
foliage, but witli the worm preying at its heart.
We find it suddenly withering, when it should be
most fresh and luxuriant. We see it drooping its
branches to the earth, and shedding leaf by leaf;
until, wasted and perished away, it falls even in the
stillness of the forest ; and, as we muse over thG
beautiful ruin, we strive in vain to recollect the
blast or thunderbolt that could have smitten it with
decay.
I have seen many instances of women running to
waste and self -neglect, and disappearing gradually
from the earth, almost as if they had been exhaled
to heaven ; and have repeatedly fancied that I could
trace their death through the various declensions of
consumption, cold, debility, languor, melancholy,
until I reached the first symptom of disappointed
love. But an instance of the kind was lately told
to me; the circumstances are well known in the
country where they happened, and I shall but give
them in the manner they were related.
Every one must recollect the tragical story of
young E , the Irish patriot ; it was too touching
to be soon forgotten. During the troubles in Ire-
land he was tried, condemned, and executed, on a
charge of treason. His fate made a deep impression
on public sympathy. He was so young — so intelli-
WASHINGTON IRVING.
57
gent — so generous — so brave — so every thing that
we are apt to like in a yom.g man. His conduct
under trial, too, was so lofty and intrepid. The
noble indignation with which he repelled the charge
of treason against his country — the eloquent vindica-
tion of his name — rind his pathetic appeal to posterity,
in the hopeless hour of condemnation — all these
entered deeply into every generous bosom, and even
ijhis enemies lamented the stern policy that dictated
*; his execution.
But there was one heart, whose anguish it would
be impossible to describe. In happier days and
fairer fortunes, he had won the affections of a
beautiful and interesting girl, the daughter of a late
celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him with the
disinterested fervour of a woman's first and early
love. When every worldly maxim arrayed itself
against him; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace
and danger darkened around his name, she loved
him the more ardently for his very sufferings. If,
then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even of
his foes, what must have been the agony of her,
whose whole soul was occupied by his image? Let
those tell who have had the portals of the tomb sud-
denly closed between them and the being they most
loved on earth — who have sat at its threshold, as
one shut out in a cold and lonely world, from
whe ice all that was most lovely and loving had
departed.
But then the horrors of such a grave ! so fright-
ful, so dishonoured ! There was nothing for memory
to dwell on that could soothe the pang of separation
— none of those tender, though melancholy circum-
stances, thnt endear the parting scene— nothing to
melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent, like the
dews of heaven, to revive the heart in the parting
hour of anguish.
To render her widowed situation more desolate,
Bhe hnd incurred her father's displeasure by her un-
fortunate attachment, and was an exile from the
paternal roof. But could the sympathy and ki,.d
offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked
and driven in by horror, she would have experienced
no want of consolation, for the Irish are a people of
quick an 1 generous sensibilities. The most delicate
and cherishing attentions were paid her by families
of wealth ami distinction. She was led into society,
and they tried by all kinds of occupation and
amusement to dissipate her grief, and wean her
from the tragical story of her love. But it was all
in vain. There are some strokes of calamity that
scathe and scorch the soul — that penetrate to the
vital seat of happiness — and blast it, never again to
put forth bud or blossom. She never objected to
frequent the haunts of pleasure, but she was as
much alone there as in the depths of solitude. She
walked about in a sad reverie, apparently uncon-
scious of the world around her. She carried with
her an inward woe that mocked at all the blandish-
ments of friendship, and " heeded not the song of the
charmer, charm he never so wisely."
The person who told me her story had seen her
at a masquerad !. There can be no exhibition of far-
gone wretchedness more striking' and painful than
to meet it in such a scene. To find it wandering
like a spectre, lonely and joyless, where all around
is gay — to see it dressed out in the trappings of
mirth, and looking so wan and woe-begone, as if it
had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a
momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After stroll-
ing through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd
with an air of utter abstraction, she sat herself down
on the steps of an orchestra, and looking about for
some time with a vacant air, that showed her insen-
sibility to the garish scene, she began, with the
enpriciousness of a sickly heart, to warble a little
plaintive air. She had an exquisite voice ; baton
this occasion it was so simple, so touching, it breath-
ed forth such a soul of wretchedness, that she drew
a crowd mute and silent around her, and melted
evei-y one into tears.
The story of one so true and tender could not but
excite great interest in a country remarkable for
enthusiasm. It completely won theheart of a brave
officer, who paid his addresses to her, and thought
that one so true to the dead could not but prove
affectionate to the living. She declined his atten-
tions, for her thoughts were irrevocably engrossed
by the memory of her former lover. He, however,
persisted in his suit. He solicited not her tender-
ness, but her esteem. He was assisted by her con-
viction of his worth and her sense of her own desti-
tute and dependent situation, for she was existing on
the kindness of friends. In a word, he at length suc-
ceeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn
assurance that her heart was unalterably another's.
He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a
chai ge of scene might wear out the remembrance
of early woes. She was an amiable and exemplary
wife, and made an effort to be a happy one ; but
nothing could cure the silent and devouring melan-
choly that had entered into her very soul. She
wasted away in a slow but hopeless decline, and at
length sunk into the grave, the victim of a broken
heart.
DESCRIPTION OF TUT. POWERFUL ARMY ASSEMBLED AT THE
CITY OF NEW AMSTERDAM — FROM KNICKERBOCKER'S NEW
TORK.
While thus the enterprising Peter was coasting,
with flowing sail, up the shores of the lordly Hud-
son, and arousing all the phlegmatic little Dutch
settlements upon its borders, a great and puissant
concourse -f warriors was assembling at the city of
New Amsterdam. And here that invaluable frag-
ment of antiquity, the Stuyvesant manuscript, is
more than commonly particular ; by which means I
am enabled to record the illustrious host that en-
camped itself in the public square, in front of the
fort, at present denominated the Bowling Green.
In the centre then was pitched the tent of the
men of battle of the Manhattoes; who, being the
inmates of the metropolis, composed the life-guards
of the governor. These were commanded by the
valiant Stoffel Brinkerhoof, who whilome had
acquire 1 such immortal fame at Oyster Bay — they
displayed as a standard, a beaver rampant on a
field of orange ; being the arms of the province, and
denoting the persevering industry, and the amphi-
bious origin of the Nederlanders.
On their right hand might be seen the vassals of
that, renowned Mynheer Michael Paw, who lorded
it over the fair regions of ancient Pavonia, and the
lands away south, even unto the Navesink moun-
tains, and was moreover patroon of Gibbet Island,
His standard was borne by his trusty squire, Corne-
lius Van Vorst ; consisting <>f a huge oyster recum-
bent upon a sea green field ; being the armorial
bearings of his favourite metropolis, Communipaw.
He brought to the camp a stout force of warriors,
heavily armed, being each clad in ten pair of linsey-
wolsey breeches, and overshadowed by broad-
brimuied beavers, with short pipes twisted in their
hatbands. These were the men who vegetated in
the mud along the shores of Pavonia ; being of the
race of genuine copperheads, and were fabled to
have sprung from oysters.
At a little distance was encamped the tribe of
warriors who came from the neighbourhood of Ilell-
Gate. These were commanded by the Suy Dams,
58
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
and the Van Dams, incontinent hard swearers, as
their names betokened — they were terrible looking
fellows, clad in broad-skirted gaberdines, .of that
curious coloured cloth called thunder and lightning;
and bore as a standard three Devil's-darning-needles,
volant, in a flame-coloured field.
Hard by was the tent of the men of battle from
the marshy borders of the Wael-bogtig, and the
country thereabouts — these were of a sour aspect,
by reason that they lived on crabs, which abound
in these parts: they were the first institutors of
that honourable order of knighthood, called Fly
market shirks ; and if tradition speak true, did
likewise introduce the far-famed step in dancing,
called " double trouble." They were commanded
by the fearless Jacobus Varra Vanger, and had,
moreover, a jolly band of Breukelen ferrymen, who
performed a brave concerto on conchshells.
But I refrain from pursuing this minute descrip-
tion, which goes on to describe the warriors of
Bloemendael, and Wee-hawk, and Hoboken, and
sundry other places, well known in history and
song — for now does the sound of martial music
alarm the people of New Amsterdam, sounding afar
from beyond the walls of the city. But this alarm
was in a little time relieved, for lo, from the midst
of a vast cloud of dust, they recognized the brim-
stone-coloured breeches, and splendid silver leg of
Peter Stuyvesant, glaring in the sunbeams; and
beheld him approaching at the head of a formidable
army, which he had mustered along the banks of
the Hudson. And here the excellent but anony-
mous writer of the Stuyvesant manuscript breaks
out into a brave and glorious description of the
forces, as they defiled through the principal gate of
the city that stood by the head of Wall Street.
First of all came the Van Bummels, who inhabit
the pleasant borders of the Bronx. These were
short fat men, wearing exceeding large trunk
breeches, and are renowned for feats of the trencher ;
they were the first inventors of suppawu or mush
and milk. — Close in their rear marched the Van
Vlotens, of Knats Kill, most horrible quaffers of new
cider, and arrant braggarts in their liquor. — After
them came the Van Pelts of Groodt Esopus, dexter-
ous horsemen, mounted upon goodly switch-tailed
steeds of the Esopus breed : these were mighty
hunters of minks and musk rats, whence came the
word Peltry. — Then the Van Nests of Kimlerhoeek,
valiant robbers of birds' nests, as their name denotes:
to these, if report may be believed, are we indebted
for the invention of slapjacks, or buckwheat cakes.
— Then the Van Higgir.bottoms, of Wapping's
Creek ; these came armed with ferrules and birchen
rods, being a race of schoolmasters, who. first dis-
covered the marvellous sympathy between the seat
of honour and the seat of intellect, and that the
shortest way to get knowledge into the head was
to hammer it into the bottom. — Then the Van
Grolls, of Anthony's Nose, who carried their liquor
in fail' round little pottles, by reason they could not
bouse it out cf their canteens, having such rare long
noses. — Then the Gardeniers, of Hudson and there-
abouts, distinguished by many" triumphant feats,
such as robbing watermelon patches, smoking rab-
bits out of their holes, and the like, and by being
great lovers of roasted pigs' tails: these were the
ancestors of the renowned congressman of that
name. — Then the Van Hoesens, of Sing-Sing, great
choristers and players upon the Jew's-harp: these
marched two and two, singing the great song of St.
Nicholas. — Then the Couenhovens, of Sleepy Hol-
low: these gave birth to a jolly race of publicans,
who first discovered the magic artifice of conjuring
e quart of wine into a pint bottle. — Then the Van
Kortlands, who lived on the wild banks of the
Croton, and were great killers of wild ducks, being
much spoken of for their skill in shooting witli the
long bow. — Then the Van Bunschoteiis, of Nyack
and Kakiat, who were the first that did ever kick
with the left foot: they were gallant bush-whackers,
and hunters of racoons by moonlight. — Then the
Van Winkles, of Haerlem, potent suckers of eggs,
and noted for running of horses, and runnii g up of
scores at taverns: they were the first that ever
winked with both eyes at once. — Lastly, came the
Knickerijockeds, of the great town of Schnhtikoke,
where the folk lay stones upon the houses in windy
weather, lest they should be blown away. These
derive their name, as some say, from Fnickcr, to
shake, and Beker, a goblet, indicating thereby that
they were sturdy tosspots of }'ore ; but, in truth, it
"was derived from Knicker, to r.od, and Boeken,
books, plainly meaning that they were great nod-
ders or dozers over books : from them did descend
the writer of this history.
Such was the legion of sturdy bush-beaters that
poured in at the grand gate of New Amsterdam.
The Stuyvesant manuscript, indeed, speaks of many
more, whose names I omit to mention, seeii g that
it behoves me to hasten to matters of greater mo-
ment. Nothii g could surpass the joy and martial
pride of the lion-hearted Peter, as he reviewed this
mighty host of warriors ; and he determined no lon-
ger to defer the gratification of his much wished-for
revenge upon the scoundrel Swedes at Fort Casimir.
But before I hasten to record those unmatehable
events which will be found in the sequel of this
faithful history, let me pause to notice the fate of
Jacobus Von Poffenburgh, the discomfited com-
mander-in-chief of the armies of the Kew Nether-
lands. Such is the inherent uneharitab'.euess of
human nature, that scarcely did the news become
public of his deplorable discomfiture at Fort Casimir,
than a thousand scurvy rumours -were set afloat in
New Amsterdam ; wherein it was insinuated, that
he had in reality a treacherous understandi: g with
the Swedish commander; that he had long been in
the practice of privately communicating with the
Swedes ; together with divers hints about " se-
cret service money" — to all which deadly charges
I do not give a jot more credit than 1 think they
deserve.
Certain it is, that the general vindicated his cha-
racter by the most vehement oaths and protes-
tations, and put every man out of the ranks of
honour who dared to doubt his integrity. More-
over, on returning to New Amsterdam, he paraded
up and down the streets with a crew of hard
swearers at his heels, — sturdy bottle companions,
whom he gorged and fattened, and who were
ready to bolster him through all the courts of
justice — heroes of his own kidney, fierce-whiskered,
broad-shouldered, Colbrand-looking swaggerers, not
one of whom but looked as though he could eat up
an ox, and pick his teeth with the horns. These
life-guard men quarrelled all his quarrels, were
ready to fight all his battles, and scowled at every
man that turned up his nose at the general, a3
though they would devour him alive. Their con-
versation was interspersed with oaths like minute-
guns, and every bombastic rhodomontado was
rounded off by a thundering execration, like a
patriotic toast honoured with a discharge of ar-
tillery.
All these valorous vapourings had a considerable
effect in convincing certain profound sages, many
of whom began to think the general a hero of
unutterable loftiness and magnanimity of soul,
particularly as he was continually protesting on the
DICKINSON COLLEGE.
59
honour of a soldier, — a marvellously high-sounding
asseveration. Nay, one of the members of the coun-
cil went so far as to propose they should immortalise
him by an imperishable statue of plaster of Paris.
But the vigilant Peter the Headstrong was not
thus to bo deceived. Sending privately for the
commander-in-chief of all the armies, and having
heard all his story, garnished with the customary
pious oaths, protestations, and ejaculations, —
"Hirkee, comrade," crie 1 he, "though by your
own account you are the most brave, upright, and
ho ;ourable man in the whole province, yet do you
lie under the misfortune of being damnably traduced
and immeasurably 'despised. Now though it is cer-
tainly hard to punish a man for his misfortunes, and
though it is very possible you are totally innocent
of the crimes laid to your charge; yet as heaven, at
present, doubtless for some wise purpose, sees fit to
withhold all proofs of your i.inoce ice, far be it from
me to counteract its sovereign will. Beside, I can-
not couse it to venture my armies with a commander
who n they despise, or to trust the welfare of my
peo;>le to a champio i who n they distrust. Retire
therefore, my friend, from the irksome toils and
cares of public life, with this comforting reflection
— that if you be guilty, you are but enjoying your
just reward — and if iunoee it, that you are not the
first great and goo I man, who has most wrongfully
bee i slandered and maltreated in this wicked world
— doubtless to be better treated in a better world,
where there shall neither be error, calumny, nor
persecution. In the meintime let me never see
your face again, for I have a horrid antipathy to
the countenances of unfortunate great men like
yourself."
DICKINSON COLLEGE.
Tins institution, situated .at Carlisle, the capital
of On nherlan 1 c mnty in Pennsylvania, one hun-
dred and twenty-eight miles from Philadelphia,
wn founded in the ye ir 1783, by the efforts of an
assoc:ation in the state, of which the lion. John
Dickinson, the eminent political writer, and Dr.
Ben] imin Rush were the most prominent mem-
bers. It received its name, in the language of the
charter, "in memory of the great and important
services rendered to his country by His Excel-
lency John Dickinson, Esq., president of the Su-
preme Executive Council," and in commemoration
of hi* very liberal donation to the institution.
Dickinson was mtde first president of its board,
and k> continued till Ids death. Land was se-
cured in the borough of Carlisle, and some funds
collected.
The neighboring college of New Jersey having
then acquired great success under the presidency
of Witherspoon, it was t lought that the fortunes
of the new enterprise w mid bo secured by pro-
curing another eminent Scottish divine, of similar
social and learned standing, for its head. This
was Dr. Charles Nisbet, long established as a
clergym m at Montrose, and an influential mem-
ber in the General Assembly, where his powers
of wit and argument were keenly appreciated.
He was at the age of forty-seven when he was
urged by Dr. Rush, who painted the prospects of
a collegiate residence in a then remote part of the
country in his most glowing and somewhat cre-
dulois strains, to come to America. Friends
warned and advised, but the divine was touched
by the prospect, and yielded to the invitation.
He arrived at Philadelphia in June, 1783, and the
fourth of the following month, on the celebration
of the National Independence, reached Carlisle.
His first experience was that of the illness inci-
dent to a change of residence to a new country.
He was dismayed by the attacks of fever and
ague which he bore with his family, and not less
by the unsettled state of the country and the
want of discipline in the youth. His efforts with
the Trustees for a proper system of education
were unheeded, so that within the year of his ar-
rival he resigned his situation, with the intention
of returning to Scotland. The necessity of re-
maining during the winter gave him opportunity
for reflection, and he determined to sustain the
position. In May, 1780, he was re-elected, and
soon entered vigorously on the prosecution of his
duties, performing the extraordinary labor of de-
livering four concurrent series of lectures on
logic, the philosophy of the mind, and the Belles
Lettres, to whicli he even added a fifth, which at-
tracted great attention, a course on systematic
theology. In the last lie was an old-fashioned
Calvinist : in all, he brought the best fruits of the
Scottish system of instruction to the American
wilds. One of his pupils, the Rev. Dr. Brown,
president of Jefferson College, Canonsburg, Pa.,
preserved reports of these lectures, which he cha-
racterizes as full, thorough, philosophical, and
appositely illustrated by wit. In a letter con-
tributed to Dr. Samuel Miller's admirable me-
| moir of President Nisbet, he gives a specimen
from one of his discourses on Logic, which fuily
sustains the last quality.*
Charles Nisbet.
The first Commencement of the College was
held the following year, in 1787, with some suc-
cess, but the difficulties of the position were too
great, and the points of antagonism in the gene-
ral condition of the country too many to Dr. Nis-
het's strongly, and doubtless, for the most part,
justly entertained opinions, to permit him to en-
joy, as such a scholar should, the peaceful honors
of learning. Be worked hard, was badly paid,
and struggled ineffectually to bring the education
* Memoir of Nisbet, p. 821. These lectures surely are worthy
of being published.
60
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
Dickinson College.
of the times up to his standard. "You have
come to the land of promise," said a friend to
him ; " Yes," he replied, " but it is not the land
of performance." We may suppose him bitterly
sarcastic on the rash encouragements of his zealous
inviter, Rush, with whose opinions, as time went
on, and that philosopher lent an ear to rapid
schemes of education without the classics, and
French dreams of government, he found himself
in increasing antagonism, Having once accepted
the post he should have made the best of it, and
not have railed ineffectually at the world, as his
letters show him to have done; but there was
great provocation for his wit in the temper of the
times, and Carlisle, with its crude pupils and non-
paying parishioners, was a poor exchange for the
solid society and support of the best people in
Scotland, whom he had left behind. Honor
should be done to his sacrifices and his services to
American scholarship, and to what was sound in
his conservative views of public affairs. He de-
voted himself for eighteen years to the service
of the college, and died at his post at Carlisle, in
1804, having just completed his sixty-eighth year.
He was a man of decided mark and ability, of
humor equal to that of Wilherspoon, though his
inferior in soundness of judgment. Dr. Miller's
account of his life does justice to hi* talents, and
preserves many interesting memorials of his
friends in Scotland.
Dr. Nisbet was a scholar of picked reading in
the classics and modern European languages ; and
being possessed of an extraordinary memory as well
as ready wit, used his copious stores to great ad-
vantage. He had that vein of humorous drollery
and satire which Sidney Smith encouraged, and
which his friend Witherspoon's published writings
exhibit. His collection of books now rests with
the Theological Seminary at Princeton, having
been given to that institution by two of his grand-
children, the Right Rev. Bishop M'Coskry of Mi-
chigan and Henry C. Turnbull of Maryland*
* Dr. Miller's Memoir, p. 801,
Dr. Nisbet was a polyglott, and a collector of
odds and ends in all languages. There is proba-
bly no such olht podrida in America as the " Nis-
bet Library" of the Princeton Seminary, consist-
ing wholly of the Doctor's books. Some of these
are of the 16th, and even 16th, and many of the
17th century ; and a few of them, though in tat-
ters, are among the rarest specimens of antiquarian
bibliography, in the way of Elzevirs, first edi-
tions, and originals in astrology, and other out-
of-the-way subjects. They are in Hebrew, Greek,
Latin, French, Italian, Spanish, German, and
Dutch, and many of them show how sedulously
their owner had conned them.
The associates of Dr. Nisbet in the work of
education were James Ross, author of a Latin
Grammar formerly known, professor of the Greek
and Latin languages ; Mr. Robert Jolmston, pro-
fessor of Mathematics, and the Rev. Robert Da-
vidson, with a voluminous professorship of " his-
tory, chronology, rhetoric, and belles lettres."
On the death of Dr. Nisbet the last mentioned
acted for more than five years as president, when
the office having been offered to Dr. Samuel Mil-
ler of New York, and declined, the Rev. Jere-
miah Atwater, D.D., of Middlebury College, Vt.,
was chosen. He delivered his inaugural address
at the Commencement in 1809. New depart-
ments of study were introduced, and the college
gained ground, but difficulties arising in it- go-
vernment in 1815. Dr. Atwater resigned the presi-
dency. After this, various efforts and expedients
of management were resorted to for the repair
of the exhausted finances, and the college was
closed for six years.
In 1822 the" Rev. John M. Mason of New York
was created president, and held the office for two
years, but with failing health his great reputation
could not repair the fortunes of the college. The
Rev. Dr. William Neill succeeded him, and in
1829 resigned. The Rev. Dr. Samuel B. How of
New Jersey was the last occupant prior to the
transfer of the college interest to the control of
the Methodist Episcopal Church in 1 S33. A new
JAMES T. AUSTIN ; SAMUEL L. KNAPP.
61
organization was effected; funds were raised,
and the Rev. John P. Durbin elected president.
An efficient grammar-school was at the same
time set on foot. The course of study followed
the general outline of the New England colleges.
With Mr. Durbin were associated Professors
Merritt ; Caldwell, of mental philosophy ; Robert
Emory, of ancient languages ; the Rev. John
M'Clintock, of the exact sciences. At present the
presidency is held by the Rev. Dr. Charles Col-
lins.
The catalogue for 1854 exhibits one hundred
and forty-eight students in the four classes.
JAMES T. AUSTIN.
James TRECOTnio Austin was born in Boston,
January, 1784. He was educated at the Latin
School and Harvard College, and on the com-
pletion of his course at the latter institution in
1802, studied and commenced the practice of the
law. In 1806, he married a daughter of Elbridge
Gerry, then VioPresident of the United States.
He edited for a time a literary periodical entitled
The Emerald, but his chief attention was given
to his profession, in which he rapidly rose to
eminence. He became the Town Advocate in
1809, was for twenty years Advocate of Suffolk
County, and Attorney General of Massachusetts
from 1833 to 1843. He was also a member of
the Massachusetts Legislature. In 1815 he de-
livered a Fourth of July oration at Lexington,
which was published, and in 1828 a Life of
Elbridge Gerry.* This work is one of the best
presentations of the Revolutionary worthies. It
is written in an agreeable style, and in addition
to its narrative of the many important public
transactions in which Mr. Gerry was a prominent
participant, gives us pleasant glimpses of the
domestic life of the Revolution, as in the follow-
ing passages from a chapter on the " Private Life
of the Members of the Provincial Congress."
Among the members of the provincial congress,
suspicion of levity in matters of religion — and every-
thing was then supposed to have some connexion
with this subject — would have been fatal to an indi-
vidual's influence. There were, however, many
members in that assembly who had been accustomed
to the elegancies and refinement of polished society.
The king's government in Massachusetts had not
indeed been able to borrow the splendour of a court,
but it had in some degree copied its etiquette and
politeness, and possibly its less defensible manners.
Distinctions existed in society not precisely consist-
ent with republican equality, and a style of ad Iress
and deportment distinguished those who considered
themselves in the upper circle, which was visible
long after the revolution had swept away all other
relics of the roval government. This early habit
induced some of the patriots at Watertowu to
indulge in a little more regard to dress than suited
the economy of the stricter puritans, in a love for
better horses, in a social party at dinner, or evening,
in an attendance on balls and dancing parties, and
in a fondness for female society of respectability and
reputation.
********
Most men have their besetting sins. It might
* The Life of Elbridge Gerry. With Contemporary Letters,
to the close of the American Revolution. Bo&tou: Wells &
Lilly, 1S28. 8vo. pp. 520.
have been in vain that the necessity of reasonable
relaxation was pleaded as an excuse for supposed
frivolity. The examples of eminent men, their
friends too, on the other side the Atlantic, would
have been urged as an excuse equally ineffectual,
when ample retaliation was taken by the offending
members in finding some of the sternest of the
irritated moralists drinking tea, and endeavouring
to disguise this high crime and misdemeanour by
having it made in a coffee pot! This indulgence
of taste at the expense of patriotism, this worse than
bacchanalian intemperance, prevented for a time any
remarks on the " court imitations" of the backsliding
brethren.
The members of the provincial congress lived in
the families of the inhabitants of Watertown, and
held their daily sessions in the meeting-house on the
plain. The congress opened early, and adjourned
for an hour to give the members time to dine at one
o'clock. Two sessions were usually held every day,
and committees were often engaged till midnight.
The time, which could be caught from such fatiguing
duty without neglecting it, might well be devoted
to rational diversion.
A gentleman, who paid any attention to his toilet,
would have his hair combed out, powdered and tied
in a long queue, a plaited white stock, a shirt ruffled
at the bosom and over the hands, and fastened at the
wrist with gold sleeve buttons, a peach bloom coat
and white buttons, lined with white silk, and stand-
ing off at the skirts with buckram, a figured silk
vest divided at the bottom, so that the pockets
extended on the thighs, black silk small clothes with
large gold or silver knee buckles, white cotton or
silk stoekmgs, large shoes with short quarters and
buckles to match. This dress, sketched from the
wardrobe of a member, was not peculiarly appro-
priate to occasions of ceremony, but assumed with
more or ^ess exactness by the fashionable gentlemen
of the day.
The full bottomed wig, the red roquelot, and the
gold-headed cane, which are seen in some of our
ancient pictures, belonged to an earlier period, and
were at that time the appropriate habiliments of
persons distinguished for their age and wealth. It
is not many years since some examples of this anti-
quated fashion were recognised in venerable men,
who belonged to those interesting times, and seemed
to connect a past generation with the present.
They have now, it is believed, ceased from any con-
nexion with society, if indeed any of them still have
a being on the earth.
Mr. Austin has also published Addresses, de-
livered before the Massachusetts Society for Sup-
pressing Intemperance and the Massachusetts
Mechanic Association", Remarks on Chunning's
Discourse on Slavery, a .Review of his Letter to
Jonathan Phillips, in which he takes strong
ground against agitation of the subject, and a
number of documents on the Municipal Affairs
of Boston, and on professional subjects. He has
also contributed to the Christian Examiner, and
on political topics in the newspapers.*
SAMUEL L. KNAPP.
Samuel Lorenzo Knapp, a voluminous and useful
miscellaneous writer, and the author of numerous
original biographical essays in American literature,
was born at Newburyport, Massachusetts, in 1784.
He was prepared for college at the Phillips Aca-
demy at Exeter ; was graduated at Dartmouth in
* Loring's Boston Orators, pp. 4T0-47G.
62
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
1804; studied law in the office of Chief-jnstice
Parsons, and practised the profession with success.
During the war of 1812 he commanded a regiment
of state militia stationed for the defence of the
coast. In 182-1 he hecame editor of the Boston
*£jc^<^/~
Gazette ; he also conducted the Boston Monthly
Magazine, to which he contributed several arti-
cles. In 1826 he established the National Re-
publican, on the failure of which, after an experi-
ment of two years, he commenced the practice
of law in New York city. In 1818 he published
The Travels of All Bey* a small volume pur-
porting to furnish the observations of an Oriental
traveller on the society and literature of Boston
and Cambridge. This was followed in 1821 by
Biographical Sketches of Eminent Lawyers, and
Statesmen, and Men of Letters ; in 1828 by the
Genius of Free-Masonry, or a Defence of the Or-
der ; and in 1829 by Lectures on American Lite-
rature^ in which he followed the subject, from
its earliest sources, with warmth and interest.
He was also the author of Sketches of Public
Characters drawn from the Living and the
Dead,\ a series of letters giving brief sketches
of the leading politicians, authors, and artists of
the United States. The Bachelor and Other
Tales, founded, on American Lncident and Cha-
racter, appeared in 1836; and in 1832 a small
volume, entitled Advice in the Pursuits of Lite-
rature.^ It is dedicated to the members of the
New York Mercantile Library Association, and
designed as a guide to the study of English lite-
rature for persons engaged in business. It con-
tains a brief review of the Lading English authors
from Chaucer to the present time, with occasional
extracts, and a concise survey of European his-
tory, as connected with literature and the pro-
gress of learning, from the days of Homer to the
settlement of the present United States. In 1833
he published American Biography, or Original
Biographical Sketches of Distinguished Ameri-
cans, one of the most valuable of his many pro-
ductions in this department of literature. The
volume does not profess to furnish more than a
selection from the many eminent names which
have graced our annals, and in this selection the
author has been guided, in many instances, rather
by his individual tastes and preferences than by
the actual eminence of the persons introduced.
His sketches are anecdotical and spirited, draw-
ing largely in many cases on his own fund of per-
sonal recollection, and the work forms an agree-
able and varied miscellany. It is republished in
the third volume of The Treasury of Knowledge
* Extracts from a Journal of Travels in North America, con-
sisting of an account of Boston and its vicinity. By Ali Bey,
etc. Translated from the original manuscript. Boston : 1818.
ISmo. pp. 124.
t Lectures on American Literature, with Remarks on some
Passages of American History. New York : 1829.
t Sketches of Public Characters, drawn from the Living and
the Dead, with Notices of other Matters, by Ignatius Loyola
Robertson, LL.D.. aresident of the UuitedStates. New York :
1S30. 12mo. pp. 260.
5 Advieciu the Pursuitsof Literature. containing Historical,
Biographical, and Critical Remarks. By Samuel L. Knapp.
New York : 1832. 12mo. pp. 296.
and Library of Reference.* Mr. Knapp was also
the author of separate biographies, in a condensed
popular form, of Aaron Burr, Andrew Jackson,
Daniel Webster, Thomas Eddy, and in 1843 of
Female Biography of Different Ages and Na-
tions ;t a pleasant volume, having many points
of resemblance to his collection of male celebri-
ties.
In addition to these numerous and industri-
ously prepared volumes, Mr. Knapp was the au-
thor of several addresses delivered on various
public occasions. He died at Hopkinton, Mass.,
July 8, 1838.
LEVI FRISBIE.
Levi Frisbie was born at Ipswich, Mass., in the
year 1784, and wa* the son of a clergyman of the
place. He was prepared for college at Andover
Academy, and entered Harvard in 1798. During
his collegiate course he supported himself by writ-
ing several hours a day as a clerk, and by teach-
ing during the winter vacations. On the comple-
tion of his course in 1802, he passed a year at a
school in Concord, and then commenced the study
of the law, a pursuit which he was soon obliged
to abandon on account of an affection of the eyes,
from which he never entirely recovered, beingfor
some years dependent on the kindness of friends
who read to him in English and Latin, and to a
writing apparatus which had been suggested for
the use of the blind, for the means of literary em-
ployment.
In 1805, Frisbie accepted the post of Latin tutor
in Harvard College, and in 1811 was promoted to
the professorship of the same department. In 1S17
he married a daughter of Mr. John Mellen of
Cambridge, and in the same year entered upon
the duties of the professorship of " Natural Reli-
gion, Moral Philosophy, and Civil Polity" prefac-
ing his course by an Inaugural Address. In 1821
he was attacked by consumption, and sank in the
gradual course of that disease to its fatal termina-
tion, July 9, 1822.
Frisbie's writings were collected and published
by his friend and fellow professor, Andrews Nor-
ton, in 1823. The volume contains, in addition
to the Address already mentioned, articles on
Tacitus and Adam Smit/i's Tlieory of Moral Sen-
timents from the North American Review, Re-
marks on the Right and Duty of Government to
provide for the Support of Religion by Law, from
the " Christian Disciple," extracts from notes of
his professional lectures, and a few poems includ-
ing a version of Horace's epistle Ad Julium Flo-
rum, first published in the General Repository and
Review. These remains show their author to havt
been a vigorous thinker and good writer. His
chief literary labors are inadequately represented,
as, owing to the weakness of his eyes, he was ac-
customed to note down merely the heads or occa-
* New York : C. C. Childs. 1S50.
+ Female Biography ; containing Notices of Distinguished
Women of Different Ages and Nations. By Samuel L. Knapp.
Philadelphia: 1S43. 12mo. pp. 504.
JOSEPH S. BUCKMINSTER.
63
sional passages in his lectures, which he expanded
orally when before his class.
One of his poems, a general favorite, A Castle
in the Air, not included in the volume of his
writings, first appeared in the Monthly Antho-
logy.
A CASTLE IN THE AIR.
I'll tell you, friend, what sort of wife,
Whene'er I scan this scene of life,
Inspires my waking schemes,
And when I sleep, with form so light,
Dances before my ravished sight,
In sweet aerial dreams.
The rose its blushes need not lend,
Nor yet the lily with them blend,
To captivate my eyes.
Give me a cheek the heart obeys,
And, sweetly mutable, displays
Its feelings as they rise ;
Features, where pensive, more than gay,
Save when a rising smile doth play,
The sober thought you see ;
Eyes that all soft and tender seem,
And kind affections round them beam,
But most of all on me;
A form, though not of finest mould,
Where yet a something you behold
Unconsciously doth please ;
Manners all graceful without art,
That to each look and word impart
A modesty and ease.
But still her air, her face, each charm,
Must speak a heart with feeling warm,
And mind inform the whole :
With mind her mantling cheek must glow,
Her voice, her beaming eye must show
An all-inspiring soul.
Ah 1 eould I such a being find,
And were her fate to mine but joined
By Hymen's silken tie,
To her myself, my all I'd give,
For her alone delighted live,
For her consent to die.
Whene'er by anxious gloom oppressed,
On the soft pillow of her breast
My aching head I'd lay ;
At her sweet smile eacli care should cease,
Her kiss iafuse a balmy peace,
And drive my griefs away.
In turn, I'd soften all her care,
Each thought, each wish, each feeling share ;
Should sickness e'er invade,
My voice should soothe each rising sigh,
My hand the cordial should supply;
I'd watch beside her bed.
Should gathering clouds our sky deform,
My arms should shield her from the storm;
And, were its fury hurled,
My bosom, to its bolts I'd bare,
In her defence undaunted dare
Defy the opposing world.
Together should our prayers ascend,
Together humbly would we bend,
To praise the Almighty name ;
And when I saw her kindling eye
Beam upwards to her native sky,
My soul should catch the flame.
Thus nothing should our hearts divide,
But on our years serenely glide,
And all to love be given ;
And, when life's little scene was o'er,
"We'd part to meet and part no more,
But live and love in heaven.*
JOSEPH 8. BUCKMINSTEE.
JosEprr Stevens Buckminsxee, an eminent cler-
gyman and scholar of Boston, was born at Ports-
mouth, New Hampshire, May 26, 1781. His fa-
ther the Rev. Joseph Buckminster, himself the
son of a clergyman, was for thirty-three years
pastor of the most considerable Congregational
Society there, and died in 1812 at the age of sixty-
one.
The younger Buckminster showed strongly
marked intellectual tendencies from his earliest
years. He loved books as soon as he could com-
prehend what they were. He was taught for his
pastime to read a chapter in the Greek Testament
before lie could be taught the language itself.
And when he was between eleven and thirteen
years old — the period when, at Phillips Academy
at Exeter, he was prepared for college — his litera-
ry curiosity was so eager that, beginning one day
to read Boswell's Johnson, as he chanced to be
leaning on a mantel-piece, he forgot himself so
'ong and so completely, that he did not move, until
he fainted from exhaustion.
In 17U7, he was entered in Harvard College,
and when he was graduated there in 1800, at the
age of sixteen, his performance as the leading
scholar of his class made an impression still fresh
in the minds of the few that heard it, and now
survive, and left a tradition not likely soon to he
lost. In fact, his college course had attracted
much notice, and he had already come to bo re-
garded as the most remarkable young man who
had appeared in New England for more than one
generation.
The two next years were spent by him as a
teacher in the academy at Exeter, devoting his
leisure to such a thorough study of the ancient
classics, as was at that time unknown among us;
and then lie gave three years more to an equally
thorough study of theology, -which had been his
favorite purpose from childhood. This, of course,
was followed by his public appearance as a candi-
date for the ministry ; but he had preached only
a few discourses when, early in 1805, he was set-
tled over the society in Brattle-street, Boston ; —
then, and from the period before the Revolution,
regarded as of metropolitan dignity among the
congregations of New England.
But there were circumstances connected with
this decisive event in his life, which should not be
parsed over, because they largely illustrate the
position and opinions of the clergy with whom he
was at the time associated, and had much influ-
ence on his own.
* Tho following additional stanza was written by a friend of
the author on reading the poem : —
This Castle's fine, its structure good,
Materials best when understood
By reason's sober view;
Fixed on this base by my control,
No more aerial it shall roll,
A fortress made by you.
u
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMEEICAN LITERATURE.
6(^A^,
Cc^y
L-t>C4sL4^-i/<
From the middle of the eighteenth century, the
old Puritanism of the Pilgrim Fathers had become
much relaxed in Boston and its neighborhood. Dr.
Chauncy and his friends by no means acknowledg-
ed the authority of the Assembly's Shorter Cate-
chism ; and the stern power of Calvinism necessari-
ly died out yet more, a little later, when men like
Dr. Freeman and Dr. Kirkland were enjoying the
highest consideration of the community in which
they lived. Mr. Buckminster had been educated
among the stoutest of the sect, in which, so far as
New Hampshire was concerned, his father was a
leader. It was the old school divinity. But his
own inquiries carried him in a different direction.
One doctrine after anotherof theCalvinistic system
was given up by him, until at last he abandoned
it altogether, and associated himself with the class
then called Liberal Christians ; — the same, which,
with some modifications, is now recognised under
the less , comprehensive name of Unitarians. It
was a great sorrow to his father; and once or
twice, the young man nearly abandoned his pur-
suit of the profession he had chosen, rather than
run counter to the feelings of one he so much ve-
nerated. But, at last, the parental assent was
given, and the elder Buckminster preached his
son's Ordination sermon.
His health, however, was uncertain. For four
or five years he had suffered from slight epilep-
tic attacks, and his fond and admiring parish,
alarmed by their recurrence, proposed a voyage to
Europe. He went in 1806 and returned in 1807 ;
but though the interval of relaxation thus afford-
ed him refreshed his strength and increased both his
resources and his earnestness to use them, no per-
manent improvement in his health followed. Nor
did he misinterpret the sad signs of such a visita-
tion. On the contrary, from memoranda found
among his papers, as well as from letters to his
father, it is plain that he understood the usual re-
sults of the terrible malady with which he was
afflicted, and foresaw the probable decay and wreck
of his brilliant powers. But, though he always
felt that he was standing on the threshold of the
most awful of human calamities, and that he might
be required to linger out a life gloomier than the
grave, he never lost his alacrity in the perform-
ance of labors however humble or however ardu-
ous, and walked firmly and gladly onward in the
path of duty, as if neither danger nor darkness
were before him.
But, at last, the summons came — not with the
dreadful warning he had feared, but with a single,
crushing blow. He died in Boston June 9, 1812, at
noon, after only a few days of unconscious illness ;
and his father, who was then in Vermont journey-
ing for his health, died the next morning, without
the least knowledge on his own part, or on the part
of those near him, that his son was even indispos-
ed, but saying, almost with his last breath, " My
son Joseph is dead !" adding when assured that
he must have dreamed it ; " No, I have not slept
nor dreamed — he is dead ;" a circumstance,
which, however much men were persuaded that
it was an accidental coincidence, produced an
electric effect at the time, and will be remember-
ed among the strangest of the few facts of its
class that are recorded on unquestionable testi-
mony.
Mr. Buckminster was only twenty-eight years
old when he died. He was ordained as a clergy-
man before he was twenty-one, and having been
absent in Europe eighteen months, the proper term
of his public service was only about five years and
a half. The period was certainly short; and when
to this is added his youth, we may well be surpris-
ed at the large space he filled in the interests of
the community while he lived, and thepermanent
results he produced as a scholar and public teacher.
As a scholar, he did more to revive and esta-
blish in New England a love for classical litera-
ture, than any man of his time. The period
during which the study of the great Greek and
Roman masters was in favor, and when such a
book as the "Pietas et Gratulatio" of 1761 could
be produced at Harvard College, was gone by.
The Revolution, its trials and consequences, had
impaired the authority of such studies, and they
had well nigh died out. His essays and reviews,
above forty in number, scattered through the
Boston Monthly Anthology — a publication which
did good service to the cause of letters between
1803 and 1811, and out of which, not without his
efficient help, grew the Boston Athenseum, — show
beyond all doubt his earnest efforts in this direc-
tion. When he was in Europe in 1806-7, he col-
lected a larger and more choice library of the
ancient classics than was then possessed by any
other private individual in the United States, and
thus set the decisive example which has since
been so well followed. If we add to this, that he
not only invited young scholars to the freest use
of its treasures, but by his advice and example
showed them how best to profit by his kindness,
it will be understood why it is not too much to
say, that the first impulse to that pursuit of classi-
cal accomplishments in Boston and its neighbor-
hood, which is still recognised there, is due more
to him and to his library, than to any other cause
whatever.
His apparatus for the illustration of the Scrip-
tures in their original languages, and for the study
of Biblical criticism, constituted, however, the
DAVID HOFFMAN.
65
most important part of bis collection of books. In
this branch of knowledge, his discussions in the
Anthology and General Repository led the way
for that careful philological learning which now
prevails so generally in our schools of divinity.
Asa foundation for this, Mr. Wm. Wells, at Mr.
Buckminster's urgent desire, and under his super-
intendence, published in 1809 an edition of Gries-
bach's Manual Greek Testament; — the first in-
stance of a Greek book printed with becoming care
and accuracy in the United States,* and still we
suppose the only instance of a Greek book ordered
in considerable numbers from this side of the At-
lantic, to supply the demand of British scholars,
because it had not so early been published in Eng-
land. It was he too, who, by the consent of all,
was appointed as the first lecturer on the founda-
tion laid in Harvard College by the elder Dexter,
to promote a more critical knowledge of Sacred
Literature — a duty for which he was just preparing
himself when he was suddenly cut oft' by death.
In short, it was he who first took the study of
the New Testament from the old basis on which
it had rested during the poor discussions and con-
troversies of the latter half of the eighteenth cen-
tury, when little more learning was asked for than
was to be found in such books as Campbell's Gos-
pels and Macknight's Epistles; and placed it on
the solid foundation of the text of the New Testa-
ment, as settled by Mill, Wetstein, and Griesbach,
and as elucidated by the labors of Mich'aelis,
Marsh, and Rosenmuller, and by the safe and wise
learning of Grotius, Leclerc, and Simon. It has
been permitted to few persons to render so consi-
derable a service to the cause of Christianity in
our Western World.
But Mr. Buckminster's great popular success
was as a public preacher. His personal appear-
ance, and particularly the beauty of his counte-
nance, beaming with intelligence and goodness; his
voice remarkable for its sweetness and solemnity ;
and iiis gracious manner, natural almost to care-
lessness, but marked with great earnestness, espe-
cially in his devotional services — all these circum-
stances favored, no doubt, the effect of his dis-
courses as they were delivered. But we now
judge them only as compositions which the press
has given to the world to be estimated according
to their appropriateness to the purpose for which
thej' were prepared, and according to their intrin-
sic literary merits. He published only four dur-
ing his lifetime; a short address at the ordination
of his friend the Rev. Charles Lowell, in 1806 ; a
sermon on the death of Gov. Sullivan, who was
his parishioner, in 1808 ; his brilliant Discourse
before the Phi Beta Kappa Society, of Cambridge,
in 1809 ; and in 1811, a sermon on the death of the
Rev. Wm. Emerson, with whose religious society
his own was much connected. But after his death
twenty-four of his sermons were selected and pub-
lished, in 1814, with a memoir of his life, bv his
friend the Rev. S. C. Thatcher, to which, in iS29,
another volume was added, containing twenty-
two ; and in 1839, the whole, with some extracts
from his MSS. that had previously appeared in a
* The first Greek type nsed in the United States wm used in
printing an original Greek ode and an original Greek eletry,
Doth by Stephen Sewaii, afterwards Professor of Hebrew in
Harvard College. This was in 1761, at Boston.
vol. ii. — 5
religious periodical, were published together in
two volumes. They are all carefully written, or
at least they seem to be so ; and yet they were
all prepared when he was between twenty and
twenty-eight years old, as the hurried demands of
duty called for them ; and they were all necessa-
rily given to the press without that final revision
by their author, which is always so important.
Before his time, the sermons of New England had
been chiefly doctrinal, and generally either dull or
metaphysical ; and, although a different style of
preaching, one more practical and more marked
with literary grace and religious sensibility, had
begun to prevail in Boston and its neighborhood,
before Mr. Buckminster appeared, yet only oc-
casional discourses of the sort had been published;
and the volume of his sermons printed in 1814
undoubtedly gave the decisive and the guiding
impulse to the better maimer that has prevailed
since.*
DAYID HOFFMAN.
Tnis distinguished jurist and scholar was a native
of Maryland, born in the city of Baltimore Dec.
25, 1784, of a family eminent for its literary ac-
complishments. He early devoted himself to the
study of the law, and was for a long time one of
its leading practitioners in the state. Incited by
a love of the profession and an ardent desire for
its advancement, he spared neither labor nor
means to advance its interests. The position
which he held for nearly twenty years, from 1817
to 1836, as Professor of Law in the University of
Maryland, enabled him to render his accomplish-
ments as a scholar directly available in this di-
rection. He illustrated the study of the law in
a series of publications ; the first of which, is-
sued in 1817, was his Course of Legal Study, a
work which secured the respect of the soundest
legal judgments; Marshall, Kent, Story, and De
Witt Clinton, and other eminent authorities at
home and abroad, bestowing their commendations
on it for the method and acumen of its conception
and execution. This work re-appeared in an en-
larged and improved form in 1836. His next publi-
* Mr. Buckminster's principal publications in the periodicals
of bis time are : — ■
lStlo Review of Miller's Retrospect of the xviii. cent. ; in the
Cambridge Literary Miscellany — bis first appearance as
an author.
1S05 Review of the Salem Sallust; the first ancient classic
printed in the United States, with original Latin preface
and notes. Boston Anthologv, vol- ii.
1808 Review of Logan's Translation of Cicero's Cato Maior,
published by Dr. Franklin. Philadelphia, 1744— the first
translation of an ancient classic made and printed in the
United Stales. Three articLs in the Boston Anthology,
vol. v.
1803, 1809, 1811. Articles on Griesbacb's New Testament in
the Boston Antholosry, vols. v. vi.and x., and in the Gene-
ral Repository and Review, Cambridge, vol. i.
1812 Translation from Schleusner's Lexicon, with notes. His
last publication.
We are indebted for this notice of Buckminster to the pen of
Mr. George Ticknor, of Boston. It has been reduced from a
biographical review which he published in the Christian Exami-
ner for September, 1S49.
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
cation was the Legal Outlines in 1836, a succinct
and elaborate exposition of the practice and study
of the law. The next year Mr. Hoffman admitted
the public to a participation of some of his indi-
vidual moods and humors, the result of his study
of books and the world, in his volume of Essays,
entitled Miscellaneous Tlwughts on Men, Manners,
and Things, by Anthony Grumbler, of Grumble-
ton Hall, Esq. A second volume, which may be
regarded as a sequel to this, followed in 1841,
Viator ; or a Pesp into my Note Book. A pas-
sage from the dedication of the latter to Thomas
D'Oj'ly, E^q., Serjeant at law, London, will exhibit
the author's motive and the general complexion
of his thoughts. " It is one of a series on a great
variety of topics ; the whole being designed to be
illustrative and somewhat corrective of what is
called the new school, and to portray the un-
happy influences of the present mania in litera-
ture over men, manners, and things, as thc-y ap-
pear, chiefly on this side of the broad Atlantic —
and also to recall readers to some retrospect of
by-gone days ; and finally, to contrast them with
that fashionable ultraism so prevalent here, and
which is no less obvious in our law, government,
morals, and religion, than it manifestly is in our
popular literature." Though in the form of light
literature these books, in a pleasant way, contain
various important discussions of law, art, religion,
literature, in a style of popular philosophy. They
are the productions of a lover of books and of
men. The brief aphoristic essay was an e-pecial
favorite of the author. In the words of the
motto of his Note Book, from Butler —
'Tis in books the chief
Of all perfections to be plain and brief.
In the preface of his " Introductory Letters"
(1837) he mentions that "This volume, together
with the two editions of the author's Course of
Legal Study, and his Legal Outlines, as also his
Moot Court Decisions, and Abridgment of Lord
Coke's Reports, with Notes, will afford, as he
hopes, sufficient evidence, were any needed, that
in breaking up the law professorship, the trus-
tees have done the author no little injustice, and
themselves no great credit." The two last-
named, " Moot Court Decisions" and " Coke's Re-
ports," were prepared for the press, but never
published. The manuscripts are now in posses-
sion of his family, by whom they may at some
future time be given to the world.
In 1846 he published, in Philadelphia, Legal
Hints, being a condensation of the leading ideas
as relating to Professional Deportment, contain-
ed in " A Course of Legal Study," with the addi-
tion of "Some Counsel to Law Students." In
the preface to this book, Mr. Hoffman says : — ■
" It has been suggested to the author to publish
separately, in a small manual, the following ob-
servations on Professional Deportment, which
forms a division in the second volume of the
work (Legal Study). This suggestion is acqui-
esced in from a deep conviction that the high
tone of the bar has suffered some impairment,
consequent upon its immense increase in this
country within the last ten years — a cause, as
well as effect, of the lamentable fact alluded to.
Such a little ' Vade Mecum,' it is thought, might
often prove useful, where the larger work might
not be found ; and with a sincere desire to do all
the good to so noble a profession that may be in
the author's humble competency, he now submits
this little volume."
In this short space may be found a fair expo-
sition of the ruling motives of the life of this
amiable and accomplished gentleman. In all the
excitements of professional contests, or in the
privacy of social life, the same sentiments seem
to have been breathed. To elevate, to refine, to
bring into closer connexion those with whom he
had business or social relation, was with him a
great source of pleasure ; and there is apparent,
everywhere in his writings known to the pub-
lic, and in his private correspondence, a sin-
cere and earnest desire to soften and ameliorate
in every possible way, the hard and forbidding
aspect presented to the beginner in his struggle
with the world.
After the termination of his law professo^hip,
Mr. Hoffman, with a view to relaxation, visited
England and the Continent, where he remained
for about two years. Upon his return he entered
into the political campaign then pending, favor-
ing with great earnestness the election of Gene-
ral Harrison to the presidency, and was chosen
one of the senatorial electors from the State of
Maryland. Upon the conclusion of the contest
he settled in Philadelphia, resuming the practice
of the law, remaining in that city until 1847, in
the fall of which }rear he again visited Europe,
with a view to the completion of the great work
of his life, entitled Chronicles selected from the
Originals of Cartaphilxis, the Wandering Jew.
During his residence in London he wrote a num-
ber of able articles, explaining the political and
social economy of the U. S. government and
people, which were published in the London
Times, and were highly esteemed as truthful and
reliable expositions of the subjects which they
treated. The first volumes of the Cartaphilus
were published in London, in 1853, by Bosworth,
in an original style. The design and object of the
work was to represent, in as compact and inte-
resting view as possible, the History of the World,
from the time of our Lord to the present; at
the same time leading the mind of the reader
into a more full understanding and consideration
of the position of the different nations, their
modes of government, and many other interest-
ing subjects, — but more particularly showing the
condition of the different religious sects — their
rise, causes, success, and the events which fol-
lowed— altogether forming a view of the most
important changes in the positions of the nations
since the commencement of the Christian era.
This end is supposed to have been attained
through the agency of Cartaphilus (the Wander-
ing Jew). The tradition is taken up by the
author, and carried successfully through the
whole work. The book was originally intended
to occupy six quarto volumes, two of which, as
before mentioned, had been published, and the
third printed in proof save about one hundred
and twenty pages, of which the manuscript was
prepared and ready for the press at the time of
the death of Mr. H. These three volumes in-
clude the first series, the second volume bring-
ing the "chronicles" down to the year of grace
573.
DAVID HOFFMAN.
67
Of the second series (of three volumes, making
the six) a great portion of the manuscript had
been prepared, but not corrected.
This work, which in extent of reading is wor-
thy to rank with the folios of an earlier day,
shows the curious tastes and literary diligence of
the author. lie was always a careful conserva-
tor of antiquity ; nor did he neglect the present,
as the valuable collections of his library, which
at several instalments have been disposed of to
the public, and are now gathered in various pub-
lic and private libraries, have fully witnessed.
He returned to this country from England in
December, 1853, and became engaged in the ar-
rangement of his private affairs, which long
absence from the country had made a source of
some solicitude. In the proper forwarding of
this purpose be was much occupied in travelling.
While on a visit to New York, in 1854, he died
suddenly of apoplexy, November 11th of that
3'ear. Ilis remains were taken to Baltimore for
interment.
Mr. Hoffman had received, during his life, a
number of honorary degrees from different insti-
tutions of learning in this country and Europe,
the principal of which were that of LL.D., from
the University of Maryland; alio a like degree
from the University of Oxford, England; and
that of Juris Utri. Doct. Gottingen, besides
other honorary degrees from several societies
of " Savants."
FAME AND AUTHORSHIP — FROM THE INTRODUCTION TO
"VIATOR."
In the following pages my readers will find I have,
in some degree, consulted the prevalent taste, by
endeavouring, occa.uon.alii/, to convey my moral, or
instruction, as the case may be, ill something after
the fashion of a tale ! and, when this is not the case,
by imparting to each theme as much of life and ease
as may consist with the nature of my topics — and of
my own nature. And yet truly, I have never seen
any reason why the gravest, nay, even the most re-
condite subjects, mny not be popularly, and some-
times even sportively handled; and I believe that
the writings of the philosophers, of the school-men,
and even of the early fathers of the " mother church,"
might be thus dealt with, and profitably withal, yet
without the least disparagement of their dignity —
and that when so taken up, our surface readers may
thus gain some knowledge of facts and opinions in
forgotten literature and science, that otherwise might
never have reached them ! lie this as it may, I shall
complete my series, in my own way, both as to mat-
ter and maimer, justly hoping, but not ardently crav-
ing, that if in the present day and generation, very
many should be disposed humourously to say of me —
Our author thus with stuff d sufficieDcy,
Of all omnigenous omnisciency,
Began (as who would not begin,
That had, like him, so much within?)
To let it out in buoksof all sorts,
In duodecimos, large and small sorts I —
the generation after it may possibly exclaim, " Oh
Vandal age, now gone by! it was not given to thee,
whilst in the cartilage, to be nourished on the pith
and marrow of that author ; but we, who are now
in the muscle and bone of maturity, profit by his
counsels, and take just pride in his old-fashioned
wisdom." And thus is it that authors do sometimes
take comfort unto themselves, even at the moment
that some Zoilus would deprive them of this most
benign self-complacency.
But; you all remember how, some thirty centuries
ago, a powerful monarch, and the wisest of men, thus
! chronicles a lesson of humility for all authors — one
that is, and will be, equally true in all past, present,
and future ages — " my son be admonished — of making
books there is no end — -much stud/f is a weariness of
i the flesh." And yet it would seem strange that in
his da}', when printing, stereotypes, and steam-press-
es were wholly unknown, Solomon should have had
reason to feel so strongly the vanity, and absolute
I nothingness of authorship ! "Where are now the
works, nay even the names of the myriads who then
i toiled for fame, if, for a bubble so perishable, they
did toil, which hath ever seemed to me a most unphi-
j losophical libel against the whole fraternity of au-
! thors, from Solomon's to the present day ? I cannot
harbour the thought that the love of fame ever
guided the pen of any author, be he a maker of pri-
nters or of folios, and whether he were a Parley or a
Shakespeare, a Pinnock or a Milton, a Boz or a
Bacon, a Jack Downing or a Newton! — but contra-
riwise, I do verily opine, that nearly every other
conceivable motive, rather than the love of praise,
either present or posthumous, has attended them
throughout their labours of the pen ! To recount
the incitements that may prompt and nourish au-
thorship, would itself require a volume, in which
fame, however, would occupy but an' insignificant
section. Even in Lord Byron, it was the dread of
ennui, an indomitable imagination, a partial misan-
thropy, or rather a disgust towards some men and
things, a strong love of satire, an arrogant contempt
of ignorance and of folly — and, in fine, a thousand
other motives which stimulated his pen more con-
stantly and fervently, than any regard for " golden
opinions." And though the noble author has said,
'Tis pleasant, sure to sec one's name in print;
A book s a book, although there's nothing in't;
yet all know the spirit with which this couplet was
written, and that no one was less inclined than his
lordship, to practise what he so much condemned in
others. The truth is, fame is the last and least of all
the motives that lead to authorship of any kind —
and if the lives of Voltaire — of Lope de Vega — of
Bacon — of Sir Walter Scott, nay of all other volu-
minous writers, be closely examined, I cannot but
think it would be found that much stronger, and
more numerous incitements, than the praises of men,
led them on from small beginnings to great results,
in authorship. Young, in his epistle to Pope, has
recorded some of the motives; and he might have
easily filled his poetical letter with them.
Some write confin'd by physic; some by debt;
Some, for 'tis Sunday ; some because 'tis wet;
Another writes because his lather writ,
And proves himself a bastard by his wit.
And I may add, some write because they are the
merriest crickets that chirp ; others, lest they should
be drowned in their own gall, did they not periodi-
cally vent their spleen ; some write from mere reple-
tion of learning ; others from doubts whether they pos-
sess any ! With some, composition is scarce an intel-
lectual toil, but affords them the highest mental grati-
fication ; with others, it is a labour essential to the
fixation of their thoughts, and to the ascertainment
of their own resources; some, without the least alloy
of selfishness, are actuated solely by the hope of be-
nefiting their readers; others are prompted by
every other selfish consideration, save that of fame.
Be the motive, however, what it may, no author, in
our day, judging from the past, can repose with
much confidence, on securing the grateful remem-
brance of future ages. Dr. Johnson was the idol of
his day, and for half a generation after! but his Die-
03
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
tionarv, "which made him, now reposes on many
shelves, as mere dead lumber ; and even our scho-.
lars seem to delight in demonstrating his etymolo-
gical ignorances! Who, of this nineteenth century,
now reads the Rambler? — not one in ten thousand!
Who, as in former days, now with delight pore over
his truly admirable Lives of the Poets? Kot one, in
as many hundred — his poetry ? one here and there —
his' Miscellaneous Works? scarce any! And so of
Milton, Pope, Bolingbroke, Goldsmith, with the ex-
ception of his Vicar of Wakefield; and Hume, like-
wise, excepting his History of England. Who now
reads Spenser — Chaucer — Ben Jonson — Davenant —
Glover — Marvell — Daniel — Cartwright — Hurdis —
Chamberlayne — Sir Philip Sidney — Sir John Suck-
ling, or even the best among the early English dra-
matic writers? — few, very few! And, may we not
with truth ask, are not the plays, even of the im-
mortal bard of Avon, comparatively but little read*
and still less often enacted ; and have they not re-
cently sought more genial realms, and become more
familiar to German, than even to English ears?
Well hath Spenser exclaimed —
How many Erre.it ones may remembered be.
Which in their days most famously did flourish,
Of whom no word* we hear, nor sign now see,
But as things wip'd with sponge do perish!
GTJLIAN C. VEEPLANCK.
Gut.ian Crommelin Yervlaxck, a name which
in itself indicated its owner's descent from the
founders of the Empire State, was born in the
city of New York. He was one of the class of
1801, of Columbia College, and afterwards de-
voted himself to the law.
After being admitted to the Bar, Mr. Verplanck
passed several years in Em-ope. On his return,
he became interested in politics, and was elected
a member of the State Legislature. In 1818 he
delivered the first of the series of public ad-
dresses on which his literary reputation is mainly
founded. In this discourse, pronounced on the
anniversary of the New York Historical Society,
after lamenting the lack of interest in the history
of their own country manifested by his fellow-
countrymen, he announces as his theme The Early
European Friends of America. In pursuance of
tins subject he introduces well sketched portraits
of Las Casas, Williams, Lord Baltimore, Penn,
Locke, Oglethorpe, Berkeley, and Hollis. From
these names he passes to a tribute to the virtues
of the Dutch and the Huguenots, and an enforce-
ment of their claims to American gratitude. The
comment which this portion of the, discourse
occasioned, furnishes sufficient evidence of the
popular ignorance on the subject, and the need
of the orator's exertions to arouse his fellow-
townsmen to an assertion of the at least equal
claims of their progenitors to those of any other
portion of the Union, to the honor of having
established the principles and the prosperity, the
wise theory and successful practice of our con-
federacy. Mr. Verplanck's address passed through
several editions, and secured him the respect of
the friends of American history throughout the
land. In the following year a little volume of
political verse, The State Triumvirate, a Politi-
cal Tale, and The Epistles of Brevet Major
Pinrlar Puff, appeared anonymously. Its author-
ship lias never been claimed, but Mr. Verplanck
has usually received the credit of having had the
chief hand in its production. The satire is prin-
cipally levelled at the laudation of De Witt Clin-
ton by his party friends, and contains a close
review of the governor's literary pretensions.
The volume is plentifully garni.-hed with prolego-
mena, notes, and other scholastic trimmings by
Scriblerus Busby, LL.D. Among the squibs of
the town wits of this period is a clever brochure,
attributed to Verplanck, on the inauguration of
Dr. Hosack as President of the New York Histo-
rical Society. It is entitled, Proces Verbal of the
Ceremony of Installation. The distinguished
political and other local celebrities of the day are
introduced as a committee of arrangement, seve-
rally taking part in the grand ceremonial.
General Jacob Morton, Dr. Valentine Mott, the
learned Dr. Graham, and other city magnates,
tender various addresses in doggrel Latin. Mr.
Simpson, of the Park Theatre, acts as stage
manager for the ceremony. At an important
stage of the proceedings, after a course of ap-
plause, music, and punch, the oath of office is
thus ludicrously administered in the investiture
of the new incumbent, who was the successor of
Clinton, upon whom much of the satire turns, in
the office —
Juras Clinton adorare,
Piff — part' — puffere, et laudare.
To which the President shall reply, — ■
Juro Clinton adorare,
Piff — paff — puffere, et laudare.
This was printed anonymously, " for the use of
the members," in 1620.* In the same year, Mr.
Verplanck was chaiiman of the Committee on
Education, in the legislature. He soon after ac-
cepted the professor.-hip of the Evidences of
Christianity in the General Protestant Episcopal
Seminary, and, in 1824, published Essays on the
Nature and Uses of the Various Evidences of
Revealed Religion. \
In this work, in addition to the usual historical
argument of the authenticity of the Scriptures
from the testimony of mankind, the agreement of
prophecy with the events which have occurred
since its promulgation, the harmony of the four
Evangelists, and other points of a like character,
the author bring* in evidence the adaptation of
the Christian religion to the felt requirements of
the mind of man, two lines of argument which
have generally been separately urged, but which
our author rightly regards as mutually aiding
one another. This work, while close in its argu-
ment, is written in a fluent and elegant manner.
It was followed in the succeeding year by An
Essay on the Doctrine of Contracts.^ The
* The clique of wits did not enjoy the joke entirely by
themselves. A sharp volley had been previously fired into
their camp in a pamphlet, also anonymous, from the other
side, bearing the title, " An Account of Abimelech Coody and
other Celebrated Writers of New York : in a Letter from a
Traveller to his Friend in South Carolina." This bears date
January, 1S15. It was a defence of the grave and honorable
pursuits of the memberB of the Historical and Literary and
Philosophical Society, and of Clinton in particular, who was
understood to be its author, and who had at least an equal
talent with his opponents in the satirical line, as his newspaper
management of the celebrated li forty thieves'1 witnessed.
t New York, Chas. Wiley. 1S24. Svo. pp. 267.
j A n Essay on the Doctrine of Contracts : being an Inquiry
how Contracts are Affected in Law and Morals by Conceal-
ment. Error, or Inadequate Price. By Gutian C. Verplanck.
Quod semper ^Equum et Bonum, jus dicitur. Digest, ]. 11.
de Juki, et Jure. New York : G. & C. Carvill. 1825. 8vo.
pp. 234.
GULIAN C. VERPLANCK.
69
author's object in this treatise is to settle, so fai-
ns in iv be, " the nature and degree of equality
required in contracts of mutual interest, as well
in reference to inadequacy of price, as to the more
perplexing difficulty of inequality of knowledge."
The usually received maxim of caveat emptor
he conceives to be unsound, and urges that the
taws regulating insurance, by which the owner
of the property is bound to furnish the under-
writer witli the fullest information touching its
character and hazards, should be extended to
cases of bargain and sale, in which the avowed
interest of both parties is to furnish an equiva-
lent in value. In the sale of articles who-e value
is not determinable, or where the buyer receives
no guarantee and purchases on that condition,
such information is not obligatory on the seller,
nor is he bound to refund in case of a sudden rise
or fall in the article after the sale, which neither
anticipated with certainty at the time. The
essay was occasioned by a desire to. cheek the
spirit of speculation which has so often run riot
over the American community, and the author,
at its outset, makes special reference to a purchase
of tobacco in New Orlean-, by a party who had
possession of the fact of a treaty of peacj having
been signed between the United States and Great
Britain, at the depressed market price of the
commodity. As soon as the news on which the
purchaser traded was known to the seller, he
brought suit to recover the property. The sale
was finally pronounced valid by Chief-justice
Marshall.
In 1825 Mr. Verplanck was elected Member of
Congress from the city of New York. He re-
mained in the House of Representatives for eight
years, and, though seldom appearing as a speaker,
was prominent in man}' measures of importance,
and especially in the advocacy of the bill extend-
ing the term of copyrighffrom twenty-eight to
forty-two years. At the close of the session (that
of 1830—1) in which this measure was pa>sed, Mr.
Verplanck received the well merited compliment
of a public dinner from "a number of citizens
distinguished for the successful cultivation of
letters and the arts."* The theme of his speech
on the occasion was The Law of Literary Pro-
perty. It is included in his collected discourses.
In this he maintains that the right in the product
of intellectual is the same as in that of manual
labor.
In 1827 Verplanck, Sands, and Bryant united
in the production of an Annual, called The Talis-
man. It was illustrated with engravings from
pictures by American artists, and continued for
three successive years. In 1833 the volumes
were republished with the title of Miscellanies
first published under the name of The Talisman,
by G. C. Verplanck, W. C. Bryant, and Robert C.
Sands.f These volumes contain some of the
choicest productions of their distinguished au-
thors. Many have since appeared in the col-
lected writings of Bryant and Sands. One of
the pleasant papers which may be readily from
subject and style traced to Verplanck's pen,
is devoted to Reminiscences of New York, always
* Note in Discourses and Addresses, by G. C. Verplanck,
t 3 vols. 18mo. Elam B' . ,- Vjrk. 1b3S.
an inviting theme in his hands. In 1833 a volume
of Discourses and Addresses on Subjects of
American, History, Arts, and Literature, by
Gulian C. Verplanck, appeared from the press of
the Harpers.* It contains, in addition to the Ad-
dresses already spoken of, an eulogy of Lord
Baltimore; an address on the Fine Arts ; a Tribute
to the Memory of Daniel H. Barnes a well known
schoolmaster of New York, in which he does
justice to the calling as well as the individual; an
address at Columbia College on the distinguished
graduates of that institution, among whom he
particularizes Hamilton, Jay, Robert R. Living-
ston, De Witt Clinton,f Gouverneur Morris, and
Dr. Mason. The volume closes with an address
before the Mercantile Library Association, some-
what similar in purpose to a lecture delivered
near the close of the same year before the
Mechanics' Institute,! which contains an admi-
rable enforcement of the mutual dependence of
art and science, the toil of the brain and the toil
of the muscle, on one another, and the importance
to the business and working man of literature as
a rational recreation as well as practical instructor
in his career.
In 1833, Mr. Verplanck also delivered a dis-
course, The Right Moral Influence and Use of
Liberal Studies, at the commencement of Geneva
College, Aug. 7, 1833 ; and in 1834, on a similar
occasion at Union College, spoke on the Influence
of Moral Causes upon Opinion, Science, and Lite-
rature. In 1836, he delivered one of the most
celebrated of his discourses, The American,
Scholar,^ at Union College. The object of this
production is to show that the mental activity of
America, the general dissemination of intelli-
gence, the open path to every species of intellec-
tual distinction, more than counterbalance the
opportunities for scholastic retirement, in which
the new is as yet inferior to the old world. The
student is warned to build his career in reference
to the sphere of its employment, and not risk his
happiness and usefulness by an inordinate longing
for, or imitation of, models formed under different
circumstances of age, society, and soil.
In 1844, the first number of an edition of
Shakespeare's Plays, edited by Mr. Verplanck,
* 12mo. pp. 257.
t In his remarks on Clinton he has a handsome allusion to
forgetfulness of old difficulties: —
'■"The memory of De Witt Clinton, the first graduate of our
Alma Mater after the peace of 1788, is another brilliant and
treasured possession of this college. After the numerous
tributes which have so recently been paid to his memory, and
especially that luminous view of his character as a scholar and
a statesman, as the promoter of good education and useful im-
provement, contained in the discourse lately delivered from
this place by Professor Kenwick, anything I could now say
on the same subject would be but useless repetition. Else
would I gladly pay the homage due to his eminent and lasting
services, and honour that lofty ambition which taught him to
look to designs of grand utility, and to their successful execu-
tion, as his arts of gaining or redeeming the confidence of a
generous and public-spirited people. For whatever of party
animosity might have ever blinded me to his merits, had died
away lon<r before his death ; and I could now utter his honest
praises without the imputation of hollow pretence from others,
or the mortifying consciousness in my own breast, of render-
ing unwilling and tardy justice to noble designs and great
public service."
t Lecture Introductory to the Course of Scientific Lectures
before the Mechanics' institute of the City of New \ ork,
Nov. 27, 1833. By Gullan C. Verplanck. New York : 1838.
§ The Advantages and the Dancers of the American Scholar.
A Discourse delivered on the dav preceding the Annual Com-
mencement of Union College, July 26, 18SB. By Gulian C.
Verplanck. New York : Wiley and' Long, 1886.
70
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
appeared. The publication was completed in
1847, tunning three large octavo volumes* The
object of the publishers was to combine in the
pictorial department, the attractions of the care-
ful historical drawings of scenes and costumes of
Planchc and Harvey with the imaginative de-
signs of Kenny Meadows, which had recently
appeared in the London editions of Knight and
Tyus. Mr. Verpkuick's labors consist of a revi-
sion of the text, in which he has, in some cases,
introduced readings varying from those of the
ordinary editions, of selections from the notes of
former editors, and the addition of others from
his own pen. An excellent and novel feature of
the latter is found in the care with which he has
pointed out in the teit several of the colloquial
expressions often called Americanisms, which,
out of use in England, have been pre-erved in
this country. Mr. Verplanck has also given ori-
ginal prefaces to the plays, which, like the notes,
have the ease and finish common to all his pro-
ductions. His comments are judicious, and he
has drawn his information from the best sources.
Mr. Verplanck has for many years divided his
time between the city of ]S~e\v York and his
ancestral homestead at FLhkiil Landing on the
Hudson, a well preserved old mansion, in which
the Society of the Cincinnati was founded. He
is one of the Commissioners of Emigration of the
city, a member of the vestry of Trinity church,
and is the incumbent of many other positions
of trust and usefulness. He preserves in a hale
old age the clear ruddy complexion with the
activity of youth.
THE MOTHER AND THE 6CUOOLXIASTEK.T
Of what incalculable influence, for good or for
evil upon the dearest interests of society, must be
the estimate entertained for the character of the
great body of teachers, and the consequent respect-
ability of the individuals who compose it.
*******
"What else is there in the whole of our social sys-
tem of such extensive and powerful operation on
the national character ? There is one other influence
more powerful, and but one. It is that of the
Mother. The forms of a free government, the
provisions of wise legislation, the schemes of the
statesman, the sacrifices of the patriot, are as nothing
compared with these. If the future citizens of our
republic are to be worthy of their rich inheritance,
they must be made so principally through the virtue
and intelligence of their Mothers. It is in the
school of maternal tenderness that the kind affections
must be first roused and made habitual — the early
sentiment of piety awakened and rightly directed —
the 6ense of duty and moral responsibility unfolded
and enlightened. But next in rank and in efficacy
to that pure and holy source of moral influence is
that of the Schoolmaster. It is powerful already.
What would it be if in every one of those School
districts which we now count by annually increas-
ing thousands, there were to be found one teacher
well-informed without pedantry, religious without
bigotry or fanaticism, proud and fond of his profes-
* Shakespeare's Plays : with his Life. Illustrated with
many hundred Wood-cuts, executed by H. W. Hewet. after
designs by Kenny Meadows, Harvey, and nth- rs. Edited by
Gulian C. Verplanck, LL.D., with Ciitical Introduction, Notes,
etc.. original and selected. In 3 vols. Harper & Brothers.
1847.
t From the Tribute to the Memory of Daniel H. Barnes.
sion, and honoured in the discharge of its duties?
How wide would be the intellectual, the moral in-
fluence of such a body of men ? Many such we
have already amongst us — men humbly wise and
obscurely useful, whom poverty cannot depress, nor
neglect degrade. But to raise up a body of such
men, as numerous as the wants and the dignity of
the ^country demand, their labours must be fitly
remunerated, and themselves and their calling
cherished and honoured.
The schoolmaster's occupation is laborious and
ungrateful ; its rewards are scanty and precarious.
He may indeed be, and he ought to be, animated by
the consciousness of doii g good, that best of all con-
solations, that noblest of ail motives. But that too
must be often clouded by t.oubt aid uncertainty.
Obscure and ii glorious as his daily occupation may
appear to learned pride or worldly ambition, yet to
be truly successful and happy, he must be animated
by the spirit of the same great principles which in-
spired the most illustrious benelactois of mankind.
If he bring to his task high talent and rich acquire-
ment, he must be content to look into distant years
: for the proof that his labours have not been wasted
■ — that the good seed which he daily scatters abioad
' does not fall on stony giound and wither away, or
1 among thorns, to be choked by the caies, the delu-
: sions, or the vices of the world. He must solace hia
toils with the same prophetic faith that enabled the
J greatest of modern philosophers,* amidst the neglect
I or contempt of his own times, to regard himself as
sowing the seeds of truth for posteiity and the care
of Heaven. He must arm himself against disap-
i pointment and mortification, with a portion of that
same noble confidence which soothed the gieatest
of modern poets when weighed down by care and
danger, by poverty, old age, and blindness, still
In prophetic dream he saw
The youth unborn, with pious awe,
Imbibe each virtue from his sacred page.
He must know and he must love to teach his pu-
pils, not the meagre elements of knowledge, but the
secret and the use of their own intellectual stiei gth,
exciting and enablii g them hereafter to raise for
themselves the veil which covers the majestic foim
of Truth. He must feel deeply the reverence due
to the youthful mind fraught with mighty though
undeveloped energies and affections, and mysterious
and eternal destinies. Thence he must have learnt
to reverence himself and his profession, and to lcok
upon its otherwise ill-requited toils as their own ex-
ceeding great reward.
If such are the difficulties and the discourage-
ments— such, the duties, the motives, and the con-
solations of teachers who are worthy of that name
and trust, how imperious then the obligation upon
every enlightened citizen who knows and feels the
value of such men to aid them, to cheer them, and
to honour them !
SAMUEL WOODWOETH,
The author of the Old Oaken Budcet, was (he
youngest son of a farmer and revolutionary sol-
dier, and was born atScituate, Ma-s., January 13,
1785. He had but few educational advantages,
a% according to the memoir prefixed to his poems
in 1816, no school was taught in the village, ex-
cept during the three winter months ; and as a
mistaken idea of economy always governed the
selection of a teacher, he was generally as ignorant
as his pupils.
* Bacon. " Severe posteris ac Deo immortali."
SAMUEL WOODWORTH.
11
Some juvenile verses written by young Wood-
worth attracted the attention of the village cler-
gyman, the Rev. Nehemiah Thomas, who gave
him a winter's instruction in the classics, and en-
deavored to raise an amount sufficient to support
him at college, but without success. He was soon
after apprenticed to a printer, the trade of his
choice, Benjamin Russell the editor and publisher
of the Columbian Centinel, Boston. He remain-
ed with his employer a year after the expiration of
his indentures, and then removed to New Haven,
where he commenced a weekly paper called the
Belles Lettres Repository, of which he was " edi-
tor, publisher, printer, and (more than once) car-
rier." The latter duty was probably one of the
lightest, as the periodical, after exhausting the
cash received in advance, was discontinued at the
end of the second month.
S3voral of Wood worth's poems first appeared in
The Complete Coiffeur; or an Essay on the Art
of Adorning Natural and of Creating Artificial
Beauty. By J. B. M. D. Lafoy, Ladies' Hair Dress-
er, 1817. This is a small volume of about two
hundred page-, one half being occupied with a
French translation of the other. M. Lafoy was
probably ambitious to follow in the footsteps of
the illustrious Huggins, or perhaps regarded the
affair as a shrewd mode of advertising. It is to
be hoped he paid Woodworth well for this lite-
rary job.
Woodworth left New Haven, and after a brief
sojourn in Baltimore, removed to New York in
1809. In 1810 he married. During the contest
of 1812 he conducted a quarto weekly paper en-
titled The War, and a monthly Swedenborgian
magazine, The Halcyon Luminary and Theologi-
cal Repository. Both were unsuccessful. His
next literary undertaking was a contract in 181C
"to write a history of the late war, in the style of
a romance, to be entitled The Champions of Free-
dom." The work was commenced in March, and
the two duodecimos were ready for delivery in
the following October. It possesses little merit
as history or novel.
In 1818, a small volume of Woodworth 's poet-
ical contributions to various periodicals was pub-
lished in New York. A second collection appear-
ed in 1826.
In 1823, he commenced with George P. Morris
the publication of the New York Mirror, a peri-
odical with which he remained connected for a
year. He was a frequent contributor of occasional
verses to the newspapers, and his patriotic songs
on the victories of the war of 1812 -14, and on
other occasions, were widely popular. He was
the author of several dramatic pieces, mostly ope-
ratic, which were produced with success. One of
these, The Forest Rose, keeps possession of the
stage, on account of the amusing Yankee charac-
ter who forms one of the dramatis persona?.
In the latter years of his life he suffered from
paralysis. A complimentary benefit was given
to him at the National Theatre in Leonard street.
at which W. E. Burton made his first appearance
in New York. It produced a substantial result, a
gift as acceptable as well deserved, his pecuniary
resources being meagre.
He died on the 9 th of December, 1842. " The
Old Oaken Bucket" is by far the best of his nu-
merous lyrics. It will hold its place among the
choice songs of the country.
AUTUMNAL REFLECTIONS.
The season of flowers is fled,
The pride of the garden decayed,
The sweets of the meadow are dead,
And the blushing parterre disarrayed.
The blossom-decked garb of sweet May,
Enamell'd with hues of delight,
Is exchanged for a mantle less gay,
And spangled with colours less bright.
For sober Pomona has won
The frolicsome Flora's domainB,
And the work the gay goddess begun,
The height of maturity gains.
But though less delightful to view,
The charms of ripe autumn appear,
Than spring's richly varied hue,
That infantile age of the year:
Yet now, and now only, we prove
The uses by nature designed;
The seasons were sanctioned to move,
To please less than profit mankind.
Regret the lost beauties of May,
But the fruits of those beauties enjoy;
The blushes that dawn with the day,
Noon's splendour will ever destroy.
How pleasing, how lovely appears
Sweet infancy, sportive and gay ;
Its prattle, its smiles, and its tears,
Like spring, or the dawning of day!
But manhood's the season designed
For wisdom, for works, and for use ;
To ripen the fruits of the mind,
Which the seeds sown in childhood produce.
Then infancy's pleasures regret,
But the fruits of those pleasures enjoy ;
Does spring autumn's bounty beget ?
So the Man is begun in the Boy.
THE PRIDE OF THE VALLEY.
The pride of the valley is lovely young Ellen,
Who dwells in a cottage enshrined by a thicket,
Sweet peace and content are the wealth of her
dwelling,
And Truth is the porter that waits at the wicket.
The zephyr thnt lingers on violet-down pinion,
With Spring's blushing honors delighted to dally,
Ne'er breathed on a blossom in Flora's dominion,
So lovely as Ellen, the pride of the valley.
She's true to her Willie, and kind to her mother,
Nor riches nor honors can tempt her from duty ;
Content with her station, she sighs for no other,
Though fortunes and titles have knelt to her
beauty.
To me her affections and promise are plighted,
Our ages are equal, our tempers will tally;
0 moment of rapture, that sees me united
To lovely young Ellen, the pride of the valley.
72
CYCLOPAEDIA Off AMERICAS' LITERATURE
THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my child-
hood,
When fond recollection presents them to view ;
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wild
wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew ;
The wide spreading pond, and the mill which stood
by it,
The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell ;
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well.
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.
That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure ;
For often, at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it with hands that were glow-
ing.
And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell ;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well ;
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.
How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As, pois'd on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave
it,
Though fill'd with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now far removed from the loved situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well;
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hai.gs in his well.
JOHN PIEIiPONT.
Ttie Rev. Joitx Pierpoxt was bora at Litchfield,
Connecticut, April 6, 1785. He is a descendant
of the Rev. James Pierpont, the second minister
of New Haven and a founder of Yale College.
His early years were watched over with great
care by an excellent mother, to whom he warmly
expressed his gratitude in his subsequent poems.
Entering Yale College he completed his course in
1804, and passed the succeeding four years as a
private tutor in the family of Col. William Allston
of South Carolina. On his return home he stu-
died law in the celebrated school of his native
town, and was admitted to practice in 1812.
About the same period, being called upon to ad-
dress the Washington Benevolent Society, New-
buryport, where he had removed, he delivered
the poem entitled " The Portrait," which he after-
wards published, and which is included in the
collection of his " Patriotic and Political Pieces."
He soon, in consequence of impaired health, and
the unsettled state of affairs produced by the war,
relinquished his profession and became a rner-
'As)Jl^C?tsf~~-^.
chant, conducting his business at Boston and af-
terwards at Baltimore. He was unsuccessful, and
after a few years retired. In 1816 he published
the Airs of Palestine, at Baltimore. It was well
received, and was twice reprinted in the course
of the following year at Boston.
In 1819 Mr. Pierpont was ordained minister of
the Hollis Street Unitarian church in Boston.
He passed a portion of the years 1835-6 in Eu-
rope, and in 1840 published a clfoice edition of
his poems.*
In 1851, on occasion of the centennial celebra-
tion at Litchfield, he delivered a poem of consi-
derable length, with the mixture of pleasantry and
sentiment called for in such recitations, and which
contains, among other things, a humorous sketch
of the Yankee character.
Besides his poems Mr. Pierpont has published
several discourses.
Mr. Pierpont is erect and vigorous in appear-
ance, with the healthy ruddiness in complexion
of a youth. His style of speaking is energetic-
The chief poetical performances of Mr. Pierpont
have been called forth for special occasions. Even
his more matured poem, the Airs of Palestine,
which first gave him reputation, was written for
recitation at a charitable concert. Its design is
to exhibit the associations of music combined with
local scenery and national character in different
countries of the world, the main theme being the
sacred annals of Judea. It would bear as well
the title The Power of Music. It is a succession
of pleasing imagery, varied in theme and harmo-
nious in numbers.
Most of the other poems of Pierpont are odes
on occasional topics of religious, patriotic, or phi-
lanthropic celebrations. They are forcible and
elevated, and have deservedly given the author a
high reputation for this speciality.
INVITATIONS OF THE ilUSE — FEOM AIES OF PALESTINE.
Here let us paus^- : — the openir g prospect view: —
How fresh this mountain air ! — how soft the blue,
That throws its mantle o'er the lengthening scene!
Those waviig groves, — those vales of livii ggreen, —
Those yellow fields, — that lake's cerulean face,
That meets, with curlii g smiles, the cool embrace
Of roaring torrents, lulled by her to lest; —
That white cloud, melting on the mountain's breast:
How the wide landscape laughs upon the sky I
How rich the light that gives it to the e3-e!
Where lies our path ? — though many a vista call,
We may admire, but cannot tread them all.
Where lies our path ? — a poet, and inquire
What hills, what vales, what streams become the
lyre?
See, there Parnassus lifts his head of snow;
See at his foot the cool Cephissus flow ;
There Ossa rises; there Olympus towers;
Between them, Tempe breathes in beds of flowers,
For ever verdant ; and there Peneus glides
Through laurels whispering on his shady sides.
Your theme is llusic: — Yonder rolls the wave,
Where dolphins snatched Arion from his grave,
Enchanted by his lyre: — Cithteron's shade
Is yonder seen, where first Amphion played
Those potent airs, that, from the yielding earth,
Charmed stones around him, and gave cities birth.
And fast by Hsemus, Thraeian Hebrus creeps
O'er golden sands, and still for Orpheus weeps,
Whose gory head, borne by the stream along,
Was still melodious, and expired in song.
* Airs of Palestine and other Poems, by John Pierpont
Boston. Monroe & Co.
MORDECAI MANUEL NOAH.
73
There Nereids sing, and Triton winds his shell;
There be thy path, — for there the Muses dwell.
No, no — a lonelier, lovelier patli be mine:
Greece and her charms I leave, for Palestine.
There, purer streams through happier valleys flow,
And sweeter flowers oa holier mountains blow.
I love to breathe where Gilead sheds her balm ;
I love to walk on Jordan's banks of palm ;
I love to wet my foot in Hermon's dews ;
I love the promptings of Isaiah's muse ;
In Carmel's holy grots I'll court repose,
And deck my mossy couch with Sharon's deathless
rose.
AN ITALIAN 6CENE.
On Arno's bosom, as he calmly flows,
And his cool arms round Vallombrosa throws,
Rolling his crystal tide through classic vales,
Alone, — at night, — the Italian boatman sails.
High o'er Moat' Alto walks, in maiden pride,
Night's queen ; — he sees her image on that tide,
Now, ride the wave that curls its infant crest
Around his prow, then rippling sinks to rest;
Now, glittering dance around his eddying oar,
Whose every sweep is echoed from the shore ;
Now, far before him, on a liquid bed
Of waveless water, rest her radiant head.
How mild the empire of that virgin queen!
How dark the mountain's shade ! how still the scene !
Hushed by her silver sceptre, zephyrs sleep
On dewy leaves, that overhang the deep.
Nor dare to whisper through the boughs, nor stir
The valley's willow, nor the mountain's fir,
Nor make the pale and breathless aspen quiver,
Nor brush, with ruffling wing, that glassy river.
Hark! — 'tis a convent's bell : — its midnight chime;
For music measures even the march of Time: —
O'er bending trees, that fringe the distant shore,
Gray turrets rise: — the eye can catch no more.
The boatman, listening to the tolling bell,
Suspends his oar : — a low and solemn swell,
From the deep shade, that round the cloister lies,
Rolls through the air, and on the water dies.
What melting song wakes the cold ear of Night?
A funeral dirge, that pale nuns, robed in white,
Chant round a sister's dark and narrow bed,
To charm the parting spirit of the dead.
Triumphant is the 6pell ! with raptured ear,
That unchanged spirit hovering lingers near; —
Why should she mount ? why pant for brighter bliss,
A lovelier scene, a sweeter song, than this !
DEDICATION HYMN.
Written for the Dedication of the new Congregational Church
in Plifmautli, tnu/i upon, the- Ground occupied by tlie ear-
liest Congregational Church in America.
The winds and waves were roaring ;
The Pilgrims met for prayer ;
And here, their God adoring,
They stood, in open air.
When breaking day they greeted,
And when its close was calm,
The leafless woods repeated
The music of their psalm.
Not thus, O God, to praise thee,
Do we, their children, throng;
The temple's arch we raise thee
Gives back our choral song.
Yet, on the winds, that bore thee
Their worship and their prayers,
May ours come up before thee
From hearts as true as theirs!
What have we, Lord, to bind us
To this, the Pilgrims' shore ! —
Their hill of graves behind us,
Their watery way before,
The wintry surge, that dashes
Against the rocks they trod,
Their memory, and their ashes, —
Be thou their guard, 0 God !
We would not, Holy Father,
Forsake this hallowed spot,
Till on that shore we gather
Where graves and griefs are not;
The shore where true devotion
Shall rear no pillared shrine,
And see no other ocean
Than that of love divine.
CENTENNIAL ODE.
Written for the Second Centennial Celebration of tlie Settle-
ment of Boston, September 17th, 1S30.
Break forth in song, ye trees,
As, through your tops, the breeze
.Sweeps from the sea !
For, on its rushing wings,
To your cool shades and springs,
That breeze a people brings,
Exile ! though free.
Te sister hills, lay down
Of ancient oaks your crown,
In homage due ; —
These are the great of earth,
Great, not by kingly birth,
Great in their well proved worth,
Firm hearts and true.
These are the living lights,
That from your bold, green heights,
Shall shine afar,
Till they who name the name
Of Freedom, toward the flame
Come, as the Magi came
Toward Bethlehem's star.
Gone are those great and good.
Who here, in peril, stood
And raised their hymn.
Peace to the reverend dead!
The light, that on their head
Two hundred years have shed,
Shall ne'er grow dim.
Ye temples, that to God
Rise where our fathers trod,
Guard well your trust, — ■
The faith, that dared the sea,
The truth, that made them free,
Their cherished purity,
Their garnered dust.
Thou high and holy One,
Whose care for sire and son
All nature fills,
While day shall break and close,
While night her crescent shows,
0, let thy light repose
On these our hills.
M. M. NOAH.
Mohdecai Manuel Noait, whose popular repu-
tation, as a newspaper writer of ease and plea-
santry, was extended through the greater part of
a long life, was born in Philadelphia July 19,
1785. He was earl}' apprenticed to a mechanical
business, which he soon left, and engaged in the
study of the law, mingling in politics and litera-
ture. He removed to Charleston, S. C, where
he was busily engaged in polities of the day.
74
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
In 1813, under Madison, he was appointed
U. S. consul to Morocco. The vessel in which
he sailed from Charleston was taken by a British
frigate, and he was carried to England and de-
tained several weeks a prisoner, when he was al-
lowed to proceed to his destination. After his
return to America in 1819, he published a vo-
lume of his Travels in England, France, Spain,
and the Barbary States, from 1813 to 1815.
He had now established himself at New York,
where he edited the National Advocate, a demo-
cratic journal. He was elected sheriff of the
city and county. In a squib of the time he was
taunted with his religion. " Pity," said his op-
ponents, " that Christians are to be hereafter
hung by a Jew." " Pretty Christians," replied
the Major, as he was generally called, " to require
hanging at all."
The National Advocate was discontinued in
1826, and Noah then commenced the publication
of the New York Enquirer, which he conducted
for a while till it was annexed to the Morn-
ing Courier, a union which gave rise to the pre-
sent large commercial journal, Tlie Courier and
Enquirer. In 1834, in connexion with Thomas
Gill, he established a popular daily newspaper, The
Evening Star, which attained considerable repu-
tation from the ready pen of Noah, who was
considered the best newspaper paragraphist of his
day. Hh style in these effusions well represented
his character: facile, fluent, of a humorous turn,
pleasing in expression, though sometimes ungram-
matical, with a cheerful vein of moralizing, and
a knowledge of the world. The Star was united
to the Times, becoming the Times and Star, and
was finally merged in the Commercial Advertiser
in 1840. After this, in July, 1842, Noah origin-
ated the Union, a daily paper, illustrating a new
phase of the Major's political life; and like all
his other undertakings of the kind, enlivened by
the editor's peculiar pleasantry. It was con-
tinued in his hands through the year, after
which Noah, in conjunction with Messrs. Deans
and Howard, established a Sunday newspaper,
The Times and Messenger, for which he wrote
weekly till within a few days of his death, by
an attack of apoplexy, March 22, 1851.
There was no man better known in his day in
New York than Major Noah. His easy manners,
fund of anecdote, fondness for biographical and
historical memoirs, acquaintance witli the public
characters, political and social, of half a century,
with whom his newspaper undertakings had
brought him in contact ; his sympathy with the
amusements of the town of all descriptions,
actors, singers, and every class of performers, all
of which were severally promoted by his bene-
volent disposition, made his company much
sought and appreciated.
In 1845 Noah delivered A Discourse on the
Restoration of the Jews, which was published — ■
a fanciful speculation.
Some time before his death he published a
little volume of his newspaper essays, entitled
Gleanings from a Gathered Harvest; but they
are of his more quiet and grave moralizing*, and
hardly indicate the shrewdness and satiric
mirth which pointed his paragraphs against the
follies of the times. In his way, too, the kindly
Major had been something of a dramatist. He
^4yu
has related the story of his accomplishments in
this line in so characteristic a manner, in a letter
to Dunlap, published in his "History of the
American Theatre," that we may quote it at
once as part of our history, and as a specimen of
the style of the writer.
TO WILLIAM DTTNLAP, ESQ. [
New York, July 11, 1832.
Dear Srr.,
I am happy to hear that your work on the Ame-
rican Drama is in press, and trust that you may
realize from it that harvest of fame and money to
which your untiring industry and diversified labors
give you an eminent claim. You desire me to fur-
nish you a list of my dramatic productions ; it will,
my dear sir, constitute a sorry link in the cliain of
American writers — my plays have all been ad cap-
tandum : a kind of amateur performance, with no
claim to the character of a settled, regular, or domi-
ciliated writer for the green-room— a sort of volun-
teer supernumerary — a dramatic writer by " parti-
cular desire, and for this night only," as they say in
the bills of the play; my "line." as you well know,
has been in the more rugged paths of politics, a line
in which there is more fact than poetry, more feel-
ing than fiction ; in wliich, to be sure, there are
"exits and entrances" — where the "prompter's
whistle" is constantly heard in the voice of the
people ; but which, in our popular government,
almost disqualifies us for the more soft and agreeable
translation of the lofty conceptions of tragedy, the
pure diction of genteel comedy, or the wit, gaiety,
and humor of broad farce.
I had an early hankering for the national drama,
a kind of juvenile patriotism, which burst forth, for
the fir?t time, in a few sorry doggrels in the form of
a prologue to a play, which a Thespian company,
of which I was a member, produced in the South
Street Theatre — the old American theatre in Phila-
delphia. The idea was probably suggested by the
sign of the Federal Convention at the tavern oppo-
site the theatre. You, no doubt, remember the
picture and the motto: nn excellent piece of paint-
ing of the kind, representing a group of venerable
MORDECAI MANUEL NOAH.
75
personages engaged in public discussions, with the
following distich:
These thirty-eight great men have signed a powerful deed,
That better times to us shall very soon succeed.
The sign must have been painted soon after the
adoption of the federal constitution, a. id I remem-
ber to have stood " many a time and oft," gazing,
when a boy, at the assembled patriots, particularly
the venerable head and spectacles of Dr. Franklin,
always in conspicuous relief. In our Thespian
corps, the honor of cutting the plays, substituting
new passages, easting parts, and writing couplets at
the exits, was divided between myself and a fellow
of infinite wit and humor, by the name of Helm-
bold ; who subsequently became the editor of a
scandalous little paper, called the Tickler : he was
a rare rascal, perpetrate i all kinds of calumnies, was
constantly mulcted in fines, sometimes imprisoned,
was full of faults, which were forgotteu in his con-
versational qualities a id dry sallies of genuine wit,
particularly his Dutdi stories. After years of sin-
gular vicissitudes, Helmbold joined the army as a
common soldier, fought bravely during the late war,
obtained a commission, and died. Our little com-
pany so m dwindled away; the expenses were too
heavy for our packets; our writings aid perform-
ances were sufficiently wretched, but as the audience
was admitted without cost, they were too polite to
express any disapprobation, we recorded all our
doings in a little weekly piper, published, 1 believe,
by Jenny Riddle, at the corner of Chestnut an 1
Third street, opposite the tavern kept by that sturdy
old le n.icrat, Israel Israel.
From a bry, I was a regular attendant of the
Chestnut Street Theatre, during the manage ue.it of
vVigaell and Reinagle, and male great e. forts to
compass the purchase of a season ticket, which I
obtained generally of the treasurer, George Davis,
for $13. Our habits through life are frequently
governed and directed by our early steps. I seldo n
missed a night; aid always retire! to bed, after
witnessing a good piny, gratifie da. id improved: and
thus, probably, escaped the hau its of taverns, a. id
the pursuits of deprave 1 pleasures, which too fre-
quently allure and destroy our young men ; hence I
was always the firm friend of the drama, and had
an undoubted right to oppose my example through
life to the horror ail hostility expressed by sec-
tarians to play and play-houses generally. Independ-
ent of several of your pi ays which had obtained
possession of the stage, and were duly incorporated
in the legitimate drama, the first call to support the
productio is of a fellow townsman, was, I think,
Barker's opera of the " Indian Princess." Charles
Ingersoll had previously written a trage ly, a very
able production for a very you ig man, which was
supported by all the "good society;" but Barker
who was " one of us," on amiable and intelligent
young fellow, who owed nothing to here litary
rank, though his father was a Whig, and a soldier
of the Revolution, was in reality a fi le spirited poet,
a patriotic ode writer, and finally a gallant soldier
of the late war. The managers g ive Barker an ex-
cellent chance with all his plays, and he had merit
and popularity to give them in return full houses.
About this time, I ventured to attempt a little
melo-drama, under the title of The Fortress of Sor-
rento, which, not having money enough to pay for
printing, nor sufficient influence to have acted, I
thrust the manuscript in my pocket, and having oc-
casion to visit New York, I called in at David Long-
worth's Dramatic Repository one day, spoke of the
little piece, and struck a bargain with him, by giv-
ing him the manuscript in return for a copy of every
play be had published, which at once furnished me
with a tolerably large dramatic collection. I believe
the play never was performed, and I was almost
ashamed to own it; but it was my first regular
attempt at dramatic com; isition.
In the year 1812, while in Charleston, S. C, Mr.
Young requested me to write a piece for his wife's
benefit. You remember her, no doubt ; remarkable
as she was for her personal beauty and amiable
deportment, it would have been very ungallant to
have refused, particularly as he requested that it
should be a " breeches part," to use a green-room
term, though she was equally attractive in every
character. Poor Mrs. Young! she died last year in
Philadelphia. When she first arrived in New York,
from Loudon, it was difficult to conceive a more per-
fect beauty; her complexion was of dazzling white-
ness, her golden hair and ruddy complexion, figure
somewhat embonpoint, and graceful carriage, made
her a great favorite. I soon produced the little
piece, which was called Paul and Alexis, or the
Orphans of the Rhine. I wus, at that period, a very
active politician, and my political opponents did me
the honor to go to the theatre the night it was per-
formed, for the purpose of hissing it, which was not
attempted until the curtain fell, and the piece was
successful. After three years' absence in Europe
and Africa, I saw the same piece performed at the
Park under the title of The Wandering Boys, which
even now holds possession of the stage. It seems
Mr. Youiigse.it the manuscript to Loudon, where the
title was changed, and the bantling cut up, altered,
and considerably improve!.
About this time, John Miller, the American book-
seller in London, paid us a visit. Among the pas-
sengers in the same ship was a fine English girl of
great talent and promise, Miss Leesugg, afterwards
Mrs. Haekett. She was engage 1 at the Park as a
singer, and Phillips, who was here about the same
period, fulfilling a most successful engagement, was
decided and unqualified in his admiration of her
talent. Every one took an interest in her success:
she was gay, kind-hearted, and popular, always in
excellent spirits, and always perfect. Anxious for
her success, I venture 1 to write a play for her bene-
fit, and in three days finished the patriotic piece of
She would be a Soldier, or the Battle of Chippewa,
which, I was happy to find, produced her an excel-
lent house. Mrs. Haekett retired from the stage
after her marriage, and lost six or seven years of
profitable and unrivalled engagement.
"After this play, I became in a manner domi-
ciliated in the green-room. My friends. Price and
Simpson, who had always been exceedingly kind
and liberal, allowed me to stray about the premises
like one of the family, and always anxious for their
success, I ventured upon another attempt for a holy-
day occasion, and produced Marion, or the Hero of
Lake George. It was played on the 25th of Novem-
ber— Evacuation day, and I bustled about among
my military friends, to raise a party in support of a
military play, and what with generals, staff-officers,
rank and file, the Park Theatre was so crammed,
that not a word of the play was heard, which was a
very fortunate affair for the author. The managers
presented me with a pair of handsome silver
pitchers, which I still retain as a memento of their
good will and friendly consideration. You must
bear in mind that while I was thus employed in
occasional attempts at play-writing, I was engaged
in editing a daily journal, and in all the fierce con-
tests of political strife ; I had, therefore, but little
time to devote to all that study and reflection so
essential to the success of dramatic composition.
My next piece, I believe, was written for the
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
benefit of a relative and friend, who wanted some-
thing to bring a house ; and as the struggle for
liberty in Greece was at that period the prevailing
excitement, I finished the melo-drama of The Grecian
Captive, which was brought out with all the advan-
tages of good scenery and music. As a " good
house" was of more consequence to the actor than
fame to the author, it was resolved that the hero of
the piece should make his appearance on an ele-
phant, and the heroine on a camel, which were pro-
cured from a neighboring menagerie, and the lout
ensemble was sufficiently imposing, only it happened
that the huge elephant, in shaking his skin, so
rocked the castle on his back, that the Grecian
general nearly lost his balance, and was in imminent
danger of coming down from his " high estate," to
the infi ite merriment of the audience. On this
occasion, to use a. lother significant phrase, a "gag"
was hit upon of a new character altogether. The
play was printed, and each auditor was presented
with a copy gratis, as he entered the house. Figure
to yourself a thousand people in a theatre, each
witlpa book of the play in hand — imagine the turn-
ing over a thousand leaves simultaneously, the buzz
and fluttering it produced, and you will readily be-
lieve that the actors entiiely forgot their parts, and
even the equanimity of the elephant and camel were
essentially disturbed.
My last appearance ns a dramatic writer was in
another national piece, called The Siege of Tripoli,
which the managers persuaded me tot bring out for
my own benefit, being my first attempt to derive
any profit from dramatic efforts. The piece was
elegantly got up — the house crowded with beauty
and fashion — everything went off in the happiest
manner; when a short time after the audience had
retired, the Park Theatre was discovered to be on
fire, and in a short time was a heap of ruins. This
conflagration burnt out all my dramatic fire and
energy, since which I have been, as you well know,
peaceably employed in settling the affairs of the
nation, and mildly engaged in the political differ-
ences and disagreements which are so fruitful in our
great state.*
I still, however, retain a warm interest for the
success of the drama, and all who are entitled to
success engageil in sustaining it, and to none greater
than to yourself, who has done more, in actual
labor and successful efforts, than any man in Ame-
rica, That you may realize all you have promised
yourself, and all that you are richly entitled to, is
the sincere wish of
Dear sir,
Your friend and servant,
M M. Noah.
Wsl Dun-lap, Esq,
FBANKLIN COLLEGE, GA.
Dr.. Ciin.cn, the president of this institution,
•which is situated at Athens, Georgia, in A Dis-
course delivered he/ore the Historical Society of
the state, has thus traced the progress of educa-
tion in that region.
" The first constitution of Georgia was adopted
the 5th of February, 1777, only a few months
after the Declaration of Independence. The 54th
section of this constitution declares, ' Schools
shall be erected in each county, and supported at
the general expense of the state.' This is an
* The author does not add, which was the fact that the pro-
ceeds of this fata] benefit evening which he received, amount-
ing to the considerable Earn of nearly two thousand dollars,
were the next day given to the actors, and others, who had
suffered by the fire.
important record in the history of our education.
On the 31st of July, 1783, the Legislature appro-
priated 1000 acres of land to each count}- for the
support of free schools. In 1784, a few months
after the ratification of the treaty of peace, by
wliich our national independence was acknow-
ledged, the legislature, again in session at Savan-
nah, passed an act, appropriating 40,000 acres of
land for the endowment of a college or university.
This act commences with the remarkable pre-
amble: ' Whereas, the encouragement of religion
and learning is an object of great importance to
any community, and must tend to the prosperity
and advantage of the same.'
"In 1785, the charter of the university was
granted, the preamble to which would do honor
to any legislature, and will stand a monument to
the wisdom and patriotism of those who framed,
and of those who adopted it.
" 'As it is the distinguishing happiness of free
governments that civil order should be the result
of choice and not necessity, and the common
wishes of the people become the laws of the land,
their public prosperity and even existence very
much depends upon suitably forming the minds
and moral, of their citizens. "When the minds of
the people in general are viciously disposed and
unprincipled, and their conduct disorderly, a free
government will be attended with greater confu-
sion*, and evils more horrid than the wild uncul-
tivated state of nature. It can only be happy
where the public principles and opinions are pro-
perly directed and their manners regulated.
"'This is an influence beyond the stretch of
laws and punishments, and can be claimed only
by religion and education. It should, therefore,
be among the first objects of those who wish well
tj the national prosperity, to encourage and sup-
port the principles of religion and morality; and
early to place the youth under the forming hand
of society, that, by instruction, they may be
moulded to the love cf virtue and good order.
Sending them abroad to other countries for edu-
cation will not answer the purposes, is too humi-
liating an acknowledgment of the ignorance or
inferiority of our own, and will always be the
cause of so great foreign attachments that, upon
principles of policy, it is inadmissible.'
"In 1702, an act was passed appropriating one
thousand pounds for the endowment of an Aca-
demy in each county.
"In 1798, a third constitution was adopted.
The 13th section of the 4th article declares: ' The
arts and sciences shall be patronized in one or
more seminaries of learning.'
" In 1817, two hundred and fifty thousand dol-
lars were appropriated to the support of poor
schools. In 1818, every 10th and 100th lot of
land in seven new counties were appropriated to
the cause of education, and in 1821, two hundred
and lift}' thousand dollars were set apart for the
support of county academies.''*
The selection of the site for the university was
peculiar. It was located on a tract of ground, on
what was then the remote border of population
on the north-western boundary of the territory,
in reference to the future growth of the state
* A Discourse delivered before the Georgia Historical So-
ciety, on the occasion of its Si-Uh Anniversary, Feb. 12, 1S45.
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, MARYLAND.
77
rather than present convenience. In addition to
the forty thousand acres originally granted by the
legislature for the support of the university, Go-
vernor Milledge generously presented to the insti-
tution, at an expense of four thousand dollars, a
tract of land of seven hundred acres, better adapted
for the site, on which Franklin College was esta-
blished in 1801. It was some time before these
endowments of land became available for the sup-
port of the institution. They have now provided
an ample fund. In 1816 the lands of the original
grant were sold, and one hundred thousand dollars
were invested in bank stock, guaranteed by the
state to yield an annual interest of eight per cent.
From the lands purchased by Governor Milledge,
the college has received, by the sale of lots at
various times, some thirty thousand dollars, twenty
thousand of which are invested as a permanent
fund.
At the outset, the institution was embarrassed
for want of ready pecuniary means; but its diffi-
culties were met with spirit by the leading men
of the state, among whom Dr. Church enumerates
in his Discourse, Baldwin, Jackson, Milledge,
Early, the Houstons, the Habershams, Clay, Few,
Brownson, Taliaferro, Stephens, Walton, Jones,
and Gov. Jackson.
The line of Presidents has been — the Rev. Dr.
Josiah Meigs, from 1801 to 1811 ; the Rev. Dr.
John Brown, from 1811 to 181G; the Rev. Dr.
Robert Finlev, who died after a year's incum-
bency, in 1817; the Rev. Dr. Moses Waddel,
from 1819 to 1829; and the Rev. Dr. Alonzo
Church, from that time. Dr. Meigs had been
Professor of Natural Philosophy and Astronomy
in Yale ; Dr. Brown had held the chair of Mural
Philosophy in Columbia College, South Carolina;
Dr. Waddel, one of the most popular teachers of
the South, was a native of North Carolina. He
passed forty-five years as a teacher, dying in
1810 at the age of seventy.
Previously to the sale of the lands in 1816, the
college was closed for three years, in consequence
of the war and the want of funds. Its whole
number of graduates to the close of 1852 appears
by the catalogue to be six hundred and ninety-nine.
The college buildings have cost some eighty
thousand dollars. The library consists of over
twelve thousand volumes, and there is an excel-
lent philosophical, chemical, and astronomical
apparatus, with a valuable cabinet of minerals,
and a neat botanic garden.
The college is under the charge of twenty-
eight trustees, elected at first by the legislature,
but all vacancies are filled by the trustees. The
Senate of the State and Board of Trustees consti-
tute the Senatus Academicus of the state, and all
institutions of learning receiving funds from the
state must report to the Senatus, of which the
Governor of the State is president, at each meet-
ing of the Legislature.
Of the other college institutions in the state,
the Presbyterian institution of Oglethorpe Uni-
versity, situated near Milledgeville, was founded I
in 183T. It grew out of a manual labor school \
under the direction of the Rev. Dr. C. P. Beman, |
who became the first president of the college in [
1838. On his retirement in 1S40, he was suc-
ceeded by the present incumbent, the Rev. Dr. :
S. K. Talmage. The number of students by the ;
catalogue of 1853-4 is sixty-four. Its alumni,
from 1838 to 1853, have been one hundred and
thirty-eight, The president is Professor of An-
cient Languages and Belles Lettres.
Mercer University is a Baptist institution,
situated at Penfield ; and Emory College, at Ox-
ford, is attached to the Methodist Church. The
former has a theological course of instruction.
It dates from 1838. Emory College was founded
in 1837. Oxford, the town in which it is located,
is a pleasant rural village with a permanent
population of some six hundred persons, who have
chosen that residence almost exclusively with
reference to the college. The present head of
Mercer is Dr. N. M. Crawford ; of Emory, the
Rev. Dr. P. S. Pierce.
In August 7, 1851, the semi-centennial anni-
versary of Franklin College was celebrated, and
an address delivered in the college chapel at
Athens before the Society of Alumni by the
Hon. George R. Gilmer, who took for his subject
" The Literary Progress of Georgia." In this
discourse, which was printed at the time, will be
found a genial picturesque narrative, with nume-
rous anecdotes of the early days of Georgia,
sketches of the character of her citizens and of
their means of education, with the stray Ichabod
Cranes who preceded the foundation of her aca-
demies and colleges, which have since become
the distinguished ornaments of the state.
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, MARYLAND.
In 1782 an act of assembly in Maryland was
passed for founding a seminary on the Eastern
shore. The charter of incorporation required that
a sum of money should be raised by contribution
equal to five hundred pounds for each county in
that region. Ten thousand pounds were thus
collected in five months. The college went into
operation at Chestertown, and took the name of
Washington, who was one of the contributors to
its funds. Its first annual Commencement was
held May 16, 1783. Washington visited the col-
lege the next year. At the same time, in 1784,
an act was pa-ssed for founding a college on the
western shore, and constituting the same, together
with Washington College, one institution. This
was incorporated by the name of the Visitors and
Governors of St. John's College, and a grant of
seventeen hundred pounds " annually and for
ever," was made by the legislature. There was
also a subscription of ten thousand pounds, of
which two thousand were subscribed by the Rec-
tor and Visitors of the Annapolis school. A board
was organized, and its first meeting held in 1786.
The joint institution was opened at Annapolis in
1789, and Dr. John McDowell was chosen as Pro-
fessor of Mathematics, and afterwards as Principal.
In 1792 six professors and teachers were constantly
employed in the college, which was well attended,
and sent forth numbers of the distinguished men of
the state. In 1805, the legislature, by an illiberal
acl of economy, withdrew the annual fund solemnly
granted at the founding of the college. This was for
the time a virtual breaking up of the institution.
Efforts were made for the restoration of the grant.
In 1811 the legislature appropriated one thousand
dollars, and in 1821 granted a lottery the proceeds
of which were twenty thousand dollars. In 1832
two thousand dollars per annum were secured to
78
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
the college by the legislature. In the meantime
the succession of Principals had included, after
Dr. McDowell, the Rev. Drs. Bethel Judd, Henry
Lyon Davis, and "William Rafferty. In 1831,
about the time of the revival of the college affairs,
the Rev. Dr. Hector Humphreys, the present in-
cumbent, was elected Principal. The classes
increased, new accommodation was required, and
in 1835 a new college building was erected ; an
historical address being delivered at the csremony
of laying the corner-stone by John Johnson, one
of the Visitors and Governors, who thus alluded
to some of the advantages and associations of the
site : — " If education is to be fostered in Mary-
St. John's College, Maryland.
land as its importance demands, no location more
favorable for its cultivation could be selected than
this. The building now existing, and that in the
course of construction, are seated in a plain of
great extent and unrivalled beauty. The climate
of the place is unsurpassed for salubrity, and
whilst the moral contamination incident to the
vicinity of a large town is not to be dreaded, the
presence of the seat of Government is full of ad-
vantages. Everything conspires to render St.
John's a favorite of the State. It was built up
by the purchasers of our freedom whilst the
storms of the Revolution were yet rocking the
battlements of the Republic. It has enrolled
among its alumni some of the brightest ornaments
of the nation, and continued its usefulness to the
last, though frowned upon and discouraged by the
parent which created it. It is endeared by its
origin; venerable for its age; illustrious for the
great minds nurtured within its walls, and entitled
to our gratitude' for yet striving to do good."
During the administration of Dr. Humphreys
the prosperity of the college, in the number of
students, has greatly increased. New depart-
ments of study have been opened, and new Pro-
fessorships and college buildings projected.
C. S. EAFIKESQUE.
C. S. Rafinesque was born, he informs us at the
outset of his Life of Travels and Researches, at
Galata, a suburb of Constantinople, in 1784.
His father was a Levant, merchant from Mar-
seilles. While an infant he was taken to that
city by sea, and says that it was owing to this
early voyage that he was ever after exempt from
sea-sickness. In his seventh year his father went
to China, and on his return ran into Philadelphia
to escape the English cruisers, where he died of
yellow fever in 1793. Meanwhile the mother,
terrified at the sans-culottes, removed with her
children to Leghorn. After passing several years
in various cities in the north of Italy, he was sent
to the United States in 1802, with his brother. He
landed at Philadelphia, visited Bartram and other
naturalists, his botanical tastes having already de-
veloped themselves, and travelled a little in Penn-
sylvania and Delaware. He returned to Leghorn
with a large stock of specimens in March, 1805,
and in May of the same year sailed for Sicily,
where he passed ten years in "residence and
travels," engaged partly in botany, and partly in
merchandise, during which he published a work,
The Analysis of Nature, in the French language.
In 1815 he sailed for New York, but was ship-
wrecked on the Long Island coast. ' "I lost," he
says, "everything, my fortune, my share of the
cargo, my collections and labors for twenty years
past, my books, my manuscripts, my drawings,
even my' clothes. — all that I possessed, except
some scattered funds, and the insurance ordered
in England for one third the value of my goods.
The ship was a total wreck, and finally righted
and sunk, after throwing up the confined air of
the hold by an explosion."
He made his way to New York and presented
himself to Dr. Mitchill, who introduced him to
friends, and obtained a place for him as tutor to
the family of Mr. Livingston on the Hudson. In
1818 he made a tour to the West, leaving the
stage at Lancaster "to cross the Alleghanies on
foot, as every botanist ought." He floated down
the Ohio in an ark to Louisville, where he re-
ceived an invitation to become Professor of
Botany at Transylvania University, Lexington.
After returning to Philadelphia to close his busi-
ness affairs he removed to Lexington, and appears
to have obtained the professorship, and performed
its duties for some time. He still, however, con-
tinued his travels, lectured in various places, and
endeavored to start a magazine and a botanic
garden, but without success in either case. He
finally established himself in Philadelphia, where
he published The Atlantic Journal and Friend
of Knowledge, a Cyclopedic Journal and Eeview.
The first number is dated " Spring of 18S2," and
forms an octavo of thirty-six pages. " This jour-
nal," says the prospectus, " shall contain every-
thing calculated to enlighten, instruct, and im-
prove the mind." But eight numbers appeared.
In 1836 he published Life of Travels and Re-
searches, a brief narrative, furnishing little more
than an itinerary of the places he visited during
his almost uninterrupted peregrinations. In ad-
dition to these works he published several volumes
on botanv. Rafinesque died at Philadelphia, Sep-
tember 18, 1842.
DANIEL DEAKE— BENJAMIN DEAKE.
Daniel Dp.ake was born at Plainfield, New Jer-
sey, October 20, 1785 ; was taken while quite
a youth to Mason count}', Kentucky, and was
brought up there. When a young man he went
to Cincinnati, and studied medicine at the Medi-
cal School of the University of Pennsylvania, at
Philadelphia, became a practitioner of medicine
at Cincinnati, and attained high eminence in his
profession. He was a professor and teacher of
the medical science for the greater part of his life
NICHOLAS BIDDLE.
79
in the schools at Cincinnati, at Philadelphia, at
Lexington, Kentucky, and at Louisville, Ken-
tucky, where he was associated with the most
distinguished men of his profession. Without ex-
celling in any of the graces of the orator, he was
a most effective and popular lecturer. An origi-
nal thinker, zealous, energetic, a lover of truth,
he delighted in acquiring and communicating
knowledge. A philanthropist, a puhlic-spirited
citizen, a man of untiring industry and indomi-
tahle energy, he spent a long and active life in
constant efforts to do good. Devoted to the in-
terests of Cincinnati, he was a zealous and active
promoter of every measure for the advancement
of her prosperity, and especially for her moral and
intellectual improvement. His time, his pen, his
personal exertions, were at all times at the service
of his profession, his country, his fellow-creatures.
In a long life of uncommon industry, marked by
a spirit and perseverance unattainable by ordinary
men, the larger portion of his time was given to
the public, to benevolence, and to science.
As a writer Dr. Drake is entitled to considera-
tion in American literature, not from the style
of his compositions, which had little to recom-
mend it, but from their useful character and sci-
entific value. Besides his acknowledged works,
he was the author of a vast number of pamphlets
and newspaper essays, written to promote useful
objects, all marked by great vigor and conciseness
of style, and singleness of purpose. His Picture
of Cincinnati, under a modest title, embraced an
admirable account of the whole Miami country,
and was one of the first works to attract attention
to the Ohio valley. His great work on the Dis-
eases of the Interior Valley of North America
occupied many years, and was perhaps in contem-
plation during the greater part of his professional
life. It is a work of herculean labor, — of exer-
tions of which few men would be capable. It
covers the whole ground of the Mississippi and
its tributaries, and nearly all of North America,
and professes to treat of the disease* of that vast
region. It is not compiled from books, nor could
it be, for the subject is new. This vast mass of
information is the result of the author's personal
exploration, and of extensive correspondence with
scientific men. During the vacations between
the medical lectures, year after year, Dr. Drake
travelled, taking one portion of country after an-
other, and exploring each systematically and care-
fully, from the Canadian wilds to Florida and
Texas. Dividing this vast region into districts,
he gives a detailed topographical description of
each, marking out distinctly its physical charac-
teristics and peculiarities; he describes the cli-
mate, the productions, the cultivation, the habits
of the people ; he traces the rivers to their sources ;
points out the mountain ranges, the valleys, the
plains — everything that could affect the health of
man, as a local cause, is included in his survey.
Then he gives the actual diseases which he found
to be prevalent in each district, the peculiar phase
of the disease, with the treatment, and other in-
teresting facts.
Dr. Daniel Drake died at Cincinnati, November
5, 1852*
* The following is a list of books written by him, with tho
dates of their publication : —
Benjamin Drake, brother of Dr. Daniel Drake,
was as marked for his benevolence and public
spirit as for his literary tastes and abilities. He
was born in Mason county, Kentucky, November
28, 1794, and died in Cincinnati, April 1, 1841.
He was for many years editor of the Cincinnati
Chronicle, a weekly literary newspaper published
at Cincinnati, distinguished for its agreeable and
sprightly articles, and for the courtesy, good taste,
and common sense, with which it was conducted.
It was particularly instrumental in promoting the
prosperity of Cincinnati, by advocating all mea-
sures of improvement, ami giving a public-spirit-
ed tone to public sentiment. As long as Drake
lived this paper was very popular in the city and
all the surrounding region. He was a most ami-
able, pure-minded man. His Tales from the
Queen City are lively and very agreeable sketches
of Western life, written with some ability, and
much delicacy and taste. His Life of Tecumseh
was written with great care from materials col-
lected in Ohio and Indiana, where that distin-
gui-hed warrior was well known, and is a valu-
able contribution to our national history.*
Charles D. Drake, of St. Louis, a son of Dr.
Daniel Drake, born in Cincinnati, April 1], 1811,
is the author of A Treatise on the Law of Suits
by Attachment in the United States, an octavo
volume, published in lSSJt.f
NICHOLAS BIDDLE.
Nionoi.AS Biddi.e belonged to a family which
furnished its quota to the ^service of the State.
His father, Charles Biddle, was an active Revo-
lutionary patriot, and held the post, at the timo
of his son's birth, of Vice-President of the Penn-
sylvania Commonwealth, when Franklin was
president. His uncle, Edward Biddle, was the
naval commodore who ended his career so gal-
lantly in the affair of the Randolph.
The son and nephew, Nicholas, was born at
Philadelphia, January 8, 1786. He was educated
at the University of Pennsylvania, where he had
1810. Notices concerning Cincinnati, pp. 64, 12mo.
1815. Picture of Cincinnati, pp. 25 i, 12mo.
1882. Practical Essays on Medical Education and the Medical
Profession in the United States, pp. lt'4, 12mo.
1S32. A Practical Treatise on the History, Prevention, and
Treatment of Epidemic Cholera, designed both for tho
Profession and the People, pp. 18(1, 12mo.
1850. A Systematic Treatise, Historical, Etiological, and Prac-
tical, on the Principal Diseases of the Interior Valley
of North America, as tliey appear in the Caucasian,
African, Indian, and Esquimaux varieties of its popu-
lation, pp. 878. 8vo.
1851. The second volume of the same, posthumously published,
pp. 985.. Svo.
He edited, for many years, very ably and assiduously tho
Western Journal of Medical Science, published at Cincinnati,
and contributed largely to its pages.
* The following is a complete list of bis writings: —
1S27. Cincinnati in 1826, by B. Drake and E. D. Mansfield, pp.
Inn, 12mo.
1S30-33. Between these years he prepared a book on the sub-
ject of Agriculture, winch was published anonymously.
It was a compilation, and contained probably 3U0 pages,
12mo.
1633. The Life and Adventures of Black Hawk: with Sketches
of Keokuk, the Sac and Fox Indians, and the lato
Black Hawk War. pp. 2SS, 12mo.
1838. Tales and Sketches from the Queen City. pp. 180, 12mo.
1840. Life of General William Henry Harrison, a small volume,
of perhaps 250 pages, prepared jointly by B. Drake and
Charles S. Todd.
1841. Life of Tecumseh. and his brother the Prophet, with a
Historical Sketch of the Shawanoe Indians, pp. 235,
12mo.
t We are indebted for this notice of Drake and his family to
Mr. James Hall of Cincinnati.
80
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
completed the round of studies at thirteen ; when
his youth led to a further course of study at
Princeton, where, after two years and a half, he
took his degree with distinguished honor, at a
&
weete.
remarkably early age, in 1801. He then studied
law in Philadelphia for three years, when his
father's friend, General Armstrong, receiving the
appointment of Minister to France, he embarked
with him as his secretary, and resided till 1807
in Europe. They were the days of the Empire.
At this time the payment of the indemnity for
injuries to American commerce was going on,
and young Biddle, at the age of eighteen, managed
the details of the disbursements with the veterans
of the French bureau. Leaving the legation he
travelled through the greater part of the conti-
nent, and arriving in England, became secretary
to Monroe, then minister at London. On a visit
to Cambridge, the story is told of his delighting
Monroe by the exhibition of his knowledge of
modern Greek, picked up on his tour to the Me-
diterranean, when, in company with the English
scholars, some question arose relating to the pre-
sent dialect, with which they were unacquainted.
On his return to America in 1807 he engaged
in the practice of the law, and filled up a portion
of his time with literary pursuits. He became as-
sociated in the editorship of the Port Folio in
1813, and wrote much for it at different times.
His papers on the Fine Arts, biographical and
critical on the old masters, are written with ele-
gance, and show a discriminating taste. He also
penned various literary trifles, and wrote' occa-
sional verses, with the taste of the scholar and
humorist. Among these light effusions a burlesque
criticism of the nursery lines on Jack and Gill
is a very pleasant specimen of his abilities in a
line which the example of Canning and others has
given something of a classic flavor.
When Lewis and Clarke were preparing the
history of their American Exploration, the death
of Lewis occurred suddenly, and the materials of
the work were placed in the hands of Biddle,
who wrote the narrative, and induced Jefferson
to pen the preliminary memoir of Lewis. . It was
simply conducted through the press by Paul Al-
len, to whom the stipulated compensation was
generously transferred ; when the political engage-
ments of Biddle rendered his further attention to
it impracticable. He was in the State Legislature
in 1810, advocating a system of popular educa-
tion with views in advance of his times. It was
not till 1836 that his ideas were carried out by
legislative enactment. When the question of the
renewal of the Charter of the old United States
Bank was discussed in the session of 1811, he
spoke in defence of the Institution in a speech
which was widely circulated at the time, and
gained the distinguished approval of Chief-justice
Marshall.
From the Legislature he retired to his studies
and agriculture, always a favorite pursuit with
him. When the second war with England broke
out, he was elected to the State Senate. He was
now one of seven brothers, all his father's family
engaged in the service of the country — in the
navy, the army, and the militia. When the land
was threatened with invasion, he proposed vigor-
ous measures for the military defence of the State,
which were in progress of discussion when peace
intervened. At the close of the war, he met the
attacks upon the Constitution of the Hartford
Convention, by a Report on the questions at
issue, adopted in the Pennsylvania Legislature.
In the successive elections of 1818 and 1820, he
received a large vote for Congress from the demo-
cratic party, but was defeated.
In 1819 he became director of the Bank of the
United States, which was to exercise so unhappy
an influence over his future career, on the nomi-
nation of President Monroe ; who about the same
time assigned to him the work, under a resolution
of Congress, of collecting the laws and regula-
tions of foreign countries relative to commerce,
money, weights, and measures. These he ar-
ranged in an octavo volume, The Commercial
Digest.
In 1823, on the retirement of Langdon Cheves
from the Presidency of the Bank, he was elected
his successor. His measures in the conduct of
the institution belong to the financial and political
history of the country. The veto of Jackson
closed the affairs of the bank in 1836. The new
state institution bearing the same name was im-
mediately organized with Biddle at its head. He
held the post for three years, till March, 1839.
The failure of the bank took place in 1841. The
loss was tremendous, and Biddle was personally
visited as the cause of the disaster. He defended
his course in a series of letters, and kept up his
interest in public affairs, but death was busy at
his heart; and not long after, the 26th February,
1844, at his residence of Andalusia on the Dela-
ware, he died from a dropsical suffusion of that
organ, having just completed his fifty-fourth year.
He had entered upon active life early, and per-
formed the work of three score and ten.
In addition to the pursuits already mentioned,
requiring so large an amount of political force
and sagacity, Biddle had distinguished himself
through life by his tastes for literature. He de-
livered a eulogium on Jefferson before the Philo-
sophical Society, and an Address on the Duties of
the American to the Alumni of his college at
Princeton. As a public speaker, he was polished
and effective.
GARDNER SPRING.
Gaemster Spring was born at Newburyport,
Massachusetts, February 24, 1785. He was the
son of the Rev. Dr. Samuel Spring, one of the
Chaplains of the Revolutionary Army, who ac-
companied Arnold in his attack on Quebec in
1775, and carried Burr, when wounded, off the
field in his arms-
The son was prepared for college in the
grammar-school of his native town, and under
a private tutor in the office of Chief Justice
Parsons. He entered Yale College, and deli-
vered the valedictory oration at the conclusion
of his course in 1805. After studying law in the
office of Judge Daggett at New Haven, a por-
* Memoir bv R. T. Conrad in the National Portrait Gallery,
vol. iv. Ed. 1864.
ANDREWS NORTON.
81
tion of bis time being occupied in teaching,
he passed fifteen months in the island of Ber-
muda, where he established an English school.
On bis return he was admitted to the bar in De-
cember, 1808. He commenced the profession
with good prospect of success, but was induced
soon after, by the advice of his father and the
effect of a sermon of the Rev. Dr. John M. Mason,
from the text "To the poor the gospel is preached,"
to study theology. After a year passed at Ando-
ver, he was licensed to preach towards the close
of 1809/ In June, 1810, he accepted a call to the
Brick church in the city of New York, where he
has since remained, unmoved by invitations to
the presidencies of Hamilton and Dartmouth Col-
leges, maintaining during nearly half a century a
position as one of the most popular preachers and
esteemed divines of the metropolis. He has for
many years commemorated his long pastorate by
an anniversary discourse.
Dr. Spring is the author of several works
which have been published in uniform st^'le, and
now extend to eighteen octavo volumes. They
have grown out of his duties as a pastor, and con-
sist for the most part of courses of lectures on
the duties and advantages of the Christian career.
The edition of his works now in course of pub-
lication, embraces The Attraction of the Cross,
designed to illustrate the leading Truths, Obliga-
tions, and Hopes of Christianity ; The Mercy-
Sent, Thoughts suggested by the Lord's Prayer ;
First Things, A Series of Lectures on the Great
Facts and Moral Lessons first revealed to Man-
kind; Tlie Glory of GhrUt, Illustrated in his
Character and History, including the Last Things
of His Mediatorial Government ; The Power of
the Pulpit, or, Plain Thoughts addressed to
Christian Ministers and those who hear them, on
the influence of a Preached Gospel; Short Ser-
mons for the People, being a Series of short Dis-
courses of a highly practical character ; The Obli-
gations of the World to the Bible ; Miscellanies,
including the Author's " Essays on the Distin-
guishing Traits of Christian Character," " The
Church in the Wilderness," &.C., &c. The Contrast,
in press.
These volumes have passed through several
editions, and have been in part reprinted and
translated in Europe, and are held in well deserved
repute.
In 1810 he published Memoirs of the late Han-
nah L. Murray, a lady of New York, distinguished
in the vs ide circle of her friends for her benevo-
lence and intellectual acquirements. She trans-
lated, with the aid of her sister, the whole of Tas-
so's Jerusalem Delivered, and many of the odes
of Anacreon, into English verse, and was the
author of a poem of five thousand lines in blank
verse entitled The Restoration of Israel, an ab-
stract of which, with other unpublished produc-
tions, is given by her biographer.
Dr. Spring is an eloquent, energetic preacher;
his style direct and manly. As a characteristic
specimen of his manner we give a passage from
his volume, The Glory of Christ.
A POPULAR IT.EACIIEP..
Nor may the fact be overlooked, in the next place,
tliat he was an impressive and powerful preacher.
In the legitimate sense of the term, he tx as popular,
VOL. II. — G
and interested the multitude. He never preached
to empty synagogues ; and when he occupied the
market or the mountain side, they were not hundreds
that listened to his voice, but thousands. It is re-
corded of him, that " his fame went throughout all
Syria ;" and that " there followed him great multi-
tudes of people from Decapolis, and from Jerusalem,
and from Judca, and from beyond Jordan." On that
memorable d:iy when he went from the Mount of
Olives to Judea, "a great multitude spread their
garments in the way, and others cut down branches
from the trees," and all cried " Hosannah to the Son
of David!" After he uttered the parable of the
vineyard, the rulers " sought to lay hold of him, but
feared the people." When lie " returned in the
power of the Spirit into Galilee, there went out a
fame of him throughout .'ill the region round about,"
and he " was glorified of all, and great multitudes
came together to hear him." So much was he, for
the time, the idol of the people, that the chief priests
and Pharisees were alarmed at his .popularity, and
said among themselves, " If we let him then alone,
all men will believe on him ; behold, the world is
gone after'him." He was the man of the people,
and advocated the cause of the people. We are told
that " the common people heard him gladly." He
was " no respecter of persons." He was the preacher
to man, as man. He never passed the door of
poverty, and was not ashamed to be called "the
friend of publicans and sinners." His gospel was
and is the great and only bond of brotherhood ; nor
was there then, nor is there now, any other univer-
sal brotherhood, than that which consists in love
and loyalty to him. He was the only safe reformer
the world has seen, because he so well understood
the checks and balances by which the masses are
governed. His preaching, like his character, bold
and uncompromising as it was, was also in the high-
est degree conservative. He taught new truths, and
he was the great vindicator of those that were old.
All these things made him a most impressive, pow-
erful, and attractive preacher. His very instructive-
ness, prudence, and boldness, interested the people.
They respected him for his acquaintance with the
truth, and honored his discretion and fearlessness in
proclaiming it. This is human nature ; men love to
be thus instructed ; they come to the house of God
for that purpose. A vapid and vapory preacher
may entertain them for the hour; a smooth and
flattering preacher may amuse them ; a mere denun-
ciatory preacher may produce a transient excitement ;
but such is the power of conscience, and such the
power of God and the wants of men that, though
their hearts naturally hate God's truth, they will
crowd the sanctuaries where it is instructively and
fearlessly, and discreetly urged, while ignorance,
and error, and a coward preacher, put forth their
voice to the listless and the few
ANDREWS KORTON.
Andp.ews Nor.TONT was a descendant of the cele-
brated John Norton of Ipswich, of the old age of
Puritan divinity. He was born at Hingham,
Mass., the last day of the year 1V86. Fond of
books from a child, at the age of eighteen he had
completed his course at Harvard, where ho re-
mained a resident graduate, pursuing a course of
literary and theological study. In October, 1S09,
he was appointed tutor in Bowdoin College. At
the end of the year he returned to Cambridge,
where in 1811 he was chosen tutor in mathema-
tics in his college, where he remained till 1812,
when be engaged in the conduct of The General
Repository, a periodical work on the side of the
82
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
new liberal school, as it was called, which took
position at Harvard shortly after the beginning
of the century. He had previously written for
the Literary Miscellany, published at Cambridge,
in 1804-5, several reviews and brief poetical
translations, and had been a frequent contributor
to the Monthly Anthology.
From 1813 to 1821 he was college librarian.
In the former 3'ear he also commenced the course
of instruction through which he gained his great-
est distinction in his entrance upon the lecture-
ship of Biblical Criticism and Interpretation, un-
der the bequest of the Hon. Samuel Dexter, in
which Buckminster and Clianning were his pre-
decessors. He discharged this duty till a similar
professorship was created in 1819, when he be-
came the new incumbent, holding the office till
1830. He then resigned it with the reputation
of having performed its offices with industry, self-
reliance, and a happy method of statement. He
had in the meanwhile published several works.
In 1814 he edited the Miscellaneous Writings of
his friend Charles Eliot, whose early death he
sincerely lamented, and in 1823 published a simi-
lar memoir of another friend anil associate, the
poet and professor Levi Frisbie. He wrote several
tracts on the affairs of the college in 1824—5. At
this time he was a contributor to the Christian
Disciple of several articles on theological topics.
In 1826 he edited an edition of the poems of Mrs.
Hemans, of whom he was an earnest admirer,
and in the following year in a visit to England
was rewarded with her friendship in a pergonal
acquaintance. In 1833 he published a theolo-
gical treatise, A Statement of Reasons for not be-
lieving the Doctrines of Trinitarians concerning
the nature of God and the person of Christ. In
1832-1 he edited, in connexion with his friend
Charles Folsom, a quarterly publication. The Se-
lect Journal of Foreign Periodical Literature,
which contained, among other original articles
from his pen, papers on Goethe and Hamilton's
Men and Manners in America.
In 1837 appeared the first volume of the most
important of his publications, the Genuineness
of the Gospel, followed by the second and third
in 1844. It is devoted to the external historical
evidence, and maintains a high character among
theologians for its scholarship, and the pure me-
dium of reasoning and style through which its
researches are conveyed. He had also prepared
a new translation of -the Gospels, with critical
and explanatory notes, which he left at the time
of his death ready for the press. Besides these
writings Mr. Norton was a frequent contributor
to the Christian Examiner of articles on religious
topics and others of a general literary interest, on
the poetry of Mrs. Hemans and Pollok's Course
of Time. He wrote for the North American Re-
view on Franklin, Byron, Ware's Letters from
Palmyra, and the Memoir of Mrs. Grant of Lag-
gan.
His poems were few, but choicely expressed ;
and have been constant favorites with the public.
They are the best indications of his temper, and
of the fine devotional mood which pervades his
writings.
Professor Norton died at Newport, which he
had chosen for his residence in the failing health
of his last years, Sunday evening, September 18,
1852*
SCENE AFTEB A SUMMER SHOWEE.
The rain is o'er. How dense and bright
Yon pearly clouds reposing lie !
Cloud above cloud, a glorious sight,
Contrasting "with the dark blue sky!
In grateful silence, earth receives
The general blessing; fresh and fair,
Each flower expands its little leaves,
As glad the common joy to share.
The softened sunbeams pour around
A fairy light, uncertain, pale;
The wind flows cool ; the scented ground
Is breathing odors on the gale.
Mid yon rich clouds' voluptuous pile,
Me thinks some spirit of the air
Might rest, to gaze below awhile,
Then turn to bathe and revel there.
The sun breaks forth ; from off the scene
Its floating veil of mist is flung ;
And all the wilderness of green
With trembling drops of light is hung.
Now gnzc on Nature^yet the same —
Glowiig with life, by breezes fanned,
Luxuriant, lovely, as she came,
Fresh in her youth, from God's own hand.
Hear the rich music of that voice,
"Which sounds from all below, above;
She calls her children to rejoice,
And round them throws her arms of love.
Drink in her influence ; low-born care.
And all the train of mean desire,
Refuse to breathe this holy air,
And 'mid this living light expire.
ON LISTENING TO A Cr.ICKET.
I love, thou little chirping thing,
To hear thy melancholy noise ;
Though thou to Fancy's ear may sing
Of summer past and fading joys.
Thou canst not now drink dew from flowers.
Nor sport along the traveller's path,
But, through the winter's weary hours,
Shalt warm thee at my lonely hearth.
And when my lamp's decaying beam
But dimly shows the lettered page,
Rich with some ancient poet's dream,
Or wisdom of a purer age, —
Then will I listen to thy sound,
And, musing o'er the embers pale,
With whitening ashes strewed around,
The forms of memory unveil ;
Recall the many-colored dreams,
That Fancy fondly weaves for youth,
When all the bright illusion seems
The pictured promises of truth ;
Perchance, observe the fitful light,
And its faint flashes round the room,
And think some pleasures, feebly bright,
May lighten thus life's varied gloom.
* We have followed closely in this account the authentic
narrative article, published after Professor Norton"s death, in
the Christian Examiner for November, 1858.
JOHN ENGLAND.
83
I love the quiet midnight hour,
When Care, and Hope, and Passion sleep,
And Reason, with untroubled power,
Can her late vigils duly keep ; —
I love the night : and sooth to say,
Before the merry birds, that sing
In all the glare and noise of day,
Prefer tiie cricket's grating wing.
But, see ! pale Autumn strews her leaves,
Her withered leaves, o'er Nature's grave,
"While giant Winter 6he perceives,
Dark rushing from his icy cave ;
And in his train the sleety showers,
That beit upon the barren earth ;
Thou, cricket, through these weary hours,
Shalt warm thee at my lonely hearth.
HYMN.
My God, I thank thee! ma}' no thought
E'er deem thy chastisements severe ; ■
But may this heart, by sorrow taught,
Calm each wild wish, each idle fear.
Thy mercy bids all nature bloom ;
The sun shines bright, and man is gay;
Thine equal mercy spreads the gloom
That darkens o'er his little day.
Pull many a throb of grief and pain
Thy frail and erring child must know,
But not one prayer is breathed in vain
Nor does one tear unheeded flow.
Thy various messengers employ ;
Thy purposes of love fulfil ;
And 'mid the wreck of human joy,
May kneeling faith adore thy will I
FUNERAL DIRGE.
He has gone to his God ; lie has gone to his home;
No more amid peril and error to roam ;
His eyes are no longer dim ;
His feet will no more falter ;
No grief can follow him,
No pang his cheek can alter.
There are paleness, and weeping, and sighs below ;
Por our faith is faint, and our tears will flow ;
But the harps of heaven are ringing ;
Glad angels come to greet him;
And hymns of joy are singing,
While old friends press to meet him.
O honored, beloved, to earth uneonfined,
Thou hast soared on high ; thou hast left us behind ;
But our parting is not for ever;
We will follow thee, by heaven's light,
Where the grave cannot dissever
The souls whom God will unite.
JOHN ENGLAND.
JonN England, the Roman Catholic Bishop of
Charleston, was born in Cork, Ireland, September
23, 1786. He was educated in the schools of his
native town, and at the age of fifteen, avowing
his intention td become an ecclesiastic, was placed
under the care of the Very Rev. Robert M'Carthy,
by whom he was in two years fitted for the
college of Carlow. During his connexion with
this institution, he was instrumental in procuring
the establishment of a female penitentiary in the
town. On the ninth of October, 1808, he was
ordained Deacon, and the following day Priest,
and was appointed lecturer at the Cork Cathe-
dral, an office which he discharged with great
success. In May, 1809, he started a monthly
periodical, The Religious Repertory, with the ob-
ject of supplanting the corrupt literature current
among the people, by a more healthy literary nu-
triment. He was also active in various charitable
works, and indefatigable in his attendance on the
victims of pestilence, and the inmates of prisons.
In 1812 he took an active part, as a political
writer, in the discussion of the subject of Catho-
lic Emancipation. In 1817 he was appointed
Parish Priest of Bandon, where he remained
until made by the Pope, Bishop of the newly
constituted See of Charleston, embracing the two
Carolinas and Georgia. He was consecrated in
Ireland, but refused to take the oath of allegiance
to the British government customary on such oc-
casions, declaring his intention to become natu-
ralized in the United States. He arrived in
Charleston, December 31, 1820.
One of his first acts was the establishment of a
thoalogical seminary, to which a preparatory
school was attached. This led to corresponding
exertions on the part of Protestants in the matter
of education, which had hitherto been much ne-
glected, and the first number of the Southern Re-
view honored the bishop with the title of restorer
of classical learning in Charleston. He was also
instrumental in the formation of an " Anti-duel-
ling Society," for the suppression of that barba-
rous and despicable form of manslaughter, of
which General Thomas Pinckney was the first
president. He also commenced a periodical, The
United States Catholic Miscellany, to which ho
continued a constant contributor to the time of
his death.
The bishop was greatly aided in his charitable
endeavors, and in his social influence, by the ar-
rival of his sister, Miss Joanna England. "She
threw her little fortune into his poverty-stricken
institutions. Her elegant taste presided over the
literary department of the Miscellany. Her fe-
minine tact would smoothe away whatever harsh-
ness his earnest temper might unconsciously in-
fuse into his controversial writings. Her presence
shed a magic charm around his humble dwelling,
and made it the envied resort of the talented, the
beautiful, and gay."* This estimable lady died in
1827.
In times of pestilence, Bishop England was
fearless and untiring in his heroic devotion to the
sick. He was so active in the di-charge of his
duties and in Ids ordinary movements, that on his
visits to Rome, four of which occurred during his
episcopate, he was called by the cardinals, il
tescoco a vapore.
It was on his return from the last of these
journeys, that in consequence of his exertions as
priest and physician among the steerage passengers
of the ship in which he sailed, he contracted the
disease, dysentery, which was prevalent among
them. He landed after a voyage of fifty-two
days in Philadelphia, and instead of recruiting his
strength, preached seventeen nights in succession.
His health had been impaired some months pre-
viously, and although on his arrival at Charles-
ton he became somewhat better, he died not
* Memoir of Ep. England prefixed to his works.
84
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
long after, on the eleventh of April, 1842, in the
fifty-sixth year of his age.
the collected works of Bishop England* hear
testimony to his literary industry, as well as
ability. They extend to five large octavo volumes
of some five hundred pages each, closely printed
in double columns. They are almost entirely oc-
cupied by essays on topics of controversial theo-
logy, many of which are in the form of letters
published during his lifetime in various periodi-
cals. A portion of the fourth and fifth volumes
is filled by the author's addresses before various
college societies, and on other public occasions,
including an oration on the character of Washing-
ton. The.^e writings, like the discourses which in
his lifetime.attracted admiring crowds, are marked
by force and elegance of style.
THOMAS SMITH GEIMKE
"Was born in Charleston, S. C, September 26,
1786. He was a descendant of the Huguenots.
At the age of seventeen he was at Yale College,
and travelled with Dr. Dwight during one of his
vacations. Returning home, he studied law in the
office of Mr. Langdon Clieves, and gradually at-
tained distinction at the bar and in the politics of
his state. His most noted legal effort was a
speech on the constitutionality of the South Caro-
lina "test oath" in 1834. As state senator from
St. Philip's and St. Michael's in a speech on the
Tariff in 1828, he supported the General Govern-
ment and the Constitutional authority of the
whole people. His literary efforts were chiefly
'orations and addresses illustrating topics of phi-
lanthropy and reform. Literature also employed
his attention. He wrote several articles for the
Southern Review. In a Fourth of July Oration
at Charleston in 1809, by the appointment of the
South Carolina State Society of Cincinnati, he
supports union, and describes the horrors of civil
war.
Thus should we see the objects of these States
not only unanswered but supplanted by others.
They had instituted the civic festival of peace, and
beheld it changed for the triumph of war; They
had crowned the eminent statesman with the olive
of the citizen, and saw it converted into the laurels
of the warrior. The old man who had walked ex-
ultingly in procession, to taste the waters of free-
dom from the fountain of a separate government,
beheld the placid stream that flowed from it sud-
denly sink from his sight, and burst forth a dark and
turbulent torrent.
His addresses on peace societies, Sunday schools,
temperance and kindred topics, secured him the
respect and sympathy of a large circle. He pub-
lished and circulated gratuitously a large edition
of Hancock on War, and at his death was re-
publishing Dymond's Enquiry into the Accordance
* The Works of the Eight Eev. John England, First Bishop
of Charleston, collected and arranged nndrr the advice and di-
rection of his immediate successor, the Eight Eev. Ignatius
Aloysius Eeynolds, and printed for him, in five volumes. Bal-
timore : John Murphy & Co. 1849.
of "War with the Principles of Christianit}', for
which he wrote an introductory essay. In 1827
he delivered an address on The Character and
Objects of Science before the Literary and Philo-
sophical Society of South Carolina; in 1830, an
address before the Phi Beta Kappa of Yale, on
I The Advantages to be denied from the Introduc-
tion of the Bible and of sacred literature as
l essential parts of all Education, in a literary
j point of view. His oration on American educa-
tion before the "Western Literary Institute and
College of Professional Teachers at Cincinnati,
was delivered by him only a few days before his
death, which occurred suddenly at the house of a
gentleman by the roadside, from an attack of
cholera, October 12, 1834, while on his way to
Columbus, Ohio.
In a prefatory memorandum to this last ad-
dress, the views of orthography which he had
latterly adopted are clearly stated.
" Having been long satisfied that the orthography
of the English language not only admitted but re-
quired a reform ; and believing it my duty to act
on this conviction, I hav publish d sevral pamphlets
accordingly." These are his several propositions,
which we give mostly in his words, following the
exact spellii g. 1. He omits the silent e iu such
classes of words as disciplin, respit, believ, creativ,
volly, etc. 2. Intioduees the apostiophe where the
omission of the e might chai ge the sound of the pre-
ceding vowel from loi g to short, as in requir'd, re-
firifl, deriv'd. 3. Kouns endn g in y added an s to
make the plural instead of chat gii g y into ie, as
pluralitys, enmitys, &c.' 4. In veibs ending in y, in-
stead of changing into ie and then adding an s or d,
he retains the y and adds s or d : as in burys,
buryd, vnrys, varyd, hurrys, hurryd. 5. In similar
veibs where the y is loi g, I retain the y, omit the e,
and substitute an apostrophe, as in multiply "s, multi-
ply'd, satisl'y's, satisfy 'd. ti. In such words as sceptre,
battle, centre, I transpose the e, and write scepter,
battel, center. 7. He suppresses one of two and the
same consonants where the accent is not on them;
as in necesary, excclcnt, ilustrious, recomivd, cfcelual,
{resistible, worshipers. S. In such words as honor,
favor, savior, neighbor, savor, the u is omitted. 9.
In adjectives endii g in y, instead of forming the
compaiativ and superlativ by chat ging y into ie
and adding er and est, I hnv retained the y, and
', simply added the er and est, as in easyer, eaxyest,
I holyer, holyest, prcttycr, preiiyest. In quotations
i and proper names, 1 hav not felt call'd upon to
j change the orthography.
This was not Grimkes only literary heresy.. In
his oration on the subject " that neither the classics
nor the mathematics should form a part of a scheme
of general education in our country," he condemns
all existing schemes. " I think them radicaly de-
feetiv in elements and modes." They are not " de-
cidedly religious," neither are they "American."
The latter, since the classics and mathematics being
the same everywhere, are not of course distinctive
to the country. "They do not fill the mind," he
6ays, " with useful and entertaining knowledge."
"As to valuable knowledge, except the first and
most simple parts of arithmetic, I feel little hesita-
tion in saying, as the result of my experience and
observation, that the whole body of the pure mathe-
matics is absolutely cseless to ninety-nine out of
every hundred, who study them. Now, as to enter-
tainment. Does more than one out of every hun-
dred preserv his mathematical knowlege ? "
" Ten thousand pockets," says he," might be pick'd
SAMUEL FARMAR JARVIS.
85
without finding a dozen classics." " I ask boldly th e
question, what is there in the classics; that is realy
instructiv and interesting?" He asks triumphantly
— the ig ao.rance is amazing, — '.' What orator ever
prepared himself for parliamentary combat over the
pages of Cicero or Demosthenes?" "Having dis-
pos'd of the orators and historians, let us now attend
to the classic poets, of what value are they ? I an-
swer of none, so for as useful fcnowlege is con-
cerned ; for all must admit, that none is to be found
in this class of writers. It is plain that truth is a
very minor concern, with writers of fiction. * * *
I am strangely mistaken, if there be not more
power, fidelity, and beauty in Walter Scott, than in
a dozen Homers and Virgds. * * * Mrs: Hemans has
written a greater number of charming little pieces,
than are to be found in Horace and Anacreon."
The activity of Grimke's mind was sometimes
in advance of his judgment. He was a happy
man in his life, — his benevolence, and the ardor
of his pursuits filling his heart. His death was re-
ceived with every token of respect at Charleston,
the preamble to the resolutions of the bar de-
claring "his mild face will no longer be seen
among us, but the monuments of his public use-
fulness and benevolence are still with us, and the
memory of his virtues will still dwell within our
hearts."* The introduction of the Bible into
schools was a favorite idea with him, which lie
urged in Ins Phi Beta address. lie wrote occa-
sional verses, and a descriptive poem on the
Passaic, which is unpublitJied. As a speaker,
he showed great readiness in a copious and fluent
style.
A brother of the preceding, Frederick Grimke,
is the author of a popular political text-hook, en-
titled The Nature and Tendency of Free Institu-
tions, published in Cincinnati in 18-18.
SAMUEL FAEMAE JAEVTS.
Samuel Farmar, the son of the Rev. Dr. Abra-
ham Jarvis, afterwards bishop of the diocese of
Connecticut, was born at Middletown in that
State, January 20, 1787. He. was educated under
the care of his father, and entered the Sophomore
class of Yale College in 1802. He was ordained
deacon March 18, 1810, and priest April 5, 1811,
by his father, and became, in 1813, the rector of
St. Michael's Church, Bloomingdale, New York.
In 1819 he was appointed Professor of Biblical
Learning in the recently organized General Theo-
logical Seminary, a position he retained until Ids
removal in 1820 to Boston, in acceptance of a call
to the rectorship of St. Paul's church, where he
remained until July, 182(5, when he sailed for
Europe. He remained 'abroad until 1835, pursuing
his studies and collecting books connected with
ecclesiastical history. Six of the nine years of his
absence were passed in Italy. On his return he
filled for two years the professorship of Oriental
Literature in Washington College, Hartford. In
1S37 he removed to Middletown to take charge,
as rector,, of Christ church in that place. He re-
signed this position in 1842, and devoted the
remainder of his life to a work which he had
commenced immediately after his return from Eu-
rope. This was a history of the church, a work
* Collection of Addresses, &c, by Gr'mkr, and Obituary
Notices furnished by his family ia the Boston Atheuasum.
especially intrusted to his hands by a vote of the
General Convention of the dioceses of the United
States, constituting him " Historiographer of the
Church."
The first portion of his work published, ap-
peared at New York, in 1845, in an octavo vo-
lume entitled, A Chronological Introduction to
the History of the Church, with, an Original
Harmony of the Four Gospels.* A great portion
of this learned volume is occupied with chronolo-
gical tables, dissertations on the dates of our Lord's
birth, which he places in the year of Rome 747,
six years before the commonly received Christian
era. In the Harmony of the Gospels the informa-
tion the narratives contain is given in a consecu-
tive form, embodying the facts but not the words
of Scripture; while in four parallel columns at
the side, reference is given to the chapter and verse
of each of the Evangelists in which the event do-
scribed is recorded.
The first volume of the historyt itself was pub-
lished in 1850. In it the author traces the course
of the divine providence from the fall of Adam,
the flood, the calling of Abraham, and the entire
Jewish history, to the destruction of Jerusalem by
Titus. While the same scrupulous regard to fact
is manifested in this as in the introduction, the
literary skill, for which no opportunity was af-
forded in the first, is used to good advantage in
the second, the narrative being well written as
well its accurate. In the author's own simile, the
first volume is the rough stone-work of the foun-
dation, the second i i the elaborated superstructure
which must satisfy, so far as it can, the eye of the
artist as well as the mechanic.
In addition to his history, Dr. Jarvis published,
in 1821, a discourse on Regeneration, with notes;
in 1837, on Christian Unity ; and in 1843, a col-
lection of Sermons on Prophecy, a work of great
research, forming a volume of about two hundred
pages. In 1843 he also issued a pamphlet enti-
tled, No Union wi'h Some; in 1846 a sermon,
The Colonics of Heaven; and in 1847 a volume
containing a Reply to Dr. Milners End of Reli-
gious Controversy. He also-contributed a number
of learned and valuable articles to the Church
Review. His progress in his history, and the
other useful labors of his life, was interrupted by
his death, March 26, 1851.
Dr. Jarvis was a fine classical as well as biblical
scholar. He also took a great interest in Art, and
collected during his European residence a large
gallery of old paintings, mostly of the Italian
school, which were exhibited on his return for the
benefit of a charitable association, and were again
collected after his death in the city of New York
to be dispersed by the auctioneer's hammer, with
the large and valuable library, which included a
number of volumes formerly owned by the histo-
rian Gibbon.
* A Chronological Introduction to the History of the Chnrch,
being a new inquiry into the True Dates ofthe Birth and Death
of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ ; and containing an ori-
ginal Ilarmonv of the Four Gospels, now first arranged in the
order of time, by the Eev. S. F. Jarvis, D.D..LL.D. New
York : Harper & Brothers. 1545. 8vo. pp. 618.
t The Church ofthe Eedeemed, or the History ofthe Media-
torial Kingdom, 2 Vols, containing the First Five Periods ;
from the Fall of Adam in Paradise to the Rejection ofthe Jews
and the Calling of the Gentiles. By the Rev. S. F. Jarvis,
D.D., LL.D. Boston : Charles Stimpson. 1850. 8vo. pp. 0G2.
86
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
"WILLIAM CRAFTS.
William Crafts was bora at Charleston, S. C,
Jan. 24, 1787. "Owing," says his anonymous
biographer,* somewhat grandiloquently, " to the
precarious and evanescent character of the schools
in Charleston," his early education suffered
Boinewhat from the frequent change of teachers.
He appears to have made up for juvenile dis-
advantages when in the course of education he
reached Harvard, as he had a fair reputation there
as a classical scholar, and judging from his advice
subsequently to a younger brother, went still
deeper into the ancient languages. " I hope," he
writes, " that you will not treat the Hebrew
tongue with that cold neglect and contemptuous
disdain which it usually meets at Cambridge, and
which is very much like the treatment a Jew
receives from a Christian." ' Jlis chief reputation
among his fellows was as a wit and pleasant com-
panion.
He returned to Charleston, was admitted in
due course to practice, and the remainder of his
life was passed in the duties of his profession and
those of a member of the State Legislature, to
which he was frequently elected. He was a
ready speaker, and a large portion of the volume
of his Literary Remain^ consists of his orations
on patriotic occasions. In 1817, he delivered the
Phi Beta Kappa address at Harvard. These pro-
ductions, as well as his prose essays, are somewhat
too florid in style and deficient in substance for
permanent recollection. Passages, however, occur
of pleasing ornament and animation.
His poems are few and brief. The two longest
are Sullivan's Island, a pleasant description of
that ocean retreat, and The Daciad, in which the
humors of the ring are depicted. An extract
from " Kitty" follows, on the plea that " in New
York they have Fanny, in Boston Sukey.J and
why should we not have Kitty in Charleston !"
There are also several agreeable lyrics. The
Monody on the Death of Decatur was written
immediately after the intelligence of the Commo-
dore's death was received, and published the day
following, a circumstance which should not be
forgotten in a critical estimate. It is not included
in the collection of his writings. He also wrote
The Sea Serpent ; or Gloucester Hoax, a dramatic
jeu d'esprit in three acts, published in a pamphlet
of 34 pages 12mo. Crafts was a constant writer
for the Charleston Courier, and a number of his
communications, some mere scraps, are printed
in the volume of his " writings," but call for no
especial remark.
Crafts died at Lebanon Springs, K. Y., Sept.
23, 1826.
MONODY ON THE DEATn OF DECATTTH.
Sweet scented newel's on beauty's grave
We strew — but, for the honored brave,
* Life prefixed to his Remains.
t A Selection, in Prose and Poetry, from the Miscellaneous
"Writings of the late William Crafts, to which is prefixed a Me-
moir or his Life. Charleston. 1S28.
% By William B. Walter.
The fallen conqueror of the wave —
Let ocean's flags adorn the bier,
And be the Fall of Glory there !
Tri-colored France ! 'twas first with thee
He braved the battles of the sea ;
And many a son of thine he gave
A resting-place beneath the wave.
Feared in the fight — beloved in peace
In death the feuds of vaior cease.
Then let thy viigin lilies shed
Their fragrant whiteness o'er his head.
The}7 grace a hero's form within,
As spotless— as unstained of sin.
Come, savage, from the Lybian shore,
Kneel at his grave, who — bathed in gore,
Avenged his brother's murder on 3-our deck.
And drenched with coward blood the sinking wreck!
Lives in your mind that death-dispensh g night,
The purple ambush and the sabred fight, —
The blazing frigate — and the cannon's 1 oar.
That shamed your warriors flyh-g to the shore :
"Who, panic-stricken, plunged into the sea,
And found the death they vainly hoped to flee.
Now silent, cold, inanimate he lies,
"Who sought the conflict and achieved the prize.
Here, savage, pause ! The unresented worm
Revels on him — wTho ruled the battle storm.
His country's call — though bleeding and in tears —
Not e'en his country's call, the hero hears.
The floating streamers that his fame attest,
Repose in honored folds upon his breast,
And glory's lamp, with patriot sorrows fed.
Shall blaze eternal on Decatur's bed.
Britannia! — noble-hearted foe —
Hast thou no funeral flowers of woe
To grace his sepulchre — who ne'er again
Shall meet thy warriors on the purple main.
His pride to conquer — and his joy to save —
In triumph generous, as in battle brave —
Heroic — ardent — when a captive — great!
Feeling, as valiant — thou deplorest liis fate.
And these thy sons who met him in the fray,
Shall weep with manly tears the hero passed away.
Fresh trophies graced his laurel-covered days,
His soil was danger — and his harvest, praise.
Still as he marched victorious o'er the flood,
I It shook with thunder — and it streamed with blood.
j He dimmed the baneful crescent of Algiers,
And taught the pirate penitence and tears.
The Christian stars on faithless shores revealed,
And lo ! the slave is free — the robbers yield.
j A Christian conqueror in the savage strife,
; He gave his victims liberty and life.
Taught to relent — the infidel shall mourn,
i And the pale crescent hover o'er his urn.
I And thou, my country ! young but ripe in grief I
j Who shall console thee for tlie fallen chief !
\ Thou envied land, whom frequent foes assail,
Too often called to bleed or to prevail ;
Doomed to deplore the gallant sons that save,
And follow from the triumph to — the grave.
Death seems enamoured of a glorious prize,
The chieftain conquers ere the victim dies.
Illustrious envoys — to some brighter sphere
They bear the laurels which they gathered here.
War slew thy Lawrence! Nor when blest with
peace
Did then thy sufferings or thy sorrows cease:
The joyous herald, who the olive bore,
Sunk in the wave — to greet his home no more:
He sunk, alas ! — blest with a triple wreath,
The modest Shubriek met the shaft of death.
ELIZA LESLIE.
87
For Blakely, slumbering in victorious sleep,
Rocked in the stormy cradle of the deep,
We yield alike the tribute and the tear,
The brave are always to their country dear.
Sorrow yet speaks in valor's eye,
Still heaves the patriot breast the sigh,
For Perry's early fate. O'er his cold brow
Where victory reigned sits death triumphant now.
Thou peerless youth, thou unassuming chief,
Thy country's blessing and thy country's grief,
Lord of the lake, and champion of the sea,
Long shall our nation boast — for ever mourn for
thee.
Another hero meets his doom ;
Such are the trophies of the tomb I
Ambitious death assails the high ;
The shrub escapes, the cedars die.
The beacon turrets of the land
Submissive fall at Heaven's command,
While wondering, weeping mortals gaze,
In silent grief and agonized amaze.
Thou starry streamer ! symbol of the brave,
Shining by day and night, on land and wave;
Sometimes obscured in battle, ne'er in shame,
The guide — the boast — the arbitress of fame!'
Still wave in grateful admiration near,
And beam for ever on Decatur's bier ;
And ye, blest stars of Heaven ! responsive shed
Your pensive lustre on his lowly bed.
ELIZA LESLIE.
Eliza Leslie was born in Philadelphia, Novem-
ber 15, 1787. Her father was of Scotch descent,
the family having emigrated to America about
1745, and was by profession a watchmaker. He
wai an excellent mathematician, and an intimate
friend of Franklin and Jefferson, by the latter of
whom he was made a member of the American
Philosophical Society. He had five children, the
eldest of whom is the subject of this sketch. An-
other is Charles E. Leslie, who has passed the
greater portion of his life in England, and holds tho
foremost rank among the painters of that country,
his line of art being somewhat analogous to that
of his sister in literature, a like kindly and genu-
ine humor and artistic finish pervading bis cabi-
net pictures and her " Pencil Sketches." Her
other brother is Major Thomas J. Leslie, D. S. A.
When Miss Leslie was five years old she accom-
panied her parent i to London, where they resided
for six and a half years, her father being engaged
in the exportation of clocks to this country. The
death of his partner led to his return. On the
voyage home the ship put into Lisbon, and re-
mained at that port from November to March.
They finally reached Philadelphia in May. The
father died in 1803.
Miss Leslie early displayed a taste for books
and drawing. She was educated for the most
part at home by her parents.
" Like most authors," she says in an autobio-
graphical letter to her friend Mrs. Neal, " I made
my first attempts in verse. They were always
songs, adapted to the popular airs of that time,
the close of the last century. The subjects were
chiefly soldiers, sailors, hunters, and nuns. I
scribbled two or three in the pastoral line, hut
my father once pointing out to me a real shep-
herd, in a field somewhere in Kent, I made no
farther attempt at Damons and Strephons playing
on lutes and wreathing their brows with roses.
My songs were, of course, foolish enough ; but in
justice to myself I will say, that, having a good
ear, I was never guilty of a false quantity in any
of my poetry- — my lines never had a syllable too
much or too little, and my rhymes always did
rhyme. At thirteen or fourteen I began to de-
spise my own poetry, and destroyed all I had."
<0 S,ca. <=xCejiC^y
Miss Leslie did not appear in print until the
year 1827, and then it was as the author of Se-
venty-five Receipts for Pastry, Cakes, and Street-
meats. The collection had been commenced some
time before, " when a pupil of Mrs. Goodfellow's
cooking school, in Philadelphia," and was in such
request in manuscript that an offer to publish
was eagerly accepted. The book was successful,
and the publisher suggesting a work of imagina-
tion, the author prepared The Mirror, a collec-
tion of juvenile stories. It was followed by The
Young Americans, Stories for Emma, Stories for
Adelaide, Atlantic Tales, Stories for Helen, Birth-
day Stories, and a compilation from Munchausen,
Gulliver, and Sinbad, appropriately entitled The
Wonderful Traveller, all volumes designed for
children. The American Girl's Booh was pub-
lished in 1831, and has steadily maintained its
position since.
Among the first of her stories for readers "of
a larger growth" was Mrs. Washington Potts,
written for a prize offered by the Lady's Book,
which it was successful in obtaining. The author
subsequently took three more prizes of a similar
character, and at once became a constant and
most popular contributor to "Godey and Gra-
ham." Miss Leslie also edited the Gift, one of
the best of the American annuals. Her only story
occupying a volume by itself, and approaching the
ordinary dimensions of a novel, is Amelia ; or, A
Young Lady's Vicissitudes.
Miss Leslie's magazine tales have been collected
in three volumes with the title of Pencil Sketches.
She has also published Althea Vernon, or the
88
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Embroidered Handkerchief, and Henrietta Har-
rison, or the Blue Cotton Umbrella, in one vo-
lume; and, each in a separate pamphlet, Kitty's
delations, Leonilla Lynmore, The Maid of Ca-
nal Street, and The Darnings and their Beaux.
During her career as a tale writer Miss Leslie
has not forgotten the unctuous and delectable
teachings of Mrs. Goodfellow, and has followed
up the. success of the seventy-five receipts by a
much greater number, in The Domestic Coolery
Booh, 1837, of which over forty thousand copies
have been sold; The House Boole, 1840; and The
Lady's Receipt Book, 1846, which have also had
great success. In 1853 she published The Be-
havior Book, one of her pleasantest volumes, com-
bining the solid good advice of her works on do-
mestic duties with the happy vein of humor of
her sketches.
TITE MONTAGUES IN AMERICA — FnOM MRS. WASHINGTON POTTS.
"Pray, sir," said Mrs. Quimby, "as you are from
England, do you know anything of Betsey Deinp-
sey's husband ?"
*"I have not the honor of being acquainted with
that person," replied Mr. Montague, after a wither-
ing stare.
"Well, that's strange," pursued Aunt Qnimby,
"considering that she lias been living in London at
least eighteen years — or perhaps it is oidy seven-
teen! And yet I think it must be near eighteen, if
not quite. May be seventeen and a half. Well, it's
best to be on the safe side, so I'll say seventeen.
Betsey Dempsey's mother was an old schoolmate of
mine. Her father kept the Black Horse tavern.
She was the only acquaintance I ever had that mar-
ried an Englishman. He was a grocer, and in very
good business; but he never liked America, and
was always finding fault with it, and so he went
home, and was to send for Betsey. But he never
sent for her at all ; for a very good reason, which
was that he had another wife in England, as most
of them have — no disparagement to you, sir."
Mrs. Marsden now came up, and informed Mrs.
Potts in a whisper that the good old lady beside her
was a distant relation or rather connexion of Mr.
Marsden's, and that though a little primitive in ap-
pearance and manner, she had considerable property
in bank-stock. To Mrs. Marsden's proposal that she
should exchange her seat for a very pleasant one in
the other room next to her old friend Mrs. Willis,
Aunt Quimby replied nothing but "Thank you, I'm
doing very well here."
Mrs. and Miss Montague, apparently heeding no
one else, had talked nearly the whole evening to each
other, but loudly enough to be heard by all around
them. The young lady, though dressed as a child,
talked like a woman, and she and her mother were
now engaged in an argument whether the flirtation
of the Duke of Risingham with Lady Georgiana
Melbury would end seriously or not. " To my cer-
tain knowledge,'' said Miss Montague, " his Grace
has never }-et declared himself to Georgiana, or to
anyT one else."
" I'll lay you two to one," said Mrs. Montague,
" that he is married before we return to England."
" No," replied the daughter, " like nil others of his
Bex he delights in keeping the ladies in suspense."
" What 3-0U say, Miss, is very true," said Aunt
Quimby, leaning in her turn across Mr. Montague,
" and considering how young you are you talk very
sensibly. Men certainly have a way of keeping
women in suspense, and an unwillingness to answer
questions even when we ask them. There's my son-
in-law Billy Fairfowl, that I live with. He married
my daughter Mary eleven years ago, the 23d of last
April. He's as good a man as ever breathed, and
an excellent provider too. He always goes to mar-
ket himself; and sometimes I can't help blaming
him a little for his extravagance. But his greatest
fault is his being so unsatisfactory. As far back as
last March, as I was sitting at my knitting in the
little front parlor with the door open (for it was
quite warm weather for the time of year), Billy
Fairfowl came home carrying in his hand a good-
sized shad ; and I called out to him to ask him what
he gave for it, for it was the very beginning of the
shad season ; but he made not a word of answer ;
he had just passed on, and left the shad in the kit-
chen, and then went to his store. At dinner we
had the fish, and a very nice one it was; and I
asked him again how much he gave for it, but he
still avoided answering, and began to talk about
something else ; so I thought I'd let it rest awhile.
A week or two after, I again asked him ; so then
he actually said he had foi gotten all about it. And
to this day I don't know the price of that shad."
The Montagues looked at each othei — almost
laughed aloud, and drew back their chairs as far
from Aunt Quimby as possible. So also did Mrs.
Potts. Mrs. Marsden came up in an agony of vexa-
tion, and reminded her aunt in a low voice of the
risk of renewing her rheumatism by staying so long
between the damp newly-papered walls. The old
lady answered aloud, " Oh ! you need not fear, I
am well wrapped up on purpose. And indeed con-
sidering that the parlors were only papered to-day,
I think the walls have dried wonderfully (putting
her hands on the paper)— I am sure nobody could
find out the damp if they were i.ot told."
" What !" exclaimed the Montagues ; " only pa-
pered to-day (starting up and testifying all that
prudent fear of taking cold, so characteristic of the
English ). How baibarous to inveigle us into such a
place!"
" I thought I felt strangely chilly all the evening,"
says Mrs. Potts, wdiose fan had scarcely been at rest
five minutes.
The Montagues proposed going away immediately,
and Mis. Potts declared she was most apprehensive
for poor little Lafayette. Mrs. Marsden, who conld
not venture the idea of their departing till all the
refreshments had been handed round (the best being
yet to come), took great pains to persuade them that
there was no real cause of alarm, as she had large
fires all the afternoon. They held a whispered con-
sultation, in which they agreed to stay for the oys-
ters and chicken salad, and Mrs. Marsden went out
to send them their shawls, with one for Lafayette.
By this time the secret of the newly-papered walls
had spread round both rooms ; the conversation
now turned entirely on colds and rheumatisms;
there was much shivering and considerable cough-
ing, and the demand for shawls increased. How-
ever nobody actually went home in consequence.
"Papa," said Miss Montague, "let Us all take
French leave as soon as the oysters and chicken-
salad have gone round."
Albina now came up to Aunt Quimby (gladly per-
ceiving that the old lady looked tired), and pro-
posed that she should return to her chamber, assur-
ing her that waiters should be punctually sent up
to her — " I do not feel quite ready to go yet," re-
plied Mrs. Quimby. " I am very well. But you
need not mind me. Go back to your company, and
talk a little to those three poor girls in the yellow
frocks that nobody has spoken to yet except Brom-
ley Cheston. When I am ready to go I shall take
French leave, as these English people call it."
RICHARD HENRY DANA.
89
But Aunt Quimby's idea of French leave "was
Tery different from the usual acceptation of the
term; for having always heard that the French
were a very polite people, she concluded that their
manner of taking leave must be particularly re-
spectful and ceremonious. Therefore, having paid
her parting compliments to Mrs. Potts and the Mon-
tagues, she walked all round the room, courtesying
to everybody and shaking hands, and telling them
she had come to take French leave. To put an end
to this ridiculous scene, Bromley Cheston (who had
been on assiduous duty all the evening) now came
forward, and, taking the old lady's arm in his, offered
to escort her up stairs. Aunt Quimby was much
flattered by this unexpected civility from the finest-
looking young man ill the room, and she smilingly
departed with him, complimenting him on his po-
liteness, and assuring him that he wsa a real gentle-
man, and trying also to mnke out the degree of rela-
tionship that existed between them.
"So much for Buckingham," said Cheston, as he
ran down stairs after deposit!, g the old lady at the
door of her room. " Fools of all ranks and of all
ages are to me equally intolerable. I never can
marry into such a family."
The party went on.
" In the name of heaven, Mrs. Potts," said Mrs.
Montague, " what induces you to patronize these
people?"
" Why, they are the only tolerable persons in the
neighborhood," answered Mrs. Potts, " and very kind
and obliging in their way. I really think Albiua a
very sweet girl, very sweet, indeed ; and Mrs. Mars-
den is rather aminble too, quite amiable. And they
are so grateful for a ly little notice I take of them
that it is really quite affecting. Poor things! how
much trouble they have given themselves in getting
up this party. They look as if they had had a hard
day's work ; and I have no doubt they will be obliged
in consequence to pinch themselves for months to
come: for I can assure you their means are very
Bmall, very small, indee 1. As to this intolerable old
aunt, I never saw her before, and as there is some-
thing rather genteel about Mrs. Marsden and her
daughter — rather so, at least, about Albino — I did
not suppose they had any such relations belonging
to them. I think, in future, I must confine myself
entirely to the aristocracy."
" We deliberated to the last moment," said Mrs.
Montague, " whether we would come. But as Mr.
Montague is going to write his tour when we return
to England, lie thinks it expedient to make some
sacrifices for the sake of seeing the varieties of Ame-
rican society."
" Oh! these people are not in society," exclaimed
Mrs. Potts, eagerly. " I can assure you these Mars-
dens have not the slightest pretensions to society.
Oh! no; I beg of you not to suppose that Mrs.
Marsden and her daughters are at all in society."
EICIIAED HENRY DANA.
The family of Mr. Dana is one of the oldest and
most honored in Massachusetts. The first of the
name who came to America was Richard Dana, i n
1640 ; he settled at Cambridge, where six genera-
tions of the family have since resided.
The poet's grandfather on this side of the house,
Richard, was a patriot of the times preceding the
Revolution, and known at the bar as an eminent
lawyer. His son was Francis Dana the Minuter
to Russia, and Chief Justice of the Supreme Court
of Massachusetts, a man of honor, high personal
sense of character, and of energetic eloquence.
He married a daughter of William Ellery of Rhode
Island, the signer of the Declaration of Independ-
ence, by which union his son and the celebrated
Dr. Channing were cousins. Judge Ellery onca
described to his grandson, the poet, the aroused
sen>e of honor which he witnessed in Francis
Dana, in his rebuke of an impudent lawyer at the
bar, who had charged him with an unfair manage-
ment of the case. "In opening his reply to the
jury," said Mr. Ellery, " he came down upon the
creature; he did it in two or three minutes' time,
and then dropped him altogether. I thought,"
added he, " I felt my hair rise and ttand upright
on my head while he did it.'*
On the mother's side Dana's family runs up to
the early poetess Anne Bradstreet, the daughter
of Governor Dudley. His grandfather Ellery
married the daughter of Judge Remington, who
had married the daughter of that quaint disciplo
of Du Bartas. Dana's uncle, Judgj Edmund
Trowbridge, also married one of the Dudley
family.
^«-£~0<
* The writer of the biographical notice of U. II. Dana, Jr., in
Livingston's Sketches of Eminent American Lawyers (Part iv.
1\ 2), thus characterizes the old school of Federalism to which
Fraricis Dana belonged.
'■lie possessed a large fortune for that day, chiefly in lands,
and kept up. in his manner of life, the style of tin- olden time,
which has almost parsed out of the memory of our degenerate
age. He used to ride to court in his coach, and would have
thought it undignified to tiavel the circuits unattended by his
private servant. In politic he wns what wou'd i <»w be styled
a high-toned Federalist of the old school— though the words
imply far more than the mere adherence to certain political
views, and siding whh a pill tieu'ar political party. They have
a much broader -ig lification. The old Fedeial gentry of New
England was chiellv composed of educated mon. who<e minds
had been cultivated by the study of the e7niicnt English law-
yers, and who still retained some of the fee'inL'S of their own
immediate ancestors. It must be confessed that they looked
upon themselves less as the representatives, than as the tem-
poral guardians of the people. Th'-y endeavoured to pre erve
what they conce'ved to be necessary distinctions In society,
and in the municipal movement^ of <:ov ■rnnniit. They had a
notion that the accidents of birth and education imposed upon
them peculiar duties i-> the commonwealth— the duties of re-
straining the mass of th* people bv the force of dignity, and
e'evating them bv their examp'e. The honor of the st,at<\ the
direction of its enemies, the regulation of its mnnncrs. the se-
curity of its laws, and the solemnities of its religious observ
90
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Richard Henry Dana was born at Cambridge,
November 15, 1787. "His early years were passed
at Newport, in the midst of the associations of the
Revolution and the enjoyments of the fine sea
views and atmosphere of the spot. He entered
Harvard, which he left in 1807. He studied law
in the office of his cousin Francis Dana Channing,
the eldest brother of Dr. Channing. After admis-
sion to the Boston bar he spent about three
months in the office of Robert Goodloe Harper at
Baltimore, where he was admitted to practice.
He returned home in 1811 and became a member
of the legislature, where he found a better field
for the exercise of his federal politics and opinions.
His first literary public appearance was as an
orator on the Fourth of July celebration of 1814.
The North American Review was commenced
in 1815. It grew out of an association of literary
gentlemen composing the Anthology Club who
for eight years, from 1803 to 1811, had published
the miscellany entitled The Monthly Anthology.
Dana was a member of the club. The fi*st editor
of the Review was William Tudor, from whose
hands it soon passed to the care of Willard Phillips,
and then to the charge of an association of gentle-
men for whom Mr. Sparks was the active editor.
In 1818 Edward T. Cliannmg(became editor of the
Review, and associated with him his cousin Ri-
chard II. Dana, who had left the law for the more
congenial pursuits of literature.*
When Channing was made Boylston professor
of Rhetoric and Oratory at Harvard he resigned
the editorship of the Review, and Dana, who was
considered too unpopular to succeed him, left the
club. Dana wrote in the period of two years five
papers, one an essay on " Old Times," the others
on literary topics, chiefiy poetical.t In 1824 Dana
began the publication of The Idle Man, a peri-
odical in which he communicated to the public
his Tales and Essays. Six numbers of it were
issued when it was discontinued ; the author ac-
quiring the experience hitherto not uncommon in
the higher American literature, that if he would
write as a poet and philosopher, and publish as a
gentleman, he must pay as well as compose.
Bryant, with whom Dana had become ac-
quainted in the conduct of the North American
Review, was a contributor of several poems to the
Idle Man ; and when this publication was discon-
tinued Dana wrote for his journal, the New York
Review of 1825, and afterwards the United States
Review of 1820-7. In the latter he published ar-
ances, -were committed to them. This was not confessedly,
but pretty nearly in fact, their idea of their position and its
consequent t,csponsibilities1,,
* Edward Tyrrel Channing was Professor of Rhetoric and
Oratory in Harvard College from 1819 to 1S51, where the ex-
actness of his instruction, his cultivated taste and highly disci-
plined mental powers gave him an eminent reputation with his
pupils. His editorship of the North American Review extended
over the seventh, eighth, and ninth volumes in ISIS and 1819.
The following are among his articles in the Review : On Tho-
mas Moore and Lalla ltookh, vol. vi. : Rob Roy, vol. vii. ;
Charles Brockden Browne's Life and Writings, vol. ix. ; Sou-
they's Life of Cooper, vol. xliv. ; Prior's Life of Goldsmith, vol.
xlv. ; Sir Richard Steele's Life and Writings, vol. xlvi. ; Lord
Cheste1 field's Letters to his Son, vol. 1. These papers show
the author's refined culture and vigorous pen. Professor Chan-
ning also wrote the life of his grandfather, William Ellery, in
Sparks's American Biography, First Series, vol. vi. It is un-
derstood that he is about sending to the press a volume of Lec-
tures read to the classes in Cambridge.
t Thev were -'Old Times," 1811. 'Allston's Sylph of the Sea-
sons, 1817. Edgeworth's Readings on Poetry, 1818. Hazlitt's
English Poets, 1619. The Sketch" Book, 1819.
tides on Mrs. RadclifFe and the novels of Brockden
Brown. From 1828 to 1831 he contributed four
papers to The Spirit of the Pilgrims.* An Essay
on The Past and the Present in the American
Quarterly Observe'r for 1833 ; and another on Law
as suited to Man, in the Biblical Repository for
1835, conclude the list of our author's contribu-
tions to periodical literature.
The first volume of Dana's Poems, contain-
ing The Buccaneer, was published in 1827. In
1833 he published at Boston a volume of Poems
and Prose Writings, reprinting his first volume
with additions, and including his papers in the
Idle Man. In 1839 he delivered a course of eight
lectures on Shakespeare at Boston and New York,
which he has subsequently repeated in those cities
and delivered at Philadelphia and elsewhere. In
1850 he published an edition of his writings in
two volumes at New York, adding several essays
and his review articles, with the exception of a
notice of the historical romance of Yorktown, in
Bryant's United States Review,! and the paper
on Religious Controversy in the Spirit of the Pil-
grims.J;
These are the last public incidents of Mr. Dana's
literary career ; but in private the influence of his
ta-.tes, conversation, and choice literary corres-
pondence, embraces a liberal field of activity. He
passes bis time between his town residence at
Boston and his country retirement at Cape Ann,
Mr. Dana's Residence.
where he enjoys a roof of his own in a neat ma-
rine villa, pleasantly situated in a niche of the
rocky coast. Constant to the untiring love of
nature, he is one of the first to seek this haunt in
spring and the last to leave it in autumn.
His writings possess kindred qualities in prose
and verse ; thought and rhythm, speculation and
imagination being borrowed by each from the
other.
The Buccaneer is a philosophical poem ; a tale
of the heart and the conscience. The villany of
the hero, though in remote perspective to the
imagination, appeals on that account the more
powerfully to our own consciousness. His re-
morse is touched with consummate art as the rude
* On Pollok's Course of Time, 1628. Pamphlets on Contro-
versy, 1829. Natural History of Enthusiasm, 1830. Henry
Martyn. 1881.
t January, 182T. t "• 198.
RICHARD HENRY DANA.
91
hard earthy nature steps into the region of the
supernatural, and with unchanged rigidity em-
braces its new terrors. The machinery is at onoe
objective and spiritual in the vision of the horse.
The story is opened by glimpses to the reader in the
only way in which modern art can attain, with cul-
tivated minds, the effect of the old ballad directness.
The visionary horror is relieved by simple touches
of human feeling and sweet images, at in the
opening, of the lovely, peaceful scenes of nature.
The remaining poems are divided between the
description of nature and a certain philosophical
vein of thought which rises into the loftiest spe-
culative region of religion, and is never long with-
out indication-) of a pathetic sense of human life.
The prose of Dana has similar characteristics to
his verse. It is close, elaborate, truthful in ety-
mology; and, with a seeming plainness, musical
in its expres>ion. There is a rare use of figures,
but when they occur they will be found inwrought
with the life of the text; no. sham or filigree
work.
In the tales of Tom Thornton and Paul Felton
there is much imaginative power in placing the
mind on the extreme limits of sanity, under the in-
fluence of painful and engrossing passion. The
story of the lovers, Edward and Mary, has its
idyllic graces of the affections. In these writings
the genius of our author is essentially dramatic.
The critical and philosophical essays, embracing
the subtle and elaborate studies of human life in
Shakespeare, show great skill in discrimination,
guided by a certain logic of the heart and life, and
not by mere artificial dialectics. They are not so
much literary exercises as revelations of, and
guides to character. This character is founded
on calm reverence, a sleepless love of truth, a
high sense of honor, and of individual worth.
With these conditions are allied strong imagina-
tion, reaching to the ideal in art and virtue, and
a corresponding sympathy with the humanity
which falls short of it in life.
THIS LITTLE BEACH BIRD.
I.
Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea.
Why takest thou its melancholy voice?
And with that boding cry
Along the waves dost thou fly ?
0! rather, Bird with me
Through the fair land rejoice !
ii.
Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale,
As driven by a beating storm at sea;
Thy cry is weak and scared,
As if thy mates had shared
The doom of us : Thy wail —
What does it bring to me ?
m.
Thou call'st along the sand, and haunt'st the Burge,
Restless and sad ; as if. in strange accord
With the motion and the roar
Of waves that drive to shore,
One spirit did ye urge — ■
The Mystery— The Word.
IV.
Of the thousands, thou, both sepulchre and pall,
Old Ocean, art I A requiem o'er the dead,
From out thy gloomy cells
A tale of mourning tells —
Tells of man's woe and fall,
His sinless glory fled.
v.
Then turn thee, little bird, and take thy flight
Where the complaining sea shall sadness bring
Thy spirit never more.
Come, quit with me the shore,
For gladness and the light
Where birds of summer sing.
IMMORTALITY — PROM THE IUTSEAND AND WIFE'S GRAVE.
And do our loves all perish with our frames?
Do those that took their root and put forth buds,
And their soft leaves unfolded in the warmth
Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty,
Then fade and fall, like fair, unconscious flowers?
Are thoughts and passions that to the tongue give
speech,
And make it send forth winning harmonies, —
That to the cheek do give its living glow,
And vision in the eye the soul intense
With that for which there is no utterance —
Are these the body's accidents? — no more? —
To live in it, and when that dies, go out
Like the burnt taper's flame ?
0, listen, man I
A voice within us speaks the startling word,
" Man, thou shalt never die!" Celestial voices
Hymn it around our souls : according harps,
By angel fingers touched when the mild stars
Of morning sang together, sound forth still
The song of our great immortality :
Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain,
The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas,
Join in this solemn, universal song.
— 0, listen ye, our spirits ; drink it in
From all the air ! 'Tis in the gentle moonlight ;
T is floating in day's setting glories ; Night,
Wrapt in her sable robe, with silent step
Comes to our bed and breathes it in our ears:
Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve,
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse,
As one vast mystic instrument, are touched
By an unseen, living Hand, the conscious chords
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee :
— The dying hear it; and as sounds of earth
Grow dull and distant, w.-ike their passing souls
To mingle in this heavenly harmony.
TnE BUCCANEER,
Boy with thy btac berd,
1 rede that thou blin,
And sone set the to shrive,
With sorrow of thi syn ;
Zi> met with the merchandes
And made them fill bare;
It es plide reason and right
That ze evill misfaro.
For when ze stode in sowre strenkith,
Ze war all to stout.
Laurence Mimot.
The island lies nine leagues away.
Along its solitary shore,
Of craggy rock and sandy bay,
No sound but ocean's roar,
Save where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home,
Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam.
But when the light winds lie at rest,
And on the glassy, heaving sea,
The black duck, with her glossy breast,
Sits swinging silently, —
How beautiful! no ripples break the reach,
And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach.
92
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
And inland rests the green, -warm de]l ;
Tlie b:ook comes tinkling down its side;
From out tlie trees the Sabbath bell
Ri. gs cheerful, far and wide,
Mingling its sound with bleatings of the flocks,
That feed about the vale among the rocks.
Kor holy bell, nor pastoral bleat,
In former days within the vale ;
Flapped in the bay the'pirate's sheet;
Curses were on the gale ;
Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered men ;
Pirate and wrecker kept their revels then.
But calm, low voices, "words of grace,
ftow slowly fall upon the ear;
A quiet look is in each face,
Subdued and holy fear ;
Each motion gentle ; all is kindly done.—
Come, listen how from crime the isle was won.
Twelve years are gone since.Matthew Lee
Held in this isle unquestioned sway;
A dark, low, brawny man was he ;
His l.iw, — " It is my way."
Beneath his thick-set brows a sharp light broke
From small grayr eyes; his laugh a triumph spoke.
Cruel of heart, and strong of arm,
Loud in his sport, and keen for spoil,
lie little recked of good or harm,
1 ierce both in mirth and toil;
Yet like a dog could fawn, if need there were;
Speak mildly, when he would, or look iu fear.
Amid the uproar of the storm,
And by the lightning's sharp, red glare,
"Were seen Lee's face and sturdy form ;
His axe glanced quick in air.
"Whose corpse at morn lies swinging in the sedge?
There's blood and hair, Matt, on thy axe's edge.
" Ask him who floats there ; let him tell ;
I make the brute, not man, my mark.
AVho walks the cliffs, needs heed him well!
Last night was fearful dark.
Think ye the lashing waves will spare or feel?
An ugly gash ! — These rocks — they cut like steeL"
He wiped his axe; and turning round,
Said with a cold and hardened smile,
"Tlie hemp is saved ; the man is drowned.
We'll let him float awhile ?
Or give him Christian burial on the strand?
He'll find his fellows peaceful under sand."
Lee's waste was greater than his gain.
" I'll try the merchant's trade," he thought,
"Though less the toil to kill than feign, —
Things sweeter robbed than bought.
But, then, to circumvent them at their arts !"
Ship manned, and spoils for cargo, Lee departs.
'Tis fearful, on the broad-backed waves,
To feel them shake, and hear them roar :
Beneath, unsounded, dreadful caveB;
Around, no cheerful shore.
Yet 'mid this solemn world what deeds are done!
The curse goes up, the deadly sea-fight's won: —
And wanton talk, and laughter heard,
Where sounds a deep and awful voice.
There's awe from that lone ocean-bird :
Pray ye, when ye rejoice !
" Leave prayers to priests," cries Lee : " I'm ruler
here!
These fellows know full well whom they should
fear !"
The ship works hard ; the seas run high ;
Their white tops, flushing through the night,
Give to the eager, straining eye
A wild and shitting light.
" Hard at the pumps ! — The leak is gaining fast !
Lighten the ship!— The devil rode that blast!"
Ocean has swallowed for its food
Spoils thou didst gain in murderous glee ;
Matt, could its waters wash out blood,
It had been well for thee.
Crime fits for crime. And no repentant tear
Hast thou for sin ? — Then wait thine hour of fear.
The sea has like a plaything tost
That heavy hull the livelong night.
The man of sin, — he is not lost:
Soft bieaks the morning light.
Torn spars and sails, — her lading in tlie deep, —
The ship makes port with slow and labouring sweep.
Within a Spanish port she rides.
Angry and soured, Lee walks her deck.
"So, peaceful trade a curse betides? —
And thou, good ship, a wreck !
Ill luck in chai ge! — Ho! cheer ye up, my men!
Rigged, and at sea, and then, old work again!"
A sound is in the Pyrenees!
Whirling and dark conies roaring down
A tide as of a thousand seas,
Sweepii g both cowl and crown :
On field and vineyard, thick and red it stood ;
Spain's streets and palaces are wet with blood.
And wrath and terror shake the hind :
The [teaks shine clear in w.-itchfire lights;
Soon comes the tread of that stout baud, —
Bold Arthur and his knights.
Awake ye, Merlin ! Hear the shout from Spain !
The spell is broke! — Arthur is come again ! —
Too late for thee, thou young, fair bride!
The lips are cold, the brow is pale.
That thou didst kiss iu love and pride ;
He cannot hear thy wail,
Whom thou didst lull with fondly murmured sound'
His couch is cold and lonely in the ground.
He fell for Spain,— her Spnin no more ;
For he was gone who made it dear ;
And she would seek some distant shore,
Away from strife and fear,
And wait amid her sorrows till the day
His voice of love should caliber thence away.
Lee feigned him grieved, and bowed him low,
'Twould joy his heart, could he but aid
So good a lady in her woe,
He meekly, smoothly said.
With wealth and servants she is soon aboard.
And that white 6teed she rode beside her lord.
Tlie sun goes down upon the sea ;
The shadows gather round her home.
" How like a pall are ye to me !
My home, how like a tomb !
O, blow, ye flowers of Spain, above his head!
Ye will not blow o'er me when I am dead."
And now the stars are burning bright;
Yet still she's looking toward the shore
Beyond the waters black in night.
" I ne'er shall see thee more !
Ye're many, waves, yet lonely seems your flow ;
And I'm aione, — scarce know I where I go."
Sleep, sleep, thou sail one on the sea ! .
The wash of waters lulls thee now ;
RICHARD HENRY DANA.
93
His arm no more will pillow thee,
Thy fingers on his brow.
He is not near, to hush thee, or to save.
The ground is his, the sea must be thy grave.
The moon comes up ; the night goes on.
Why, in the shadow of the mast,
Stands that dark, thoughtful man alone?
Thy pledge! — nay, keep it fast!
Bethink thee of her youth, and sorrows, Lee ;
Helpless, alone, — and, then, her trust in thee.
When told the hardships thou hadst borne,
Her words to thee were like a charm.
With uncheered grief her heart is worn ;
Thou wilt not do her harm?
He looks out on the sea that sleeps in light,
And growls an oath, — " It is too still to-night !"
He sleeps ; but dreams of massy gold
And heaps of pearl, — stretches his hands;
But hears a voice, — " 111 man, withhold!"
A pale one near him stands.
Her breath comes deathly cold upon his cheek ;
Her touch is cold; he hears a piercing shriek; —
He wakes ! — But no relentings wake
Within his angered, restless soul.
"What, shall a dream Matt's purpose shake?
The gold will make all whole.
Thy merchant trade had nigh unmanned thee, lad!
What, balk my chance because a woman's sad !"
He cannot look on her mild eye ;
Her patient words his spirit quelL
Within that evil heart there lie
The hates and fears of hell.
His speech is short ; he wears a surly brow.
There's none will hear the shriek. What fear ye
now ?
The workings of the soul ye fear ;
Ye fear the power that goodness hath ;
Ye fear the Unseen One ever near,
Walking his ocean path.
From out the silent void there eomes a cry, —
" Vengeance is mine ! Thou, murderer, too, shalt
die!"
Nor dread of ever-during woe,
Nor the sea's awful solitude,
Can make thee, wretch, thy crime forego.
Then, bloody hand, — to blood !
The scud is driving wildly overhead ;
The stars burn dim ; the ocean moans its dead.
Moan for the living; moan our sins, —
The wrath of man more fierce than thine.
Hark ! still thy waves! — The work begins,—
Lee makes the deadly sign.
The crew glide down like shadows. Eye and hand
Speak fearful meanings through the silent band.
They're gone. — The helmsman stands alone;
And one leans idly o'er the bow.
Still as a tomb the ship keeps on ;
Nor sound nor stirring now.
Hush, hark ! as from the centre of the deep,
Shrieks, fiendish yells! They stab them in their
sleep !
The scream of rage, the groan, the strife,
The blow, the gasp, the horrid cry,
The panting throttled prayer for life,
The dying's heaving sigh,
The murderer's curse, the dead man's fixed, still
glare,
And fear's and death's cold sweat, — they all are
there.
On pale, dead men, on burning cheek,
On quick, fierce eyes, brows hot and damp,
On hands that with the .warm blood reek,
Shines the dim cabin lamp.
Lee looked. " They sleep so sound," he laughing,
said,
" They'll scarcely wake for mistress or for maid."
A crash 1 They force the door, — and then
One long, long, shrill, and piercing scream
Comes thrilling 'bove the growl of men.
'Tis hers ! O God, redeem
From worse than death thy suffering, helpless child!
That dreadful shriek again, — sharp, sharp, and wild !
It ceased. — With speed o' th' lightning's flash,
A loose-robed form, with streaming hair,
Shoots by. — A leap, — a quick, short splash!
'Tis gone ! — and nothing there !
The waves have swept away the bubbling tide.
Bright-crested waves, how calmly on they ridel
She's sleeping in her silent cave,
Nor he.-irs the loud, stern roar above,
Nor strife of man on land or wave.
Young thing! her home of love
She soon has reached! Fair, unpolluted thing!
They harmed her not ! — Was dying suffering ?
0 no ! — To live when joy was dead,
To go with one lone, pining thought,
To mournful love her bei: g wed,
Feeling what death hail wrought;
To live the child of woe, nor shed a tear,
Bear kindness, and yet share not joy or fear;
To look on man, and deem it strange
That he on things of earth should brood,
When all the thronged and busy range
To her was solitude, —
0, this was bitterness! Death came and pressed
Her wearied lids, and brought the sick heart rest.
Why look ye on each other so,
And speak no word ? — Ay, shake the head !
She's gone where ye can never go.
What fear ye from the dead ?
They tell no tales ; and ye are all true men ; —
But wash away that blood ; then, home again!
'Tis on your souls ; it will not out !
Lee, why so lost ? 'Tis not like thee !
Come, where thy revel, oath, and shout?
" That pale one in the sea ! — ■
I mind not blood. — But she, — I cannot tell !
A spirit was't? — It flashed like fires of hell!
" And when it passed there was no tread!
It leaped the deck. — Who heard the sound?
1 heard none ! — Say, what was it fled ?
Poor girl ! and is she drowned? —
Went down these depths ? How dark they look, and
cold !
She's yonder! stop her! — Now! — there! — hold her!
hold!"
They gaze upon his ghastly face.
" What ails thee, Lee? and why that glare?"
" Look ! ha ! 'tis gone, and not a trace !
No, no, she was not there! —
Who of you said ye heard. her when she fell?
'Twas strange ! — I'll not be fooled ! — Will no one
tell ?"
He paused. And soon the wildness passed.
Then eame the tingling flush of shame.
Remorse and fear are gone as fast.
" The silly thing's to blame
To quit us so. 'Tis plain she loved us not ;
Or she had stayed awhile, and shared my cot."
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CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
And then the ribald laughed. The jest,
Though old and foul, loud laughter drew ;
And fouler yet came from the rest
Of that infernal crew.
Note, Heaven, their blasphemy, their broken trust I
Lust panders murder: murder panders lust I
Now slowly up they bring the dead
From out the silent, dim-lit room.
No prayer at their quick burial said ;
No friend to weep their doom.
The hungry waves have seized them one by one ;
And, swallowing down their prey, go roaring on.
Cries Lee, " We must not be betrayed ;
'Tis but to add another corse !
Strange words, we're told, an ass once brayed :
I'll never trust a horse!
Out! throw him on the waves alive ! — he'll swim;
For once a horse shall ride ; we all ride him."
Such sound to mortal ear ne'er came
As rang far o'er the waters wide.
It shook with fear the stoutest frame:
The horse is on the tide !
As the waves leave, or lift him up, his cry
Comes lower now, and now is near and high.
And through the swift waves' yesty crown
His scared eyes shoot a fiendish light,
And fear seems wrath. He now sinks down,
Now heaves again to sight,
Then drifts away ; and through the night they hear
Far off that dreadful cry. — But morn is near.
0, hadst thou known what deeds were done,
When thou wast shining far away,
Wouldst thou let fall, calm-coming sun,
Thy warm and silent ray ?
The good are in their graves ; thou canst not cheer
Their dark, cold mansions: Sin alone is here.
"The deed's complete! The gold is ours!
There, wash away that bloody stain !
Pray, who'd refuse what fortune showers?
Now, lads, we lot our gain 1
Must fairly share, you know, what's fairly got?
A truly good night's work ! Who says 'twas not?"
There's song, and oath, and gaming deep,
Hot words, and laughter, mad carouse ;
There's naught of prayer, and little sleep ;
The devil keeps the house !
" Lee cheats!" cried Jack. Lee struck him to the
heart.
" That's foul !" one muttered. — " Fool ! you take
your part !
"The fewer heirs, the richer, man!
Hold fortli your palm, and keep your prate !
Our life, we read, is but a span.
What matters soon or late V
And when on shore, and asked, Did many die?
"Near half* my crew, poor lads!" he'd say, and sigh.
Within the bay, one stormy night,
The isle-men saw boats make for shore,
With here and there a dancing light,
That flashed on man and oar.
When hailed, the rowing stopped, and all was dark.
"Ha! lantern-work! — We'll home! They're play-
ing shark !"
Next day at noon, 'within the town,
AH stare and wonder much to see
Matt and his men come strolling down ;
Boys shouting, " Here comes Lee !"
" Thy ship, good Lee ?" " Not many leagues from
shore
Our ship by chance took fire." — They learned no
more.
He and his crew were flush of gold.
" You did not lose your cargo, then ?"
" Where all is fairly bought and sold,
Heaven prospers those true men.
Forsake your evil ways, as we forsook
Onr ways of sin, and honest courses took!
" Would see my log-book ? Fairly writ,
With pen of steel, and ink of blood I
How lightly doth the conscience sit !
Learn, truth's the only good."
And thus, with flout, and cold and impious jeer,
He fled repentance, if he scaped not fear.
Remorse and fear he drowns in drink.
" Come, pass the bowl, my jolly crew !
It thicks the blood to mope and think.
Here's merry days, though few !"
And then he quaffs. — So riot reigns within ;
So brawl and laughter shake that house of sin.
Matt lords it now throughout the isle ;
His hand falls heavier than before ;
All dread alike his frown or smile.
None come within his door,
Save those who dipped their hands in blood with
him ;
Save those who laughed to see the white horse
swim.
" To-night's our anniversary ;
And, mind me, lads, we have it kept
With royal state and special glee I
Better with those who slept
Their sleep that night would he be now, who slink' !
And health and wealth to him who bravely drinks!"
The words they speak, we may not speak;
The tales they tell, we may not tell.
Mere mortal man, forbear to seek
The secrets of that hell !
Their shouts grow loud. 'Tis nearmid-hour of night !
What means upon the waters that red light ?
Not bigger than a star it seems.
And now 'tis like the bloody moon,
And now it shoots in hairy streams !
It moves ! — 'Twill reach us soon ?
A ship! and all on fire! — hull, yard, and mast!
Her sails are sheets of flame ! — she's nearing fast !
And now she rides upright and still,
Shedding a wild and lurid light,
Around the cove, on inland hill,
Waking the gloom of night.
All breathes of terror! men, in dumb amaze,
Gaze on each other in the horrid blaze.
It scares the sea-birds from their nests ;
They dart and wheel with deafening screams ;
Now dark, — and now their wings and breasts
Flash back disastrous gleams.
Fair Light, thy looks strange alteration wear; —
The world's great comforter, — why now its fear?
And what comes up above the wave,
So ghastly white? A spectral head !
A horse's head ! (May Heaven save
Those looking on the dead, —
The waking dead!) There, on the sea he stands, —
The Spectre-Horse ! He moves! he gains the sands;
And on he speeds! His ghostly sides
Are streaming with a cold blue light.
Heaven keep the wits of him who rides
The Spectre-Horse to-night!
His path is shining like a swift ship's wake.
Before Lee's door he gleams like day's gray break
The revel now is high within ;
It bursts upon the midnight air
RICHARD HENRY DANA.
95
They little think, in mirth and din,
What spirit waits them there.
As if the sky became a voice, there spread
A sound to appal the living, stir the dead.
The Spirit steed sent up the neigh ;
It seemed the living trump of hell,
Sounding to call the damned away,
To join the host that fell.
It rang along the vaulted sky : the shore
Jarred hard, as when the thronging surges roar.
It rang in ears that knew the sound ;
And hot, flushed cheeks are blanched with fear.
Ha ! why does Lee look wildly round ?
Thinks lie the drowned horse near ?
He drops his cup, — his lips are stiff with fright.
Nay, sit thee down, — it is thy banquet night.
" I cannot sit ; — I needs must go :
The spell is on my spirit now.
I go to dread, — I go to woe !"
0, who so weak as thou,
Strong man ! His hoofs upon the door-stone, see,
The Shadow stands ! His eyes arc on thee, Lee I
Thy hair pricks up ! — " 0, I must bear
His damp, cold breath! It chills my frame!
His eyes, — their near and dreadful glare
Speaks that I must not name!'"
Art mad to mount that Horse! — " A power within,
I must obey, cries, ' Mount thee, man of sin !' "
He's now upon the Spectre's back,
With rein of silk and curb of gold.
'Tis fearful speed ! — the rein is slack
Within his senseless hold ;
Borne by an unseen power, right on he rides,
Yet touches not the Shadow-Beast he strides.
He goes with speed ; he goes with dread !
And now they're on the hanging steep !
And, now, the living and the dead,
They'll make the horrid leap !
The Horse stops short, — his feet are on the verge 1
He stands, like marble, high above the surge.
And nigh, the tall ship's burning on.
With red hot spars, and crackling flame ;
From hull to gallant, nothing's gone; —
She burns, and yet's the same !
Her hot, red flame is beating, all the night,
On man and Horse, in their cold, phosphor light.
Through that cold light the fearful man
Sits looking on the burning ship.
Wilt ever rail again, or ban?
How fast lie moves the lip !
And yet he does not speak, or make a sound !
AVhat see you, Lee ? the bodies of the drowned?
" I look, where mortal man may not, —
Down to the chambers of the deep.
I see the dead, long, long forgot;
I see them in their sleep.
A dreadful power is mine, which none can know,
Save he who leagues his soul with death and woe."
Thou mild, sad mother, silent moon,
Thy last low, melancholy ray
Shines towards him. Quit him not so soon !
Mother, ia mercy, stay !
Despair and death are with him ; and canst thou,
With that kind, earthward look, go leave him now ?
0, thou wast born for worlds of love ;
Making more lovely itt thy shine
Whate'er thou look'st on : hosts above,
In that soft light of thine,
Burn softer ; earth, in silvery veil, seems heaven.
Thou'rt going down ! — hast left hini unforgiven I
The fir, low west is bright no more.
How still it is ! No sound is heard
At sea, or all along the shore,
But cry of passing bird.
Thou living thing, — and dar'st thou come so near
These wild and ghastly shapes of death and fear ?
And long that thick, red light has shone
On stern, dark rocks, and deep, still bay,
On man and Horse that seem of stone,
So motionless are they.
But now its lurid fire less fiercely burns :
The night is going, — faint, gray dawn returns.
That Spectre-Steed now slowly pales,
Now changes like the moonlit cloud ;
That cold, thin light now slowly fails,
Which wrapt them like a shroud.
Both ship and Horse are fading into air.
Lost, mazed, alone, see, Lee is standing there I
The morning air blows fresh on him ;
The waves are dancing in his sight ;
The sea-birds call, and wheel, and skim,
O blessed morning light !
He doth not hear their joyous call ; he sees
No beauty in the wave, nor feels the breeze.
For he's accursed from all that's good ;
He ne'er must know its healing power.
The sinner on his sin shall brood,
And wait, alone, his hour.
A stranger to earth's beauty, human love, —
No rest below for him, no hope above!
The sun beats hot upon his head.
He stands beneath the broad, fierce blaze,
As stiff and cold as one that's dead:
A troubled, dreamy maze
Of some unearthly horror, all he knows, —
Of some wild horror past, and coining woes.
Tne gull lias found her place on shore ;
The sun gone down again to rest ;
And all is still but ocean's roar:
There 'stands the man u ablest.
But, see, he moves, — he turns, as asking where
His mates: — -Why looks he with that piteous stare?
Go, get ye home, and end your mirth!
Go, call the revellers again ;
They're fled the isle ; and o'er the earth
Are wanderers, like Cain.
As he his door-stone passed, the air blew chill.
The wine is on the board ; Lee, take your fill !
" There's none to meet me, none to cheer :
The scats are empty, — lights burnt out;
And I, alone, must sit me here :
Would I could hear their shout !"
He ne'er shall hear it more. — more taste his wine!
Silent he sits within the still moonshine.
Day came again; and up he rose,
A weary man, from his lone board ;
Nor merry feast, nor sweet repose,
Did that long night afford.
No shadowy-coming night, to bring him rest, —
No dawn, to chase the darkness of his breast!
no walks within the day's full glare,
A darkened man. Where'er he comes,
All shun him. Children peep and stare ;
Then, frightened, seek their homes.
Through all the crowd a thrilling horror ran.
They point and say, — " There goes the wicked man !"
He turns, and curses in his wrath
Both man and child; then hastes away
Shoreward, or takes some gloomy path ;
But there he cannot stay :
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CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Terror and madness drive him back to men ;
His hate- of man to solitude again.
Time passes on, and he grows bold ;
His eye is fierce ; his oaths are loud ;
None dare from Lee the hand withhold ;
He rules and scoffs the crowd.
But still at heart there lies a secret fear ;
For now the year's dread round is drawing near.
He laughs, but he is sick at heart ;
Hs swears, but he turns deadly pale ;
His restless eye and sudden start, —
They tell the dreadful tale
That will be told : it needs no words from thee.
Thou self-sold slave to fear and misery.
Bond-slave of sin ! again the light!
" Ha ! take me, take me from its blaze !"
Kay, thou must ride the Steed to-nightl
But other weary days
And nights must shine and darken o'er thy head,
Ere thou shalt go with him to meet the dead.
Again the ship lights all the land ;
Again Lee strides the Spectre-Beast;
Again upon the cliff they stand.
This once is he released ! —
Gone ship and Horse ; but Lee's last hope is o'er ;
Nor laugh, nor scoff, nor rage, can help him more.
His spirit heard that Spirit say,
" Listen ! — I twice have come to thee.
Once more, — and then a dreadful way 1
And thou must go with me!"
Ay, cling to earth as sailor to the rock !
Sea-swept, sucked down in the tremendous shock,
He goes! — So thou must loose thy hold,
And go with Death ; nor breathe the balm
Of early air, nor light behold,
Nor sit thee in the calm
Of gentle thoughts, where good men wait their close.
In life, or death, where look'st thou for repose ?
Who's sitting on that long, black ledge,
Which makes so far out in the sea,
Feeling the kelp-weed on its edge?
Poor, idle Matthew Lee !
So weak and pale ? A year and little more,
And bravely did he lord it round the shore.
And on the shingle now he sits,
And rolls the pebbles 'neath his hands ;
Now walks the beach ; now stops by fits,
And scores the smooth, wet sands;
Then tries each cliff, and cove, and jut, that bounds
The isle ; then home from many weary rounds.
They ask him why he wanders so,
From day to day, the uneven strand?
" I wish, I wish that I might go!
But I would go by land ;
And there's no way that I can find; I've tried
All day and night !" — He seaward looked, and sighed.
It brought the tenr to many an eye,
That, once, his eye had made to quail.
" Lee, go with us ; our sloop is nigh ;
Come ! help us hoist her sail"
He shook. — " You know the Spirit-Horse I ride !
He'll let me on the sea with none beside !"
,He views the ships that come and go,
Looking so like to living things.
0 ! 'tis a proud and gallant show
Of bright and broad-spread wings,
Making it light around them, as they keep
Their course right onward through the unsounded
deep.
And where the far-off sand-bar3 lift
Their backs in long and narrow line.
The breakers shout, and leap, and shift,
And toss the sparkling brine
Into the air; then rush to mimic strife :
Glad creatures of the sea, and full of life ! —
But not to Lee. He sits alone ;
No fellowship nor joy for him ;
Borne down by woe, — but not a moan, —
Though tears will sometimes dim
That asking eye. 0, how his worn thoughts crave —
Not joy again, but rest within the grave.
The rocks are dripping in the niist
That lies so heavy off the shore ;
Seaive seen the running breakers ; — list
Thei • dull and smothered roar !
Lee hearkens to their voice. — " I hear, I hear
You call. — Not yet ! — I know my time is near !"
And now the mist seems taking shape,
Forming a dim gigantic ghost, —
Enormous thing ! There's no escape ;
'Tis close upon the coast.
Lee kneels, but cannot pray. — Why mock him sol
The ship has cleared the fog, Lee, see her go.
A sweet, low voice,, in starry nights,
Chants to his ear a plaining song ;
Its tones come winding up tlie heights,
Telling of woe and wrong ;
And he must listen till the 6tars grow dim,
The song that gentle voice doth sing to him.
0, it is sad that aught so mild •
Should bind the soul with bands of fear;
That strains to soothe a little child,
The man should dread to hear.
But sin hn{h broke the world's sweet peace, — un-
strung
The harmonious chords to which the angels sung.
In thick dark nights he'd take his seat
High up the cliffs, and feel them shake,
As swung the sea with heavy beat
Below, — and hear it break
With savage roar, then pause and gather strength,
And, then, come tumbling in its swollen length.
But he no more shall haunt the beach,
Nor sit upon the tall cliff's crown,
Nor go the round of all that reach,
Nor feebly sit him down,
Watching the swaying weeds: — another day,
And he'll have gone far hence that dreadful way.
To-night the charmed number's told.
" Twice have I come for thee," it said.
" Once more, and none shall thee behold.
Come! live one! — to the dead." —
So hears his soul, and fears the gathering night;
Yet sick and weary of the soft, calm light.
Again he sits in that still room ;
All day he leans at that still board ;
None to bring comfort to his gloom,
Or speak a friendly word.
Weakened with fear, lone, haunted by remorse,
Poor, shattered wretch, there waits he that pale
Horse.
Not long he waits. Where now are gone
Peak, citadel, and tower, that stood
Beautiful, while the west sun shone,
And bathed them in his flood
Of airy glory ? — Sudden darkness fell ;
And down they went, peak, tower, citadel.
The darkness, like a dome of stone,
Ceils up the heavens. 'Tis hush as death, —
EICHAKD HENRY DANA.
or
All but the ocean's dull, low moan.
How hard he draws his breath !
He shudders as he feels the working Power.
Arouse thee, Lee I up 1 man thee for thine hour !
'Tis close at hand ; for there, once more,
The burning ship. Wide sheets of flame
And shafted fire she showed before ; —
Twice thus she hither came ; — ■
But now she rolls a naked hulk, and throws
A wasting light; then settling, down she goes.
And where she sank, up slowly came
The Spectre-Horse from out the sea.
And there he stands ! His pale sides flame.
He'll meet thee, shortly, Lee.
He treads the waters as a solid floor ;
He's moving on. Lee waits him at the door.
They're met. — " I know thou com'st for me,"
Lee's spirit to the Spectre said ;
" 1 know that I must go with thee:
Take me not to the dead.
It was not I alone that did the deed !" —
Dreadful the eye of that still, Spectral Steed I
Lee cannot turn. There is a force
In that fixed eye, which holds him fast.
How still they stand, — the man and Horse!
"Thine Hour is almost past."
" 0, spare me," cries the wretch, " thou fearful One !"
" The time is come, — I must nut go alone."
" I'm weak and faint. 0, let me stay !"
"Nay, murderer, rest nor stay for thee!"
The Horse and man are on their way ;
He bears him to the sea.
Hard breathes the Spectre through the silent night ;
Fierce from his nostrils streams a deathly light.
He's on the beach ; but stops not there;
He's on the sea, — that dreadful Horse !
Lee flings and writhes in wild despair.
In vain ! The Spirit-Corse
nobis him by fearful spell ; he cannot leap;
Within that horrid light he rides the deep.
It lights the sea around their track, —
The curling comb, and steel-dark wave:
And there sits Lee the Spectre's back;
Gone! gone! and none to saved
They're seen no more; the night has shut them in.
May heaven have pity on thee, man of sin!
The earth has washed away its stain;
The sealed-up sky is breaking forth,
Mustering its glorious hosts again,
From the far south and north ;
The climbing moon plays on the rippling sea.
— 0, whither on its waters rideth Lee?
EDMUND KEANS LEAR — FROM TOE PAPER ON KEAN'S ACTTNG.
It has been so common a saying, that Lear is the
most difficult of characters to personate that we
had taken it for granted no man could play it so us
to satisfy us. Perhaps it is the hardest to represent.
Yet the part which has generally been supposed the
most difficult, the insanity of Lear, is scarcely more
so than that of the choleric old king. Inefficient rage
is almost always ridiculous ; anil an old man, witli a
broken-down bo ly and a mind falling in pieces from
the violence of "its uncontrolled passions, is in con-
stant danger of exciting, along with our pity, a feel-
ing of contempt. It is a chance matter to which we
may be most move 1. And this it is which makes
the opening of Lear so difficult.
"We may as well notice here the objection which
some make to the abrupt violence with which Kean
VOL. II. — 7
begins in Lear. If this be a fault, it is Shakespeare,
and not Kean, who is to blame; for, no doubt, he
has conceived it according to his author. Perhaps,
however, the mistake lies in this case, where it does
in most others, with whose who put themselves into
the seat of judgment to pass upon great men.
In most instances, Shakespeare has given us the
gradual growth of a passion, with such little accom-
paniments as agree with it, and go to make up the
whole man. In Lear, his object being to represent
the beginning and course of insanity, he has properly
enough gone but a little back of it, and introduced
to us an old man of good feelings enough, but one
who had lived without any true principle of conduct,
and whose unruled passions had grown strong with
age, and were ready, upon a disappointment, to
make shipwreck of an intellect never strong. To
bring this about, he begins with an abruptness
rather unusual; and the old king rushes in before
us, with his passions at their height, and tearing him
like fiends.
Kean gives this as soon as the fitting occasion offers
itself. Had he put more of melancholy and depres-
sion, and less of rage into the character, we should
have been much puzzled at his so suddenly going
mad. It would have required the change to have
been slower; and besides, Ins insanity must have been
of another kind. It must have been monotonous
and complaining, instead of continually varying ;
at oue time full of grief, at another playful, and
then wild as the winds that roared about him, and
fiery and sharp as the lightning that shot by him.
The truth with which he conceived this was not
finer than his execution of it. Not for a moment,
in his utmost violence, did he suffer the imbecility
of the old man's anger to touch upon the ludicrous,
when nothing but the justcst conception and feeling
of the character could have saved him from it.
It has been said that Lear is a study for one
who would make himself acquainted with the work-
ings of an insane mind. Audit is hardly less true,
that the acting of Kean was an embodying of these
workings. His eye, when his senses are first for-
saking him, giving an inquiring look at what he saw,
as if all before him was undergoing a strange and
bewildering change which confused his brain, — the
wandering, lust motions of his hands, which seemed
feeling for something familiar to them, on which they
might take hold and be assured of a safe reality, — the
under monotone of his voice, as if he was question-
ing his own being, and what surrounded him, — the
continuous, but slight, oscillating motion of the body,
— all these expressed, with fearful truth, the bewil-
dered state of a mind fast unsettling, and making vain
and weak efforts to find its way back to its wonted
reason. There was a childish, feeble gladness in the
eye, aud a half piteous smile about the mouth, at
times, which one could scarce look upon without
tears. As the derangement increased upon him, his
eye lost its notice of objects about him, wandering
over things as if he saw them not, and fastening
upon the creatures of his crazed brain. The help-
I less and delighted fondness with which he clings
to Edgar as an insane brother, is another instance
of the justness of Kean's conceptions. Nor does he
j lose the air of insanity, even in the fine moralizing
parts, and where he inveighs against the corrup-
tions of the world: There is a madness even in his
reason.
The violent and immediate charges of the passions
in Lear, so difficult to manage without jarring upon
us, are given by Kean with a spirit and with a fit-
ness to nature which we had hardly thought possi-
ble. These are equally well done both before and
after the loss 'of reason. The most difficult scene,
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CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
in this respect, is the last interview between Lear I
and his daughters, Goneril and Regan, — (and how
wonderfully does Kean cany it through!) — the |
scene which ends with the horrid shout and cry j
with which lie runs out mad from their presence, as
if his very brain had taken fire.
The last scene which we are allowed to have of
Shakespeare's Lear, for the simply pathetic, was
played by Kean with unmatched power. We sink I
down helpless under the oppressive grief. It lies
like a dead weight upon our hearts. AVe ara
denied even the relief of tears ; and are thankful for
the shudder that seizes us when he kneels to his
daughter in the deploring weakness of his crazed
grief.
It is lamentable that Ivean should not be allow-
ed to show his unequalled powers in the last scene
of Lear, as Shakespeare wrote it; and that tins
mighty work of genius should be profaned by the
miserable, mawkish sort of by-play of Edgar's and
Cordelia's loves: Nothing can surpass the imper-
tinence of the man who made tiie change, but the
folly of those who sanctioned it.
INFLUENCE OF HOME — FROM TIIR FAPER ON DOMESTIC LIFE.
Home gives a certain serenity to the mind, so that
everything is well defined, and in a clear atmo-
sphere, and the lesser beauties brought out t'o re-
joice in the pure glow which floats over and be-
neath them from the earth and sky. In this state
of mind afflictions come to us chastened ; and if the
wrongs of the world cross us in our door-path, we
put them aside without anger. Vices are about
us, not to lure us away, or make us morose, but to
remind us of our frailty and keep down our pride,
We are put into a right relation with the world;
neither holding it in proud scorn, like the solitary
man, nor being carried along by shifting and hurried
feelings, and vague and careless notions of things,
like the world's man. We do not take novelty for
improvement, or set up vogue for a rule of conduct;
neither do we despair, as if all great virtues had
departed witli the years gone by, though we see
new vices, frailties, and follies taking growth in the
very light which is spreading over the earth.
Our safest way of coming into communion with
mankind is through our own household. For there
our sorrow and regret at the failings of the bad are
in proportion to our love, while our familiar inter-
course witli the good has a secretly assimilating
influence upon our characters. The domestic man
has an independence of thought which puts him at
ease in society, and a1 cheerfulness and benevolence
of feeling which seem to ray out from him, and to
diffuse a pleasurable sense over those near him, like
a soft, bright day. As domestic life strengthens a
man's virtue, so does it help to a sound judgment
and a right balancing of things, and gives an inte-
grity and propriety to the whole character. God,
in Ids goodness, has ordained that virtue should
make its own enjoyment, and that wherever a vice
or frailty is rooted out, something should spring up
to be a beauty and delight in its stead. But a man
of a character rightly cast, has pleasures at home,
which, though fitted to his highest nature, are com-
mon to him as his daily food ; and he moves about
his house under a continued sense of them, and is
happy almost without heeding it.
Women have been called angels, in love-tales and
sonnets, till we have almost learned to think of
nugels as little better than woman. Yet a man who
knows a woman thoroughly, and doves her truly, —
and there are women who may be so known and
loved, — will find, after a few years, that Ids relish for
the grosser pleasures is lessened, and that he has
grown into a fondness for the intellectual and
refined without an effort and almost unawares. He
has been led on to virtue through his pleasures; and
the delights of the eye, and the gentle play of that
passion which is the most inward and romantic in
our nature, and which keeps much of its character
amidst the concerns of life, have held him in a kind
of spiritualized existence: he shares his very being
with one who, a creature of this world, and with
something of the world's frailties, is
yet a Spirit still, and bright
With sutnetuing ul'an augel light.
With all the sincerity of a companionship of feel-
ing, cares, sorrows, and enjoyments, her presence is
as the presence of a purer being, and there is that
in her nature which seems to bring him nearer to a
better world, She is, as it were, linked to angels,
and in his exalted moments, he feels himself held by
the same tie.
In the ordinary affairs of life, a woman has a
greater influence over those near h<r than a man.
While our feelings are, for the most pait, as retired
as anchorites, hers are in play lefo.e us. We
hear them in her varying voice; v. e see them in
the beautiful and harmonious undulations of her
movements, in the quick shifting hues of her face, in
her e3-e, glad and bright, then fond and suffused ;
her frame is alive and active with what is at her
heart, and all the outward form speaks. She seems
of a finer mould than we, and cast in a form of
beauty, which, like all beauty, acts with a moral
influence upon our hearts; and as she moves about
us, we feel a movement within which rises and
spreads gently over us, harmonizing us with her
own. And can any man listen to this, — Can his eye,
day after day, rest upon this, and he not be touched
by it, and made better ?
The dignity of a woman has its peculiar charac-
ter ; it awes more than that of man. His is more
physical, bearing itself up with an energy of courage
which we may brave, or a stre:.gth which we may
struggle against; he is his own avenger, and we
may stand the brunt. A woman's has nothing of
this force in it; it is of a higher quality, and too
delicate for mortal touch.
EICIIAED DABNET.
Ricttaed Daexey was born about 1787, in the
county of Louisa, Virginia, of a family settled for
several generations in that state, and which had,
in early times of England, been Daubeney.
Earlier still it is said to have been I? Aubigny or
D'Aubigne, of France. His mother had been a
Meriwether, aunt to Meriwether Lewi*, who, with
Captain Clarke, in Jefferson's presidency, ex-
plored the sources of the Missouri and the Rocky
Mountains. Richard's father, Samuel Dabney,
was a wealthy farmer and planter, with twelve
children. None of them were regularly or tho-
roughly educated. Richard's instruction was but
in the plainest rudiments of knowledge, till his
sixteenth or eighteenth year, when lie went to a
school of Latin and Greek. In these languages
he strode forward with great rapidity ; learning
in one or two years -more than most boys learned
in six. Afterwards he was an assistant teacher
in a Richmond school. From the burning theatre
of that city, in December, 1811, he barely escaped
with life, receiving hurts which he bore with
him to his grave.
In 1812, however, he published in Richmond a
thin duodecimo volume of Poems, Original and
RICHARD DABNEY.
99
Tranala'el, which, though of somo merit, morti-
fyingly failed with the public, and he then endea-
vored to suppress the edition. Going to Phila-
delphia with general undefined viewa to literary
pursuits, he published, through Mathew Carey, a
much improved edition of his poems in 1815.
This too was, as the publisher' said, " quite a losing
concern." Yet it had pieces remarkable for
striking and vigorous thought; and the diversity
of translation (from Grecian, Latin, and Italian
poets) 'evinced ripeness of scholarship and cor-
rectness of taste. In the mechanical parts of
poetry— in rhythm and in rhymes — he was least
exact. Nearly half the volume consis'.ed of trans-
lation?. A short one from Sappho is not inele-
gant, or defective in versification:
I cannot 'tis in vain to try —
This tiresome talk for ever ply ;
I cannot bear this senseless round,
To one dull course for ever bound ;
I cannot, 0:1 the darkened page,
Con the deep maxima of the sage,
When all my thoughts perpetual swarm,
Around Eliza's blooming form.
Dabney was said to have written a large por-
tion of Carey's " Olive Branch, or Faults on Both
Sides," designed to show how flagrantly both of
the great parties (Federal and Republican) had
sinned axainst their country's good, and against
their own respective principles, whenever party
interests or party rage commanded.
In a few years more he returned to his native
plao, where his now widowed mother, with
some of her children, live 1 upon her farm. Here
he spent the rest of his life; in devouring such
books and periodicals as he could find — in visits
among a few of the neighboring farmers — and in
such social enjoyments as rural Virginia then af-
forded, in which juleps and grog-drinking made
a fearfully large part. Dabney had become an
opium-eater, led on, it seems, by prescriptions of
that poison for some of his injuries in the burn-
ing theatre. To this he added strong drink ;
and in his last years he was seldom sober when
the means of intoxication were at hand. Some
friends who desired to see his fine classical attain-
ments turned to useful account, prevailed upon
him to take a school of five or six boys, and that
pursuit he continued nearly to the last.
Dnring his country life, in 1818, was published
a poem of much classic beauty, called " Ehodo-
daphne, or the Thessalian Spell," which was at-
tributed to Dabney by a Richmond Magazine,
but he always denied the authorship ; and Carey
the publisher, in a letter dated 1827, says, " It
was an English production, as my son informs
me."
Dabney died in November, 1825, at the age of
thirty-eight; prominent among the myriads to
whom the drinking usages of America have made
appropriate the deep self-reproach —
We might have won the meed of fame,
Essayed and reached a worthier aim —
Had more of wealth and less of shame,
Nor heard, as from .1 tongue of flame —
You. might have been — you might have been !
The prevailing traits of his mind were memory
and imagination. His excellence was only in li-
terature. For mathematics and the sciences he
had no strong taste. He was guileless, and had
warm affections, which he too guardedly ab-
stained from displaying, as he carried his dislike
of courtliness and professions to the opposite ex-
treme of cynicism.'''
YOUTH AND AGE.
1.
As numerous as the stars of heaven,
Are the fond hopes to mortals given ;
But two illume, with brighter ray,
The morn and eve of life's short day.
Its glowing tints, on youth's fresh days,
The Lucifer of life displays,
And bids its opening joys declare
Their bloom of prime shall be so fair,
That till its minutes, all its hours
Shall breathe of pleasure's sweetest flowers.
But false the augury of that star —
The Lord of passion drives his car,
Swift up the middle line of heaven,
And blasts each flower that hope had given.
And care and woe, and paiu and 6trife,
All mingle in the noon of life.
Its gentle beiji«j9 -pn man's Inst days,
The HesperunV^, ,/e displays:
When all of p ,sion's midday heat
Within the breast forgets to beat ;
When calm and smooth our minutes glide,
Along life's tranquillizing tide ;
It points with slow, receding light,
To the sweet rest of silent night ;
And tells, when life's vain schemes shall end,
Thus will its closing light descend ;
And as the eve-star seeks the wave,
Thus gently reach the quiet grave.
TIIE TRIBUTE.
When the dark shades of death dim the warrior's
eyes,
When the warrior's spirit from its martial form flies,
The proud rites of pomp are performed at his grave,
And the pageants of splendor o'er its cold inmate
wave ;
Though that warrior's deeds were for tyrants per-
formed,
And no thoughts of virtue that warrior's breast
warmed,
Though the roll of his fame is the record of death,
And the tears of the widow are wet 011 bis wreath.
What then are the rites that are due to be paid,
To the virtuous man's tomb, and the brave warrior's
shade!
To him, who was firm to his country's love?
To him whom no might from stern virtue could
move ?
Be his requiem, the sigh of the wretched bereft ;
Be his pageants, the tears of the friends he has left;
Such tears, as were late with impassioned grief shed.
On the grave that encloses our CakiungtonI; dead.
* We are indebted for this sketch of Richard Dabney to a
gentleman of Virginia. Lucian Minor, Esq., of Louisa County.
t Coi. E. Carriogton, a revolutionary patriot, who died in
the autumn of 1810, in Richmond, Virginia.
100
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
AN EPIGRAM, IMITATED FKOM ARCIIIA9.
Nos dccebat
Lugere, ubi esset aliquis in lucem editus,
Hmnaine vita: vaiia reputantes mala ;*
At, qui labores murte finisset graves,
Omnes amicos laude et la*titia exequi.
Eurip. apud Tull.
0 wise was the people that deeply lamented
The hour that presented their children to light,
And gathering around, all the mis'ries recounted,
That brood o'er life's prospects and whelm them
, in night.
And wise was the people that deeply delighted,
When death snatched its victim from life's cheer-
less day ;
For then, all the clouds, life's views that benighted,
They believed, at his touch, vanished quickly
away.
Life, faithless and treach'rous, is for ever presenting,
To our view, flying phantoms we never can gain ;
Life, cruel and tasteless, is forever preventing
All our joys, and involving our pleasure in vain.
Death, kind and consoling, comes calmly and lightly,
The balm of all sorrow, the cure of all ill,
And after a pang, that but thrills o'er us slightly,
All then becomes tranquil, all then becomes still.
NATHANIEL H. CAETEE.
Nathaniel II. Carter was born at Concord,
New Hampshire, Septemb^;10 7, 1787. He was
educated at Exeter academy ".''ad Dartmouth Col-
lege, and on the completion of his course be-
came a teacher at Salisbury, New Hampshire,
■whence lie soon after removed to take a similar
charge at Portland, Maine. In 1817 he was ap-
pointed professor of languages in the University
created by the state legislature at Dartmouth,
where he remained until the institution was bro-
ken up by a decision of the Supreme Court, when
he removed to New York. In 1819 he became
editor of the Statesman, a newspaper of the Clin-
tonian party. In 1824 he delivered a poem at
Dartmouth College before the Phi Beta Kappa
Society, entitled The Pains of the Imagination.
In the following year he visited Europe, and wrote
home letters descriptive of his travels to the
Statesman, which were republished in other jour-
nals throughout the country. On his return in
the spring of 1827 he published these letters, re-
vised and enlarged,in two octavo volumes,* which
were favorably received. In consequence of ill
health he passed the following winter in Cuba,
and on his return in the spring abandoned, for
the same reason, the editorial profession. In the
fall of 1829 he was invited by a friend residing
in Marseilles to accompany him on a voyage to
that place. While on shipboard, believing that
his last hour was approaching, he wrote some
lines entitled The Closing Scene, or the Burial at
Sea. He survived, however, until a few days
after his arrival, in December, 1829.
Mr. Carter's letters furnish a pleasing and some-
what minute account of the objects of interest in
an ordinary European tour, at the period of its
publication much more of a novelty than at pre-
sent. His poems were written from time to time
* Letters from Europe, comprising the Journal of a Tour
through England, Scotland, France, Italy, and Switzerland, in
the years 1S25, '26, and '27. By N. H. Carter. New York :
1S27. 2 vols. 8vo.
on incidents connected with his feelings, studies,
and travels, and are for the most part simply re-
flective.
ISAAC ITAEBY.
Isaac, the son of Solomon Ilarby, was the grand-
son of a lapidary of the Emperor of Morocco,
who fled to England, and married an Italian lady.
His son Solomon settled in Charleston, S. C, .
where Isaac was born in 1788. He was educated
under the care of Dr. Best, a celebrated teacher
of those days. He commenced, but soon aban-
doned the study of the law, and the support of
his mother and the rest of his family falling upon
him in consequence of the death of his father, he
opened a school onEdisto Island, which met with
success.
His taste for literature and facility in writing
soon brought him in connexion with the press.
He became the editor of a weekly journal, the
" Quiver," and after its discontinuance of the
" Investigator" newspaper, the title of which he
changed to the " Southern Patriot," in which he
supported the administration of Madison. He
became widely and favorably known as a news-
paper writer, especially in the department of
theatrical criticism.
In 1807, his play of the Gordian Knot, or
Causes and, Effects, was produced at the Charles-
ton Theatre, where he had previously offered
another live act piece, Alexander Sevens, which
wtis declined. It was played but a few times.
In 1819, Alherti, a five act play by the same
author, appeared with better success. It was pub-
lished soon after its performance.
In 1825 he delivered an address in Charleston,
before the " Reformed Society of Israelites," ad-
vocating the addition of a seimon and services in
English to the Hebrew worship of the Synagogue.
In June, 1828, Harby removed from Charleston
to New York, his object being to secure a larger
audience for his literary labors. He contributed
to the Evening Post and other city periodicals,
and was fast acquiring an influential position,
when his career was interrupted by his death,
on the fourteenth of November, 1828.
A selection from his writings was published at
Charleston in the following year, in one volume
octavo.* It contains his play of Alberti, Dis-
course before the Reformed Society of Israelites,
and a number of political essays, with literary
and theatrical criticisms, selected from his news-
paper writings.
Alberti is founded upon the history of Lorenzo
de Medici, and designed to vindicate his conduct
from "the calumnies of Alfieri in his tragedy
called The Conspiracy of the Pazzi." The drama
is animated in action, and smooth in versification.
WILLIAM ELLIOTT.
William Elliott, the grandfather of the subject
of our remarks, removed from Charleston nearly
a century ago, sold his possessions in St. Paul's, and
settled at Beaufort, where he intermarried with
Mary Barnwell, grand-daughter of John Barnwell,
* A Selection from the Miscellaneous Writings of the late
Isaac Harby, Esq., arranged and published by Henry L. Pinck-
rey and Abraham Moise, for the benefit of his family. To
which is prefixed a memoir of his life, by Abraham Moise.
WILLIAM ELLIOTT.
101
distinguished first as the leader of the Tuscarora
war, ami afterwards as the agent of the colony in
England, through whose" representations the con-
stitutions of Locke were abrogated, and the colony
passed from the hands of the Lords Proprietors
into those of the Crown.
From this marriage descended three sons — Wil-
liam, Ralph, and Stephen. Ralph died without
surviving issue. Stephen is the naturalist and
scholar, previously noticed.* William, theeldest,
was born in 1761, received the rudiments of his
education at Beaufort, and long before he hail ar-
rived at manho id joined in the patriotic struggle
against the mother country, along with his uncles
John, Edward, and Robert Barnwell. Enduring
his full share of the hardships and perils of that
period, he was dangerously wounded at the sur-
prise on John's Island, was taken prisoner, and
while yet a minor was held worthy of being im-
mured in the prison-ship. His name will be
found on the list of those worthies who signed
the memorable letter to General Greene.
At the close of the war, Mr. Elliott applied
himself to repair the lo sses suffered by his paternal
estate, through the ravages of the enemy, and
approved himself an aide administrator. Of re-
markable public spirit, he devoted his energy, and
to a large extent his purse, to the promotion of
various institutions of charity, education, and pub-
lic improvement, served with honor in both
branches of the legislature, and died in 1808,
when Senator from his native parish, — thus clos-
ing at the age of forty-eight a life of patriotic
devotion, of untiring usefulness, and spotless in-
tegrity.
He was married in 1787 to Phebe Waight, a
lady of Beaufort, and their eldest son, William
Elliott, the subject of this notice, was born in the
same town on the '27th of April, 1788. The rudi-
ment-) of his education were received in his native
town. He there entered the Beaufort College
(since merged into a grammar-school), whence he
entered, ad eundem, after a two days' examination,
the Sophomore Class at C imbridge. He was
distinguished at that institution, having received
the honor of an English oration at the Junior ex-
hibition; and though forced to leave college at
the end of that year from a dangerous attack of
bronchitis, he received from the government the
unsolicited compliment of an honorary degree.
His father having died while he was at college,
Mr. Elliott applied himself, on his return home,
to the management of his estate. He was elected
to the legislature, and served in both brandies
with credit; but from his liability to bronchial
affections did not enter frequently into debate.
In 1832, during the crisis of the Nullification
fever, Mr. Elliott was a member of the Senate of
South Carolina, and while unalterably opposed to
a tariff of protection, as unequal and unjust to
the Southern states, he denied that a nullification
by a state was the proper remedy for the griev-
ance. His constituents had come to think differ-
ently, and instructed him by a large majority to
vote for the call of a convention, and in default
of that, to vote for nullification of the tariff laws
by the legislature. To this latter clause of their
* Ante, vol. i. 001.
instructions Mr. Elliott excepted, as fatal to the
union and subversive of the government, and,
were it otherwise, impossible for him to carry
out ; because in his view contradictory to his
oath of office, which bound him to maintain and
defend the constitution of this State and of the
United States, lie contended that the tariff acts,
however oppressive, sprang from a power clearly
granted in the constitution, with one only condi-
tion annexed, that of uniformity ; and that while
that condition was inviolate, no palpable violation
of the constitution could be pretended, and no
state therefore, by the terms of "the Kentucky
and Virginia resolutions," could be warranted in
nullifying them. These exceptions were not satis-
factory to his constituents, who, after hearing
them, renewed their instructions, whereupon he
resigned his office of Senator. From this time
forward he has devoted himself to agricultural
pursuits, to rural sports, varying the even tenor
of his life by occasional inroads into the domain
of letters, by. essays on agriculture, controversial
papers on political economy, addresses before Ag-
ricultural Societies, contributions to the Southern
Review ; by the essays of " Piscator" and " Ve-
nator," since enlarged and embodied in " Carolina
Sports ;" by a Tragedy in blank verse, printed, not
published ; and by occasional poems, of which a
few have seen the'"' -fit, and which serve to show
what he might In.' e accomplished in that depart-
ment had the kindly spur of necessity been ap-
plied, or had other auspices attended his life.*
Mr: Elliott chose for the subject of his tragedy
the Genoese conspiracy of Fiesco, in the manage-
ment of which he has followed the narrative of
DeRetz. He has handled the subject with free-
dom and spirit, in a mood of composition never
lacking energy, though with more attention to
eloquence than the finished accomplishments of
ver^e. In one of the scenes with Fiesco, a con-
spirator is made to utter a glowing prediction of
America.
Hot here look we for freedom :
In that new world, by daring Colon given
To the untiring g;ize of pleased mankind ;
That virgin land, unstained as yet by crime,
Insulted Freedom yet may rear her throne,
And build perpetual altars.
The passage is continued with a closing allusion
to the American Union.
'Gainst this rock
The tempest of invasion harmless beats,
While lurking treason, with envenomed tooth
Still idly gnaws; till scorpion-like, he turns
His disappointed rage upon himself,
Strikes, and despairing dies.
Doria thus apostrophizes the city over which
he ruled.
Watchmen of Genoa! is the cry, all's well?
The gathering mischief can no eye discern
But mine, already dim, and soon to close
In sleep eternal ? Oh, thou fated city !
* Carolina Sports, by Land and Water; Including Incidents
of Devil Fishing, &c. Bv the Hon. Win. Elliott of Beaufort,
8. C. Charleston : 1S5G. ' 12mo. pp. 172.
Fiesco; a Tragedy, by an American. New York: Printed
for the author. 1S50. l'2mo. pp. 154.
Address delivered bv special request before the St. Paul'a
Agricultural Society, Slay, 1850. Published by the Society.
Charleston: 1650.
102
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
(Cursed beyond all, but her who slew her lord,)
Must wars, seditious, desolations, be
Thy portion ever moie? the Ostrogoth
Has mastered tliee — the Saracen despoiled,
The Lombard pillaged thee. The Milanese
And the rude bwitzer — each hath giv'n thee law,
The Frenchman bound thee to his galling yoke —
The Spaniard sacked and plundered thee! Alasl
Hast thou cast off the yoke of foreign foes
To feel the keener pang — the deadlier lage —
The agony of fierce domestic faction ?
Rent were thy chains, and Freedom waved her wand
Over thy coasts, that straight like Lden bloomed!
And from the base of daik blue Appeninc
Thy maible palaces looked biiglitly forth
Upon the sea, that mirrored them again,
Till the rough mariner foigot his helm
To gaze and wonder at thy loveliness!
The Moloch, Faction, enters, and in blood
Of brethren is this smiling Fden steeped!
Crumble the gilded spiie, and gorgeous roof;
With one wide ruin they deform the land,
And mark the desolate shore, like monuments!
Staunched now, these cruel self-inflicted wounds;
Staunched is mine own hereditary feud;
Nor Doiia, nor Spinola ; Gliibeline,
Nor Guelph ; distuib thee with new tragedies.
Th' Adorni and Frcgoso — lames that served
As rallying points to faction — are no mo:e.
Now, that thou hail'st the dawn of liberty,
Say, Oh, my Country ! shall a facitor mar,
With hellish, spite, thy dearly {.y1 chased peace?
Mr. Elliott's prose sketches of the piscatory
scenes of his ocean vicinity are clever Sporting
Magazine paper-, lively and picturesque ; with a
speciality of the author's own in the gigantic
game with which he has identified himself of the
Devil Fishing of Port Royal Sound. The follow-
ing will show the quality of the sport.
I bad left the cruising ground but a few days,
when a party was formed, in July, 1844, to engage
in this sport. Kath. Heyward, Jun., J. G. Barnwell,
E. B. Means, and my son, Thos. R. S. Elliott, were
respectively in command of a boat each, accompa-
nied by several of their friends. While these boats
were lying on their oars, expecting the approach of
the fish, one showed himself far ahead, and they all
started from their several stations in pursuit. It
■was my son's fortune to reach him first. His har-
poon had scarcely pierced him, when the fish made
a demivault in the air, and, in his descent, struck
the boat violently with one of his wii gs. Had he
fallen perpendicularly on the boat, it must have been
crushed, to the imminent peril of all on board. As
it happened, the blow fell aslant upon the bow, — and
the effect was to drive her astern with such force,
that James Cuthbert, Esq., of Pocotnligo, who was
at the helm, was pitched forward at full length on
the platform. Each oarsman was thrown forward
beyond the seat he occupied; and my eon, who was
standing on the forecastle, was projected far beyond
the bow of the boat. He fell, not into the sea, but
directly upon the back of the Devil-fish, who lay in
full sprawl on the surface. For some seconds Tom
lay out of water, on this veritable Kraken, but hap-
pily made his escape without being entangled in the
cordage, or receiving a parting salute from his for-
midable wings. My son was an expert swimmer,
and struck off for the boat. The fish meantime had
darted beneath, and was drawing her astern. My
henchman Dick, who was the first to recover his
wits, tossed overboard a coil of rope and extended
on oar, the blade of which was seized by my son,
who thus secured his retreat to the boat. He had
no sooner gained fcotii g. in it, than, standi] g on
the forecastle, he gave three hearty cheeis, and thus
assured his companions of his safety, 'ihey, mean-
time, from their several boats, had seen Lis reii.ous
situation, without the chance of assistii g him ; — their
oarsmen, when ordered to pull ahead, stood amazed
or stupefied, and uioppii g their cms nr.d jaws, cried
out, "Great king Mass Tom oveiboaid! !" fco in-
tense was their curiosity to see how (he affair w culd
end, that they entiiely ioigot hew much might de-
pend on their own eh'oits. Could ihey have lowed
and looked at the tame time, it would have been all
very well ; but to turn their hac ks on arch a jt grant,
every incident of -which they were to keenly bent
on obeervii g, was exp.ectii g too much from Airican
forethought and Eelf-j ossession !
In a few minutes, 1113- son found himself surrounded
by his companions, whose to'atsweie closely gioi ped
around. Ihey threw themselves into action, wiih a
vivacity which showed that tl.ey weie disposed to
punish the fish for the 11 Eolei.ce of his attack, — they
allowed him but sloit time. for shiift, bi.i1; fofiiig
him to the suifaee, filled his body with their lcfent-
ful weapons, — then, joinii g their Ibices, diew him .
rapidly to the shore, and landed him, amidst shouts
and cheerii gs, at Mrs. Elliott's, Hilton Head. He
measured sixteen feet acioss!
To this we may add the striking introduction
of General Charles Cotesworth Pinckney's island
residence in an account of another fishing excur-
sion in the sound.
A third fishing-line was formerly drawn by placing
the last ] ines on the Hilton Head beach in laigo
with the mansion-house of Gen. C. C. Pheknoy, on
1'inckney Island. Lutlhis mai sion 1 0 loi ger exists:
it was swept away in one of the feaiful hunicai es
that vex our coast! 1o this spot, that steiliig pa-
triot and lion-hearted soldier ictired ium the aiei a
of political strife, to s] ei d tl e evei.ii g of his ds.ys
in social enjoyment and liteiaiy lclaxation. On a
small island, attached to the laigcr one, which bears
his name, and which, jutting out into the bay, af-
forded a delightful view of the ocean, he fixed his
lesidence! Ulieie, in tie midst of fines ts of cak,
laurel and palmetto, the giowth of centrales, his
mansion-house was ei ectcd. '1 1 ei e si cod the h:boia-
toiy, with its nppaiatus for chemical experiments, —
the library, stoied with woiks of science in vaiious
tongues; theie bloomed the nursery for exotics;
and theie was found each other appliance, with
which taste and intelligence smiound the abodes of
wealth. It is melancholy to icfiect on the niter
destruction that followed ; even before the v en ei able
proprietor had been gatl.eied to his fathers! 'the
ocean swallowed up e\ erytliii.gr: and it is liteially
true, that the sea monster 1 ow flaps his wii gs over
the very spot where his hcaith-stoi e was placed, —
where the rites of an elegant hospitality were so
unstintedly dispensed, — and where the delighted
guest listened to many an instructive anecdote, and
unrecorded yet significant incident of the revo-
lutionary period, as they flowed fiom the cheerful
lips of thepatiiot. It aignes 1.0 defect of judgment
in Gen. Pinekney, that he lavished such ex] ci.se on
a situation thus exposed. Ill stroi g pioctical sense
he was surpassed by no man. It was, 111 truth, his
characteristic. He built where trees of a ceitmy's
growth gave promise of stability ; but, in our South-
ern Atlantic borders, he who builds 6troi gest, does
not build on rock, — for among the shifting sands of
our coast, old channels are closed, and new ones
worn, by the prevailing winds and currents, throngh
SAMUEL JACKSON GARDNER ; WILLIAM J. GRAYSON.
103
■which the -waters are poured, during the storms of
the equh.ox, with a force that nothing can resist.
True to liis antecedents, Mr. Elliott wielded in
1851, in his letters of "Agricola," the same effec-
tive pen against secession which he had so ener-
getically pointed in 1831 against nullification.
SAMUEL JACKSON GAEDNEB.
Samuel Jaokson Gardner was born at Brook-
line, near Boston, Massachusetts, the ninth day of
July, 1788 ; a descendant of one of the early set-
tlers of the name in New England, and on the mo-
ther's side from Edward Jackson, who came from
England in 1G42. He was educated at Harvard;
pursued the practice of the law for several years ;
was elected more than once to the legislature of
his native state, but manifested an early repug-
nance to public life. Sine?, he has resided in New
York and has been a frequent contributor and
(during the absence of Mr. Kinney, its editor, in
Europe) the efficient conductor of the Newark
Daily Advertiser. His essays, with the signature
of "Decius," chiefly appearing in that journal, and
occasionally in the Literary World, are written
with ease and ingenuity on miscellaneous subjects,
political economy topics, the principles of govern-
ment, literature, manners; sometimes in a serious
and moral, at other times in a critical, satirical,
humorous vein. He has also written some fugi-
tive poetry. His writings, always anonymous,
have never been collected into a volume.
His son, Augustus K. Gardner, a physician in
New York, is the author of a clever volume
of sketches of Parisian life, published after a
tour in France in 1848, with the title of Old
Wine in New Bottles. He is also the author
of several medical essays and tracts on civic
hygiene.
WILLIAM J. GEATSON
Was born in November, 1788, in Beaufort, S. C.
His father, a de-eendaut of one of the earliest
settlers in that portion of the state in which the
colonists under Sayle first landed, was an officer
in the Continental army to the close of the Revolu-
tion. The son was educated at the South Caro-
lina College ; in 1813 was elected to the State
House of Representatives, and was subsequently
admitted to the bar at Charleston. In 1831 he
was elected to the Senate of his state, and, in
the controversy which then agitated the country
on the subject of the tariff, took part with those
who held that the reserved rights of the state
gave it the power to determine when its grants
for government to the federal authorities were
violated, and how those violations should be ar-
rested within its own limits. He was a temper-
ate and uuuerate advocate of this view of the
question in controversy, and never disposed to
push it to the extreme of civil war, or a dissolu-
tion of the Union. In 1833 he was elected a
member of Congress from the districts of Beau-
fort and Colleton, holding his seat for four years.
In 1811 he was appointed collector of the port
of Charleston by President Tyler, was re-appointed
by President Polk, and removed by President
Pierce from party considerations.
In 1850, at the height of the secession agita-
tion, Mr. Grayson published in a pamphlet a
Letter to Governor Seabrooh, deprecating the
threatened movement, and pointing out the greater
evils of disunion.
Mr. Grayson is a lover and cultivator of litera-
ture. He has been for some years an occasional
contributor to the Southern Review, and a fre-
quent writer in the dady press. In 1851 ho pub-
lished a didactic poem entitled jf' he Hireling and
the Slave, the object of which is to compare the
condition and advantages of the negro in his
state of servitude at the South, with the frequent
condition of the pauper laborer of Europe. This,
however, though "it gives name to the poem, is
not its entire argument. It contains also an
idyllic picture of rural life at the South as shared
by the negro in his participation of its sports and
enjoyments. This is handled in a pleasing man-
ner; as tho author describes the fishing and
hunting scenes of his native region bordering on
the coast. An episode introduces a sketch of
General Charles Cotesworth Pinckney on his re-
tirement at his " island home." From tho de-
scriptive portions we select this picture of
A SUNDAY SCENE AT THE SOUTIL
nis too the Christian privilege to share
The weekly festival of praise and prayer;
For him the Sabbath shines with holier light,
The air is balmier, and the sky more bright;
Winter's brief suns with warmer radiance glow,
With softer breath the gales of autumn blow,
Spring with new flowers more richly strews tho
ground,
And summer spreads a fresher verdure round ;
The early shower is past; the joyous breeze
Shakes pattering rain drops from the rustling
trees,
And with the sun, the fragrant offerings rise,
From Nature's censers to the bounteous skies;
With cheerful aspect, in his best array,
To the far forest church he takes his way;
With kind salute the passing neighbour meets,
With awkward grace the morning traveller greets.
And joined by crowds, that gather as he goes,
Seeks the calm joy the Sabbath morn bestows.
There no proud temples to devotion rise,
With marble domes that emulate the skies ;
But bosomed in primeval trees that spread,
Their limbs o'er mouldering mansions of the dead,
Moss-cinctured oaks and solemn pines between,
Of modest wood, the house of God is seen,
By shaded springs, that from the sloping laud
Bubble and sparkle through the silver sand,
Where high o'erarching laurel blossoms blow,
Where fragrant bays breathe kindred sweets be-
low,
And elm and nsh their blended arms entwine
With the bright foliage of the mantling vine :
In quiet chat, before the hour of prayer,
Masters and Skives in scattered groups appear;
Loosed from the carriage, in the shades around,
Impatient horses neigh and paw the ground ;
No city discords break the silence here,
No sounds unmeet offend the listener's ear ;
But rural melodies of flocks and birds,
The lowing, far and faint, of distant herds,
The mocking bird, with minstrel pride elate,
The partridge whistling for its absent mate.
The thrush's soft solitary notes prolong,
Bold, merry blackbirds swell the general song,
And cautious crows their harsher voices join,
In concert cawing, from the loftiest pine.
101
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
tOSriVEESITT OF NOETII CAEOLINA.
The University of North Carolina was established
by the Legislature of the state on the 11th of De-
cember, 1789. Forty of the most influential men
of the state were incorporated as trustees, and
held their first meeting in the town of Fayetteville
in November of the next year, making it their ear-
liest business to devise the means needful for the
support of the Institution, and to determine upon
a place for its location.
Immediately alter the University was charter-
ed, the Legislature granted to the trustees all es-
cheated property, and all arrearages due to the
state from receiving officers of the late and pre-
sent governments up to Jan. 1, 17S3, which grant
was afterwards extended to Dec. 1799, together
with all moneys in executors' and administrators'
hands unclaimed by legatees. The site of the
University, after much deliberation, was fixed at
Chapel Hill in the county of Orange, about twen-
ty-eight miles west of Raleigh. This ] lace is cen-
tral to the territory and population of the state,
and is unrivalled for the beauty of its situation on
an elevated range of hills, the purity of its air,
and the healthfulness of its climate. Great inter-
est in the welfare and prospects of the infant In-
stitution was manifested throughout the commu-
nity. Generous individuals gave large sums of
money and valuable tracts of land for its support ;
and the ladies of the two principal towns of Ra-
leigh and NeWbern presented it with mathema-
tical instruments, pledging themselves never to be
indifferent to its objects and interests. Many gen-
tlemen gave valuable books for the library ; and
the Legislature from 'time to time increased and
renewed its properties and privileges.
The first college edifice being sufficiently com-
pleted in 1794 to accommodate students, its doors
were opened and instruction commenced in Feb-
ruary, 1795. The Rev. David Kerr, a graduate
of Trinity College, Dublin, was the first professor,
assisted in the preparatory department by Samuel
A. Holmes. Shortly after, Charles W. Harris, a
graduate of the College of New Jersey, was elect-
ed to the professorship of Mathematics, which
chair he occupied for only one year. There was
of necessity much to be done in devising, arrang-
ing, and carrying out the most practicable-systems
of instruction, and of prudential government — a
work demanding much practical ability and un-
wavering devotion to the best interests of the
University.
At this early crisis, Mr. Joseph Caldwell, then
a young man but twenty -three years of age, was
introduced to the notice of the trustees, having
already acquired a high reputation for talents,
scholarship, and success, in teaching. This gen-
tleman was born in Lamington, New Jersey,
April 21, 1773; entered the college at Princeton
at the age of fourteen, and was graduated in 1791,
having the Salutatory Oration in Latin assigned
him. Having served his alma mater with much
reputation as Tutor for several years, he was in
1796 elected to the principal professorship in the
University of N. C. Thenceforward the history
of his life becomes the history of the Institution.
For nearly forty years be devoted his best ener-
gies to the promotion of its interests, and the cause
of education generally throughout the state of bis
adoption; and to his administrative skill and un-
tiring zeal, its present high position and prosperity
are greatly owing. Under his care, the prospects
of the University speedily brightened and flourish-
ed, and in 1804 the trustees signified their appre-
ciation of his services by electing him president — ■
the first who had filled that office. This chair bo
retained till the time of bis death in 1835, with
the exception of four years from 1812 to 1816,
during which period he retired voluntarily to
the professorship of Mathematics, for the sake of
relief from cares and opportunity to prosecute the
study of Theology. Meantime the presidential
chair was filial by the Rev. Robert H. Chapman,
D.D. Upon that gentleman's resignation in 1816,
Mr. Caldwell was again elected to the presidency,
at which time his alma mater conferred on him a
Doctorate in Divinity, aid he thencelorth took
an elevated rank among scholars and divines of
the Presbyterian church.
From the time of Dr. Caldwell's first connexion
with the University, almost everything of inter-
est in its progress and government was submitted
to his consideration. He alone digested and made
practicable the various plans of particular instruc-
tion, of internal policy and discipline. He raised
the grade of scholarship and re-arranged the curri-
culum so as to embrace a period of four years with
the usual division of classes. The first anniversa-
ry Commencement was in 1798, with a graduating
class of nine. The greatest good of the Universi-
ty, and indeed the general progress and intellec-
tual improvement of the state, were ever the most
engrossing objects of Dr. Caldw ell's care ; and
with untiring perseverance and fidelity, hepresent-
ed the claims of education to the community, and
appealed to their liberality for its support.
In 1821, the Board of Trustees was increased to
si sty-five, the governor of the state being ex officio
their President, and all vacancies occurring to be
filled by a joint ballot of the two houses of Assem-
bly. The actual government of the University,
however, is vested in an executive committee of
seven of the trustees, With the governor always as
their presiding officer.
In 1824, Dr. Caldwell visited Europe for the
purpose of increasing the Libraiy, and forming
cabinets, and procuring a very valuable philoso-
phical apparatus constructed under his own in-
spection. To these has since been added a cabi-
net of minerals purchased in Vienna. On the
death of Dr. Caldwell, January 28, 1835, for a
few months the duties of the presidency were
discharged by the senior jirofe.-sor, Dr. Mitchell,
when the trustees elected to that office the Hon.
David L. Swain, a native of Buncombe county,
who, though comparatively a j'oung man, had
served the state with distinction in the Legisla-
ture and on the Superior Court bench, from which
he was elected Governor for the years 1833, '34,
'35. He entered on the office of the presidency
of the University in January, 1836, and from that
time to the present the Institution has been stea-
dily advancing in reputation, influence, and num-
bers. It is a fortunate circumstance in the history
of this University, that for a period of nearly six-
ty years its government has been administered by
two incumbents both so well qualified for the of-
fice as Dr. Caldwell and Gov. Swain.
The number of students having greatly increas-
ed, additions have from time to time been made
UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA.
105
■*£> ~
University of North Carolina.
in the means of accommodation and instruction,
and to the Faculty. The college buildings are now
six in number, located on a beautiful and com-
manding site, so as to form a hollow square, in-
closing a large area or lawn surrounded by groves
of native growth. The grounds are tastefully dis-
posed and ornamented with choice shrubs and
flowers, and the lawn slopes gradually from the
buildings, several hundred yards:, to the main
street of the village of Chapel Hill. A hall has
lately been erected for the reception of the Uni-
versity Library, liberal appropriations having been
made fir valuable additions. The two literary so-
cieties belonging to the students are also accommo-
dated with imposing edifices; and the number of
volumes in their libraries, and that of the Univer-
sity together, amounts to about fifteen thousand*
Tiie College students now (1855) number
two hundred and eighty-one from fifteen different
states in the Union, as ascertained by the last an-
nual catalogue ; the whole number of graduates
since 1795 is eleven hundred and fifty-five. The
number of matriculates has been estimated to be
nearly twice that of graduates. The executive
Faculty number at present sixteen, of whom the
senior professor, Dr. E. Mitchell, Professor of
Chemistry, Geology, and Mineralogy, a native of
Connecticut and graduate of Yale College, has
been connected with the Institution for thirty-
seven years ; and Dr. Phillips, Professor of Mathe-
matics and Natural Philosophy, a native of Essex
county, England, has filled his present chair for
twenty-nine years. Professorships of Civil Engi-
neering and of Agricultural Chemistry have late-
ly been established. The Department of Law is un-
der the charge of the Hon. William IT. Battle, one of
the judges of the Supreme Court, and a regular
course of lectures on international and constitu-
tional Law is delivered to the Senior undergra-
duates towards the close of their second term by
the president.
* Our drawing of the Colleze buildings and grounds lias Wn
kindly furnished by Miss Phillips, daughter of the venerable
Mathematical professor of the Institution.
In 1837, the Trustees, with a liberality at that
time without example, authorized the Faculty to
admit gratuitously to the advantages of the Insti-
tution, all young men of fair character and ability
who are natives of the state, and unable to defray
the expenses incident to a college education.
About fifteen have annually availed themsdves
of this liberality, many of whom now occupy with
honor places of trust among their fellow citizens.
The number of Alumni who have attained dis-
tinction in public life will compare favorably with
those who have gone forth from similar institu-
tions in any part of the Union. At the last an-
nual Commencement, six ex-Governors of this and
other states were in the procession of the Alumni
Association. Among numerous interesting inci-
dents connected with the history of the Univer-
sity, which were presented in the cor.r>e of a lec-
ture delivered in the hall of the House of Com-
mons since the beginning of the present session,
it was remarked that among the alumni pf the
college were one of the late presidents, Polk, and
one of the late vice-presidents of the United States,
W. R. King; the present Secretary of the Navy,
James C. Dobbin, and the Minister to France,
John Y. Mason ; the Governor, the Public Trea-
surer and Comptroller, two of the three Supreme
and six of the seven Superior Court Judges, the
Attorney-General, and nearly a fourth of the
members of the General Assembly of the state of
North Carolina.
It is not less noticeable that among the distin-
guished clergymen of various denominations who
received their academical training in these Halls,
and who are at present prominently before the
public, the institution can refer to one whose re-
putation is established at home and abroad as a
model of pulpit eloquence — the Rev. Francis L.
Hawks, and to five Bishops of the Protestant Epis-
copal Church, with which he is connected — J. H.
Otey of Tennessee, Leonidas Polk of Arkansas,
Cicero S. Hawks of Missouri, W. M. Green of
Mississippi, Thomas F. Davis of South Caro-
lina.
106
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
■WILLIAM JAY.
"William Jat, the second son of Chief-justice
Jay, was Lorn June 16,' 1789. He studied the
classics with the Rev. Thomas Ellison of Albany,
the early friend of Bishop Chase, and at New
Haven with the Rev. Mr. Davis, afterwards Pre-
sident of Hamilton College. After completing
his course at Yale in 1808, he read law at Albany
in the office of Mr. John B. Henry, until com-
pelled by an affection of the eyes to abandon
study, he retired to his father's country-seat at
Bedford, with whom he resided until the death
of the hitter in 1S29, when he succeeded to the
estate, which has since been his principal residence,
In 1812 he married the daughter of John Mc-
Vickar, a New York merchant. lie was ap-
pointed First Judge of the County of Westches-
ter by Governor Tompkins, and successively re-
appointed by Clinton, Marcy, and Van Buren.
Judge Jay has throughout his life been a pro-
minent opponent of slavery, and has, in this con-
nexion, published numerous addresses and pam-
phlets, several of which have been collected by
him in his Miscellaneous Writings on Slavery,
published at Boston in 1S54. He was one of the
founders of the American Bible Society, has been
President of the American Peace Society, is an ac-
tive member of the Agricultural Society of West-
chester, and of other associations of a similar cha-
racter. In 1832 ho published The Life and Wri-
tings of John Jan, in, two volumes 8vo., a careful
presentation of the career of his distinguished
father with extracts from the correspondence and
papers, which were bequeathed to the sons Peter
A. and William Jay.
John Jay, the son of William Jay, born June
23, 1817, a graduate of Columbia College in 1836,
is the author of several pamphlets on the Slavery
question, and on the right of the delegates of
churches composed of colored persons to seats iu
the convention of the Protestant Episcopal Church
of the Diocese of New York.
EICHAED IIENET WILDE.
Tms fine scholar and delicate poet, who shared
the accomplishments of literature with the active
pur-uits of legal and political life, was born in the
city of Dublin, September 24, 1789. His mo-
ther's family, the Newitts, were strong Royalists.
One of them, his uncle John Hewitt, had been
settled in America, and on the breaking out of
the Revolutionary war had sold his flour mills
upon the Hudson and returned to Ireland. His
father, Richard Wilde, was a hardware merchant
in Dublin, who, when he had resolved to come to
America, thinking it possible that he might not
like the new country and would return, left his
business unclosed in the hands of a partner. He
arrived at Baltimore in January, 1797, in a ship
which he had freighted with goods on a joint
venture with the rtiptain, who owned the vessel.
On lauding, ship and cargo were seized as the pro-
perty of the captain, and Mr. Wilde recovered his
interest only after a long and expensive litigation.
In addition to this misfortune, the rebellion of
1798 broke, out at this time, when his Dublin
partner was' convicted of high treason and the
property in his hands confiscated. Not long after
this Richard Wilde died in 1802. His widow, the
following year, removed to Augusta, Georgia,
where she opened a small store to supply the ne-
cessities of the family, in which her son, Richard
Henry, attended as clerk during the day, while
he actively pursued his studies at night. In 1806
Mrs. Wilde visited Ireland with the hope of reco-
vering some portion of the large fortune of her
husband, but returned unsuccessful the same year.
She died in 1815, but a few months before her
son was elected to Congress.
It was to his mother that Wilde owed his early
education, and from her he inherited his poet-
ical talents. Many of her verses, remarkable for
their vigor of thought and beauty of expre-sion,
are preserved among the papers of the family.
Wilde early directed his attention to the law
while assisting his mother in Augusta. Delicate
in constitution he studied laboriously, and before
the age of twenty, by his solitary exertions, had
qualified himself for admission to the bar in South
Carolina. That his mother might not be mortified
at his defeat, if he failed, he presented himself at
the Green Superior Court, where he successfully
passed a rigorous examination by Justice Early
in the March term of 1809. He soon took an ac-
tive part in his profession, and was elected Attor-
ney-General of the State. In 1815 he was elected
to the national House of Representatives, where
he served for a single term. He was again in
Congress from 1828 to 1835, maintaining the po-
sition of an independent thinker, well fortified in
his opinions, though speaking but seldom. His
course on the Force Bill of Jackson's administra-
tion, which he opposed, and in which he differed
from the views of his constituents, led to his with-
drawal from Congress.
■".-M^i^
a^^^^^^M^C
He next went abroad and passed five years,
from 1835 to 1840, in Europe, residing most of
the time in Florence, where he pursued to great
advantage his favorite studies in Italian literature.
He had free access to all the public libraries, be-
sides the archives of the Medici family and the
RICHARD HENRY WILDE.
107
private collection of the Grand Duke, a favor
seldom grunted to a stranger. The large number
of liia manuscript notes and extracts from the
Laurentian, Magliub-'Cehian, and the library of
the Reformagiono, show how in.defatiga.bly his
studies wore pursued. His curious search was at
length rewarded by the discovery of a number of
documents connected with the life and times of
Dante which had previously escaped attention.
He was enabled also to set on foot an investiga-
tion which resulted in the discovery of an original
painting by Giotto, of the author of the Divina
Oommedia. Having learnt, on the authority of an
old biographer of the poet, that Giotto had once
painted a portrait of Dante on the wall of the
chapel of the Bargdlo, he communicated the fact
to Mr. G. A. Bezzi, when a subscription was taken
up among their friends for its recovery. After a
sufficient sum wa< collected to begin the work,
permission was obtained from the government
to remove the whitewash w'th which the walls
were covered, when, after a Lbor of some months,
two sides of the room having been previously ex-
amined, upon the third the portrait was disco-
vered. The government then took the enterprise
in hand and completed the undertaking. Mr.
"Wilde commenced a life of Dante, one volume
only of which was written and which remains in
manuscript.
At Florenco ho had among his friends many of
the most learned aid distinguished men of the
day, including Ciampi, Mannini, Cappoui, Ecgio,
and others.
Besides his investigation in the literature of
Dante he male a special study of the vexed ques-
tion connected with the life of Tasso. The result
of thu he gave to the public on his return to
America in his Conjectures and Researches con-
csrnixg the Lose, Mildness, and Imprisonment of
Torquato Tusso* a work of diligent scholarship,
in which the elaborate argument is enlivened by
the elegance of the frequent original translations
of the sonnets. In this he maintains the sanity
of Tasso, and traces the progress of the intrigue
with the Princess Leonora D'Este as the key of
the poet's difficulties.
Mr. Wilde removed to New Orleans, and was
admitted to the b ir in January, 184-t, and on the
organization of the Law Department of the Uni-
versity was appointed Profe-sor of Common
Liw. He applied himself vigorously to the sci-
e ca of the civil law, became engaged in various
important cases, and was rapidly acquiring a high
position as a civilian at the time of his death,
which occurred in the city of New Orleans, Sep-
tember 10, 1847.
In addition to the writings which have been
mentioned, Mr. Wilde wrote for the Southern Re-
view an article on Petrarch, was an occasional
contributor of verses to the magazines, and left
numerous choice and valuable manuscripts un-
published. Among the latter are various minor
poemsj a distinct finished poem of some four cantos
entitled Hesperia, and a collection of Italian lyrics,
which were to have been accompanied with lives
of the poets from whom they were translated.
The translations are nearly complete.
While abroad Mr. Wilde collected a large and
* Two vols. 12mo. New York : A. V. Blake. 1842.
valuable library of books and MSS., principally
relating to Italian literature, many of which have
numerous marginal notes from his pen. A me-
moir (to bo accompanied by a collection of tho
author's poems) is understood to be on the ovo of
publication, from the pen of his eldest son William
C. Wilde, a gentleman of literary tastes and culti-
vation, eminently qualified to do justice to his
father's memory. To another son, John P. Wilde,
a lawyer of New Orleans, wo are indebted in ad-
vance of this publication for the interesting and
authentic details which we have given.
Theso show a life of passionate earnestness,
rising under great disadvantage to tho honors of
the most distinguished scholar-hip, and asserting
an eminent position in public and professional life.
In what was more peculiarly individual to tho
man, his exquisite tastes and sensibilities, tho
poetical extracts, tho translations and original
poems which wo shall give, will speak for them-
selves.
BONNETS TRANSLATED FROM TASSO.
To Vw Ducltess of Ferrara who appeared masked ai a fete.
'Twas Night, and underneath her starry vest
The pratdhig Love; were hidden, and their arts
Practised so cunningly o:i our hearts,
That never felt they sweeter scorn and jest:
Thousands of amorous thefts their skill attest —
All kindly hidden by the gloom from day,
A thousand visions i.i each trembling ray
flitted around, ia bright false splendor d.rest.
Tho clear pure moon rolled on her starry way
Without a cloud to dim her silver light,
And UiGii-::or.x Bg.u;ty made our revels g:iy —
Reflecting back on heaven beams as brig.it,
Which oven with the dawn fled not away —
When chased tho Lun sueh lovely Guosrs from
Night
On two Beautiful Ladies, one Gay and one Sad.
I saw two ladies once — illustrious, rare —
One a sad sua ; her beauties at mid-day
In clouds concealed; the other, bright and gay,
Gladdene 1, Aurora-like, earth, sea, and air;
One hid her light, lest men should call her fair,
And of her p:-aises no reflected ray
Suffered to cross her own celestial way —
To charm and to be charmed, the other's care;
Yet this her loveliness veiled not so well,
But forth it broke. Kor could the other show
All Hues, which wearied mirrors did not tell;
Kor of this one could I be silent, though
Bidden in ire — nor that one's triumphs swell,
Since my tired verse, o'ertasked, refused to flow.
To Alphonso, Duke of Ferrara.
At thy loved name my voice grows loud and clear,
Fluent my tongue, as thou art wise and strong.
And soaring far above the clouds my song:
But soon it droops, languid and faint to hear;
And if thou conquerest not my fate, I fear,
Invincible Ali'iionso I Fate ere long
Will conquer me — freezing in Death my tongue
And closing eyes, now opened with a tear.
Nor dying merely grieves me, let me own,
But to die thus — with faith of dubious sound.
And buried name, to future times unknown.
In tomb or pyramid, of brass or stone.
For this, no consolation could be found;
My monument I sought in verse alone.
108
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
TO THE MOCKING-BIRD.
Wing'd mimic of the woods ! thou motley fool !
Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe?
Thine ever ready notes of ridicule
Pursue thy fellows still with jest and gibe.
Wit, sophist, songster, Yokicic of thy tribe,
Thou sportive satirist of Nature's school ;
To thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe,
Areh-mocl:er and mad Abbot of Misrule !
For such thou art by day — but all night long
Thou pour'st a soft, sweet, pensive, solemn strain,
As if thou didst in this thy moonlight song
Like to the melancholy Jacques complain,
Musi: g on falsehood, folly, vice, and wrong,
And sighing for thy motley coat again.
6TAHZA6.
My life is like the summer rose
That opens to the morning sky,
But ere the shades of evening close,
Is scatter'd on the ground — to die!
Yet on the rose's huuib'e bed
The sweetest dews of night are shed,
As if she wept the waste to see —
But none shall weep a tear fur me!
My life is like the autumn leaf
That trembles in the moon's pale ray,
Its hold is frail — its date is brief,
Eestless — and soon to pass away !
Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade,
The parent tree will mourn its shade,
The winds bewail the leafless tree,
But none shall breathe a sigh for me !
My life is like the prints, which feet
Have left on Tampa's desert strand ;
Soon as the rising tide shall beat,
All trace will vanish from the sand ;
Yet, as if grieving to efface
All vestige of the human race,
On that lone shore loud moans the sea,
But none, alas ! shall mourn for me 1-
JAMES FEXIJIOEE COOPEE.
James Fenimoiie Cooper was born at Burlington,
New Jersey, September 15, 1789. He was the
descendant of an English family who settled at
that place in 1679. His father, Judge William
Cooper, was born in Pennsylvania, whither a por-
tion of the family had removed, but in early life
selected the old family hsjjme at Burlington as
his residence. He was a injjh of high social posi-
tion, and became possessed in 1785 of a large
tract of land in the neighborhood of Otsego lake,
in the State of New York. A settlement was
formed to which he gave the name of Coopers-N, _
town, and in 1790 removed his family thither.
He was the leading man of the place, and in 1795
and 1799 represented the district in Congress.
It was in this frontier home surrounded by
noble scenery, and a population composed of ad-
venturous settlers, hardy trappers, and the rem-
nant of the noble Indian tribes who were once
sole lords of the domain, that the novelist passed
his boyhood to his thirteenth year. It was a good
school for his future calling. At the age men-
tioned he entered Yale College, where he re-
mained three years, maintaining notwithstanding
Ms youth a good position in his class, when he
obtained a midshipman's commission and entered
the navy. The six following years of his life
were passed in that servios, and he was thus early
and thoroughly familiarized with the second great
field of his future literary career.
In 1811 he resigned his commission, married
Miss De Lancey, a member of an old and leading
family of the State of New York, and sister to
the present bishop of its western diocese, and set-
tled down to a home life in the village of Mama-
rcneck, near the city of New York. It was not
long after that, almost accidentally, his literary
career commenced. He had been reading an
English novel to his wife, when, on laying aside
the book, he remarked that he believed that he
could write a better story himself. He forth-
with proceeded to test the matter, and produced
Precaution. The manuscript was completed, he
informs us, without any intention of publication.
He was, however, induced by the advice of his
wife, and his friend Charles Wilkes, in whom he
placed great confidence, to issue the work. It
appeared, sadly deformed by misprints.
Precaution is a story on the old pattern of Eng-
lish rural life, the scene alternating between the
hall, the parsonage, and other upper-class regions
of a country town. A scene on the deekof a
man-of-war, bringing her prizes into port, is al-
most the only indication of the writer's true
strength. It is a respectable novel, offering little
or no scope for comment, and was slightly valued
then or afterwards by its author.
2,3.
4st* £/*-»"• an~-C-
CenJJiH"
In 1821 he published The Spy, a Tale of tJit
Neutral Ground, a region familiar to him by his
residence within its borders. Harvey Birch, the
spy, is a portrait from life of a revolutionary
patriot, who was willing to risk his life and to
subject his character to temporary suspicion for
the service of his country. He appears in the
novel as a pedlar, with a keen eye to trade as
well as the movements of the enemy. The
claim of Enoch Crosby, a native of Danbury,
who was employed in this manner in the war,
to be the original of this character, has been set
forth with much show of probability by a writer,
Captain H. L. Barmim, in a small volume entitled
The Spy Unmasked, containing an, interesting
biography, but the matter has never been defini-
tively settled, Cooper leaving the subject in doubt
JAMES FENIMOKE COOPER.
109
in the preface to the revised edition of the novel
in 1849. The rugged, homely worth of Harvey
Birch, his native shrewdness combined with he-
roic boldness, which develops itself in deeds, not
in the heroic speeches which an ordinary novel-
ist would have placed in his mouth, the dignified
presentation of Washington in the slight disguise
of the assumed name of Harper, the spirit of the
battle scenes and hairbreadth escapes which
abound in the narrative, the pleasant and truth-
ful home scenes of the country mansion, place the
Spy in the foremost rank of fiction. Its patriotic
theme, a novelty at the time in the works of
American romance, aided the impression made
by its intrinsic merits.
It was followed, two years later, by The Pio-
neers ; or, the Sources of the Susquehanna, a De-
scriptive Tale, In this the author drew on the
earl.y recollections of his life. He lias described
with minuteness the scenery which surrounded
his father's residence, and probably some of its
visitors and occupants. The best known charac-
ter of the story is the world-renowned Leather-
stocking, the noble pioneer, the chevalier of the
woods. The author has aimed in this character
at combining the heroic with the practical. Lea-
ther-stocking has the rude dialect of a backwoods-
man, unformed, almost uneducated, by schools.
He is before us in his native simplicity and na-
tive vigor, as free from the trickery of art as the
trees which surround him. He was a new actor
on the crowded stage of fiction, who at once
commanded hearing and applause. The Pioneers
well redeems its title of a descriptive tale, by its
animated presentation of the vigorous and pictu-
resque country life of its time and place, and
its equally successful delineations of natural
scenery.
The Pilot, the first of the sea novels, next ap-
peared. It originated from a conversation of the
author with his friend Wilkes on the naval inaccu-
racies of the recently published novel of the Pirate.
Cooper's attention thus drawn to this field of com-
position, he determined to see how far he could
meet his own requirements. The work extended
its writer's reputation, not only by showing the
new field of which he was master, but by its evi-
dences, surpassing any he had yet given, of power
and energy. The ships, with whose fortunes we
have to do in this story, interest us like creatures
of flesh and blood. We watch the chase and the
fight like those who have a personal interest in the
conflict, as if ourselves a part of the crew, with
life and honor in the issue. Long Tom Coffin is
probably the most widely-known sailor character
in existence. He is an example of the heroic in
action, like Leather-stocking losing not a whit of
his individuality of body and mind in his noble-
ness of soul.
Lionel Lincoln, the next novel, was a second
attempt in the revolutionary field of the Spy,
which did not share in treatment or reception
with its success.
It wns followed in the same year by The Last
of the Mohicans, a Narrative of 1757, in which
we again meet Leather-stocking, in an early age
of his career, and find the Indians, of whom we
have had occasional glimpses in the Pioneers, in
almost undisturbed possession of their hunting-
grounds. In this story Cooper increased his hold
on the young, the true public of the romantic no-
velist, by the spirit of his delineations of forest life.
He has met objections which have been raised
by maturer critics to his representations of the
Aborigines in this and other works, in the fol-
lowing i passage in the " Preface to the Leather-
stocking Tales," published in 1S50.
It has been objected to these books that they give
a more favorable picture of the red man than he
deserves. The writer apprehends that much of this
objection arises from the habits of those who have
made it. One of his critics, on the appearance of
the first work in which Indian character was por-
trayed, objected that its " characters were Indians
of the school of Heckewelder, rather than of the
school of nature." These words quite probably con-
tain the substance of the true answer to the objec-
tion. Heckewelder was an ardent, benevolent mis-
sionary, bent on the good of the red man, and seeing
in him one who had the soul, reason, and character-
istics of a fellow-being. The critic is understood
to have been a very distinguished agent of the go-
vernment, one very familiar witli Indians, as they
are seen at the councils to treat for the sale of their
lands, where little or none of their domestic quali-
ties come in play, and where indeed their evil pas-
sions are known to have the fullest scope. As just
would it be to draw conclusions of the general state
of American society from the scenes of the capital,
as to suppose that the negotiating of one of these
treaties is a fair picture of Indian life.
It is the privilege of all writers of fiction, more
particularly when their works aspire to the eleva-
tion of romances, to present the beau-ideal of their
characters to the reader. This it is which consti-
tutes poetry, and to suppose that the red man is to
be represented only in the squalid misery or in the
degraded moral state that certainly more or less be-
longs to his condition, is, we apprehend, taking a
very narrow view of an author's privileges. Such
criticism would have deprived the world of even
Homer.
In the same year Cooper visited Europe, having
received a little before his departure the honor of a
public dinner in the city of New York. He passed
several years abroad, and was warmly welcomed
in every country he visited, his works being al-
ready as well known, through translations, in
foreign languages as in his own. He owed this
wide-spread fame to bis wisdom in the selection
of topics. He was re id by those who wished to
learn something of the aboriginal and pioneer life
of America, in the eyes of Europeans the charac-
teristic features of the country ; and it is a com-
mon remark of the educated class of German
emigrants in this country, that they derived their
first knowledge, and perhaps their first interest
in their future home, from his pages.
Cooper's literary activity was not impaired by
his change of scene. He published in 1827 The
Prairie. Leather-stocking reappears and closes
his career in its pages. "Pressed upon by time,
he has ceased to be the hunter and the warrior,
and has become a trapper of the great West.
The sound of the axe has driven him from his
beloved forests to seek a refuge, by a species of
desperate resignation, on the denuded plains that
stretch to the Rocky Mountains. Here he passes
the few closing years of his life, dying as he had
lived, a philosopher of the wilderness, with few
of the failings, none of the vices, and all the na-
110
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
ture and truth of his position."* The descriptions
of natural scenery, the animated scenes with the
Indians, and the rude vigor of the emigrant fa-
mily, render this one of the most successful of the
novelist's production-*.
• In the same year The Red Rover appeared, a
second sea novel, which shared the success of the
Pilot, a work which it fully equals in animation
and perhaps surpasses in romantic interest.
In 1828 Cooper published Notions of the Ame-
ricans, iy a Travelling Bachelor. It purports to be
a book of travels in the United States, and is de-
signed to correct the many erroneous impressions
which he found prevalent in English society, re-
garding his country. It is an able refutation of
the slanders of the penny-a-line tourists who had
so sorely tried the American temper, and contains
a warm-hearted eulogy of the people and institu-
tions of his country.
It was at the time of publication of this work
that Ilalleck coupled a humorous reference to it
with his noble tribute to the novelist, in the com-
mencement of his poem of lied Jacket —
Cooper, whose name is with his country's woven,
First in her files, her Pioneer of mind —
A wanderer now in other climes, has proven
His love for the young land he left behind;
And throred her in the senate-hall of nations,
Robe 1 like the deluge rainbow, heaven-wrought;
Magnificent as his own mind's creations,
And beautiful as its green world of thought ;
And faithful to the Act of Congress, quoted
As law authority, it passed nem. con. :
He writes that we are, as ourselves have voted,
The most enlightened people ever known.
That all our week is happy as a Sunday
In Paris, full of song, and dance, and laugh;
And that, from Orleans to the Bay of Fundy,
There's not a baililf or an epitaph.
And furthermore — in fifty years, or sooner,
We shall export our poetry and wine;
And our brave fleet, eight frigates and a schooner,
Will sweep the seas from Zembla to the Line.
His next novel, published in 1829, was The
Wept of Wish-ton- Wish. He was in Paris at the
breaking out of the Revolution of 1830, and sug-
gested a plan to La Fayette, with whom he was
very intimate,* that Henry V. should be recog-
nised as King, and educated as a constitutional
monarch, that the peerage should be abolished,
and replaced by a seDate to be elected by the
general vote of the whole nation, the lower house
being chosen by the departments — a scheme wdiich
combines the stability of an uninterrupted here-
ditary descent with a proper scope for political
progress, two elements that have not as yet been
united in the various governmental experiments
of that country. This plan was first given to the
public some years after in one of the author's
volumes of Travels.
His next novel was the Water Witch, a sea
tale, in which he has relied for a portion of its
interest on the supernatural.
* Note to revised edition of the Prairie.
t He was one of the most active leaders in the demonstra-
tions of welcome to La Fayette on his visit to the United
fitates in 1824. — Dr. Francis's Reminiscences of Cooper.
He, about the same time, undertook the defence
of his country from a charge made in the Revue
Britanniquc, that the government of the United
States was one of the most expensive and entailed
as heavy a burden of taxation on those under its
sway, as any in the world. He met this charge
by a letter, which was translated into French,
and published with a similar production by
General Bertraud, whose long residence in
America had rendered him familiar with the
subject.
These letters, prepared and published at the
suggestion of La Fayette, were in turn responded
to, and the original slanders reiterated. Cooper,
in reply, published a series of letters in the
National, a leading daily paper of Paris, the last
of which appeared May 2, 1832. In the.-e he
triumphantly established his position. It was
during this discussion that he published The
Bravo, which embodied to some extent the
points at issue in the controversy. In the words
of Bryant, " his object was to show how institu-
tions, professedly created to prevent violence and
wrong, become, when perverted from their natu-
ral destination, the instruments of injustice, and
how, in every system which makes power the ex-
clusive property of the strong, the weak are sure
to be oppressed." The scene of this story is laid
in Venice, a new field for his descriptive powers,
to which lie brings the same vigor and freshness
which hf.d characterized his scenes of forest life.
The stoiy is dramatic, the characters well con-
trasted, and in one, the daughter of the jailor, he
presented one of the most perfect of his female
delineations.
The Bravo was followed in 1832 by The Eei-
denmauer, and in 1833 by The Headsman ^of
Berne, the scenes and incidents of both of which,
as their titles suggest, were drawn from European
history, their political purpose being similar to
that of the Bravo.
Cooper's controversies in Europe attracted
much attention at home, where his course found
opponents as well as partisans ; and many who,
expressing no opinion on the points at issue, were
disposed to regard him as having provoked a con-
| troversy for the gratification of his taste for dis-
cu-sion. It was during this divided state of public
I opinion that the novelist returned home in 1833.
His first publication after his arrival was .4 Letter
to my Countrymen, in which he gave a history of
his controversy with a portion of the foreign press,
and complained of the course pursued by that of
his own country in relation thereto. Passing
from this personal topic he censured the general
deference to foreign criticism prevalent in the
countiw, and entered with warmth into the dis-
cussion of various topics of the party politics of
the day. He followed up this production by Ths
Monikins, a political satire, and The American
Democrat. " Had a suitable compound ottered,"
he says in the preface to the latter, " the title of
this book would have been something like 'Anti-
Cant,' for such a term expresses the intention of
the writer better, perhaps, than the one he has
actually chosen. The work is written more in the
spirit of censure than of praise, for its aim is cor-
rection ; and virtues bring their own reward,
while errors are dangerous."
This little volume embraces almost the entire
JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.
Ill
range of topics connected with American govern-
ment and society. It is a vigorous presentation
of the author's opiniuns, and it3 spirit and inde-
pendence may he ho.^t appreciated by the exhibi-
tion of one of its briefest but not least pungent
sections.
UTIIEY BAT.
" They say," is the monarch of tins country, in a
social souse. No one asks " who says it," so long as
it is believed that " they say it." Desig dug men en-
deavor to persuade the publick, that already " they
saj'," what these designing men wish to be said, and
the publick is only too much disposed blindly to join
in the cry of "they say."
This is another consequence of the habit of defer-
ring to the control of the publick, over matters in
which the publick has no right to interfere.
Every well meaning man, before he yields his fa-
culties and intelligence to this sort of dictation,
should first ask himself " who" is " they," and on
what authority " they say" utters its mandates.
These works, of course, furnished fruitful matter
of comment to some of the newspaper editors of
the day, who forgot good manners, and personally
assailed the author's peculiarities. These aspe-
rities were heightened after the appearance of the
novels of Ilomewartl Bound and Home as Found,
in 1838. Iu these the author introduced, with
his usual force, and more than his usual humor,
a portraiture of a newspaper editor. The news-
papers, taking this humorous picture of the vices
of a portion of their class as a slander on the en-
tire body, retorted by nicknaming the author from
a gentleman who form? one of the favored cha-
racters of these fictions, " the mild and gentle-
manly Mr. Effingham."
The author now: commenced his celebrated
libel suit* against the Commercial Advertiser and
other influential journals. He followed up a tedi-
ous and vexatious litigation with his customary
resolution and perseverance, bringing suit after
suit, until the annoyance of which he complained
was terminated. He thus sums up the issue of
the affair in a sentence of a letter quoted by Mr.
Bryant: " I have beaten every man I have sued
who has nut retracted Ins libels."
The accuracy of Jus Naval History of the Uni-
ted States, published in 1839 in two octavo vo-
lumes, was one of the matters which entered into
this controversy, and in a suit brought on this
issue Cooper appeared and defended in person his
account of the Battle of Lake Erie with great
ability. A lawyer, who was an auditor of its
closing sentences, remarked to Mr. Bryant, who
also characterizes its opening as " clear, skilful,
and persuasive," " I have beard nothing like it
since the days of Emmet."*
The publication of the Naval History during
this stormy period of the author's career, shows
that controversy was far from occupying his
entire attention. This work, as was to be ex-
pected from the author's mastery of the subject
in another field of literature, was full of spirit.
Its accuracy has been generally admitted, save on
a few points, which still remain matter of discus-
sion. It was the first attempt to fill an impor-
tant and glorious portion of the record of the
national progress, and still remains the chief
authority on the subject, and from the finish and
vigor of its battle-pieces, an American classic.
During an earlier part of this same period, in 1836,
Cooper issued his Sketches of Switzerland in four
volumes, and in 1837 and 183S his Gleanings
in, Europe, France, and Italy, each occupying
two duodecimo volumes. The series formi a
pleasant record of his wanderings, of the distin-
guished men whose friendship he enjoyed, and of
the public event! which he witnessed, and in
some instances was himself participant, and con-
tains ingenious criticism on the social and political
characteristics of the several countries.
In 18i0, while still iu the midst of his libel
suits, as if to re-assert his literary claims as well
as personal rights, he returned to his old and
strong fiol I of literary exertion by the publication
of The Pathfinder, a tale which introduces us
again to the scenes, and many of the personages
of The Last of the Mohica-is. It was followed —
the novel of Mercedes of Castile intervening — in
184-1, by The Deerslayer. The scene of thi3
fiction is 1 lid on the Otsego lake and its vicinity
in the middle of the last century. It abounds in
fine descriptions of the scenery of the region,
then in its primeval wildne-s, and succeeds ad-
mirably in making the reader at home in the life
of the pioneer. Many of the incidents of the
tale take place iu the ark or floating habitation
of Tom Ilntter, the solitary white denizen of the
region, who has constructed and adopted this
floating fortress as a precaution against the In-
dians. His family consists of two daughters,
Judith and Hetty, in whose characters the author
lias contra ted great mental vigor combined with
lax moral principle, to enfeebled intellect strength-
ened by unswerving rectitude. The^e sisters are
among the most successful of the author's female
portraits. Deerslayer's course in the fiction is
intended still further to enforce the same great
truth of the strength afforded by a simple straight-
forward integrity. It is a noble picture of true
manliness.
Deerslayer appears in tins novel in early
youth, and the work is, therefore, now that the
Leather-stocking series is completed, to be re-
garded as that in which he commences his career.
This character will always interest the world,
both from its essential ingredients, and the novel
circum stances in which it exhibits itself. It is the
author's ideal of a chivalresque manhood, of the
grace which is the natural flower of purity 'and vir-
tue; not the stoic, but the Christian of the woods,
the man of honorable act and sentiment, of courage
and truth. Leather-stocking stands half way be-
tween savage and civilized life: he has the fresh-
ness of nature and the first fruits of Christianity,
the seed dropped into the vigorous soil. These
are the elements of one of the most original cha-
racters in fiction, in whom Cooper has transplanted
all the chivalry ever feigned or practised in the
middle ages, to the rivers, woods, and forests of
the unbroken New World.
Deerslayer, in point of style, is one of Cooper's
purest composite ins. There are passages of Saxon
in the dialogues and speeches which would do
honor to the most admired pages of the romantic
old Chroniclers. The language is as noble as
the thought.
It is a singular proof of the extent to which
the newspaper quarrels to which we have al-
112
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
luded had interfered with Cooper's position as
a literary man, that the Pathfinder and the
Deerslayer, two of the very best of his pro-
ductions, attracted but little attention on their
first appearance, for which we have the author's
authority in his prefaces to the revised edi-
tions.
In 1842 Cooper issued two sea novels, The Two
Admirals, and Wing and Wing, both spirited
tales of naval conflict, in which the ships share
the vitality in the reader's imagination of the
"little Ariel" of the Pilot.
Wyandotte ; or, the Hutted Knoll, appeared in
1843. In this tale Cooper again returns to the
Otsego. It narrates the settlement of an English
family in the vicinity of the lake about the com-
mencement of the Revolution, and abounds in
quiet scenes of sylvan beauty, and incidents of a
calmer character than are usual in the author's
fictions.
The Autohiography of a Pocket-Handkerchief,
a short tale, originally published from month to
month in Graham's Magazine, followed. Ned
Myers, a more characteristic production, appeared
about the same time. In this the author gives
the veritable adventures of an old shipmate,
taken down from his own lips. It abounds in
striking scenes, which rival in intensity those of
his professed fictions. ■
Cooper's novels followed in rapid succession
during the latter period of his life. With his cus-
tomary spirit he adanted himself to the publish-
ing fashion introduced by the system of cheap
reprints, and brought out his new works in
twenty-five cent volumes.
Afloat and Ashore, and Miles Wallingford, its
sequel, also tales of the sea, followed.
In 1844 the author published A Review of the
Mackenzie Case, a severe comment on the course
of the commander of the Somers.
His next novel, Satanstoe, published in 1845,
was the first of a series designedly written to
denounce the anti-rent doctrines which then at-
tracted much public notice. The scene of Satans-
toe is laid in the district in which the outrages
connected with this question took place, and the
time of the action carries us back to the middle
of the last century, and the early settlement of
the region. In the second of the series, The
Chain Bearer, we have the career of the Little-
page family carried down to the second gene-
ration at the close of the Revolution. In the
third and concluding portion, The Redskins; or,
Indian and Ingin, we come close upon the pre-
sent day. The style of these fictions is ener-
getic, but they fall short of his earlier produc-
tions in the delineation of character and interest.
The treatment of the questions of law involved
in the progress of the argument has been pro-
nounced masterly by a competent authority.*
Inl846 Oooper published Lives of Distinguished
American Naval Officers, a series of biographical
sketches written for Graham's Magazine.
The Crater; or, Vulcan's Peak, followed in
1847. The scene of this story is on the shores
of the Pacific. It has little to do with real
life, the hero being wrecked on a reef, which,
by supernatural machinery, is peopled with an
* Bryant's I iscourse, p. 66.
Utopian community, giving the author an oppor-
tunity to exhibit his views of government.
Oak Openings ; or, the Bee Hunter, a story of
woodland life, appeared in the same year.
Jack Tier; or, the Florida Reef, was published
in 1848, from the pages of Graham's Magazine, a
story of the sea, resembling in its points of inte-
rest the Water -Wite h.
The last of the long series of these ocean nar-
ratives, The Sea Lions ; or, the Lost Sealers, opens
on the coast of Suffolk county, Long Island, and
transports us to the Antarctic Ocean, in whose
" thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice" the author
finds ample scope for his descriptive powers.
The two ships, the "Sea Lions," pass the winter
looked in the ice, and their crews endure the
usual mishaps and perils of the region, from which
they escape in the following summer.
Cooper's last novel appeared in 1850. It was
entitled The Ways of the Hour, and designed to
exhibit the evils in the author's opinion of trial
by jury.
Soon after the publication of this work, Cooper,
whose personal appearance excited universal re-
mark, from the robust strength and health it
exhibited, was attacked by disease. This, while
it wasted his frame, did not diminish his energy.
He had in press an historical work on The
Toions of Manhattan, and in contemplation a
sixth Leather-stocking tale, when his disease,
gaining strength, developed into a dropsy, which
closed his life at his country estate at Coopers-
town, September 14, 1851, on the eve of his sixty-
second birthday.
A public meeting was held in honor of his
memory in the city of New York, and as preli-
minary to the attempt to raise a fund for a monu-
ment for the same purpose, at Metropolitan Hall,
Feb. 24, 1852. Daniel Webster presided, and
made his last address to a New York assemblage.
A discourse was read by Wm. C. Bryant, to
which we have been largely indebted in the pre-
paration of the present sketch.
Otsego Hall.
Mr. Cooper's residence at Otsego, to which he
removed after his return from Europe, passed out
of the hands of his family after his death, was
converted into a hotel, and consumed by fire in
the spring of 1853.
Cooper was the first American author who
attained a wide popular reputation beyond the
JAMES FENTMORE COOPER.
113
limits of his own language. His novels were
translated as soon as tliey appeared in the prin-
cipal countries of Europe, where the Indian tales
especially were universal favorites. His delinea-
tion of the aboriginal character was a novelty
which gained him a hearing, and the attention
thus obtained was secured and extended by his
vivid pictures of the forest and the frontier.
These are topics akin in novel interest in the old
world to ruined abbeys and castles in the new.
Scott had worked the latter field to an extent
that lessened the public interest in such scenes
when treated by any but himself. Cooper wisely
chose a new path, which he could make and hold
as his own. He tried and succeeded.
The novels of Scott set the antiquaries to work
rubbing the rust off old armor, and brushing
the dust from many an old folio, and illustrating
many a well-nigh forgotten chapter of history;
and the productions of Cooper have rendered a
like service. He has thrown a poetic atmosphere
around the departing race of the Red men, which,
if it cannot stay their destiny, will do much to
fix their place in history.
In his personal character Cooper presents to
us a manly resolute nature, of an independent
mood, aggressive, fond of the attack ; conscious
of the strength which had led him to choose his
own path in the world and triumph. He never
exerted his power, however, but in some chival-
rous cause. In Europe he battled for republican-
ism ; in America he was punctilious for the per-
sonal virtues which grow up under an aristocracy.
It would have been as well, perhaps, if he had
sometimes been silent and waited for time to
remedy the evils which he contended with ; but
this was not his nature. He had great powers,
to which something should have been conceded
by others, and it wjuld have been better for the
others as well as for him. The egotism of such
a man, if not inevitable, is at lea it venial.
It was easy for those at a distance to sneer at
alleged weaknesses ; but tho-e who knew him
well, his family, his friends — and what noble men
they were, in the highest stations of trust and
confidence in the country — found new demands
for sympathy anl admiration in Cooper's society.
"With his intimates he was gay, frank, and warm-
hearted; fond of the society of children; full
of sport and merriment from his youth through
life.
Miss Susan Cooper, the daughter of the novelist,
is the author of two volumes of merit. Rural
Homes, published in 1850, is a felicitous journal
of country life, describing the scenery and charac-
ter about her residence at Cooperstown, with
minute observation, and with noticeable sincerity
of style. The Rhyme and Reason of Country
Life, published in 1834, is a choice collection of
passages from the best authors, in prose and verse,
who have treated rural themes, accompanied by
just and sympathetic original comments.
CAPTTTEE OP A THALE — FROM THE PILOT.
While the young cornet still continued gazing at
the whale-boat (for it was the party from the
schooner that he saw), the hour expired for the ap-
pearance of Griffith and his companions; and Barn-
etable reluctantly determined to comply witli the
letter of his instructions, and leave them to their
own sagacity and skill to regain the Ariel. Tho
boat had been suffered to ride in the edge of the
surf, since the appearance of the sun ; and the eyes
of her crew were kept anxiously fixed on the cliffs,
though in vain, to discover the sigual that was to
call them to the place of landing. After looking at
his watch for the twentieth time, and as often casting
glances of uneasy dissatisfaction towards the shore,
the lieutenant exclaimed —
"A charming prospect, this, Master Coffin, but
rather too much poetry in it for your taste ; I be-
lieve you relish no land that is of a harder consist-
ency than mud!"
" I was born on the waters, sir," returned the
cockswain, from his snug abode, where lie was be-
stowed with his usual economy of room, " and it's
according to all things for a man to love his native
soil. I'll not deny, Captain Barnstable, but I would
rather drop my anchor on a bottom that won't broom
a keel, though, at the same time, I harbour no great
malice against dry land."
" I shall never forgive it, myself, if any accident
has befallen Griffith in this excursion," rejoined tho
lieutenant ; " his Pilot may be a better man oa the
water than on terra firma, long Tom."
The cockswain turned his solemn visage, with an
extraordinary meaning, towards his commander, be-
fore he replied —
" For as long a time as I have followed the wa-
ters, sir, and that has been ever since I've drawn my
rations, seeing that I was born while the boat was
crossing Nantucket shoals, I've never known a Pilot
come off in greater need, than the one we fell in
with, when we made that stretch or two on the land,
in the dogwatch of yesterday."
"Ay! the fellow has played his part like a man;
the occasion was great, and it seems that he was
quite equal to his work."
" The frigate's people tell me, sir, that he handled
the ship like a top," continued the cockswain ; " but
she is a ship that is a nateral inimy of the bottom !"
" Can you s:iy as much for this boat, Master
Coffiu ?" cried Barnstable: "keep her out of tho
surf, or you'll have us rolling in upon the beach,
presently, like an empty water-cask; you must re-
member that we cannot all wade, like yourself, in
two-fathom water."
The cockswain cast a cool glance at the crests of
foam that were breaking over the tops of the bil-
lows, within a few yards of where their boat was
riding, and called aloud to his men—
" Pull a stroke or two ; away with her into dark
water."
The drop of the oars resembled the movements of
a nice machine, and the light boat skimmed along
the water like a duck, that approaches to the very
brink of some imminent danger, and then avoids it,
at the most critical moment, apparently without an
effort. While this necessary movement was making,
Barnstable arose, and surveyed the cliffs with keen
eyes, and then turning once more in disappointment
from his search, he said —
" Pull more from the land, and let her run down
at an easy stroke to the schooner. Keep a look-out
at the cliffs, boys ; it is possible that they are 6towed
in some of the holes in the rocks, for it's no daylight
business they are on."
The order was promptly obeyed, and they had
glided along for nearly a mile in this manner, in the
most profound silence, when suddenly the still-
ness was broken by a heavy rush of air, and a..
dash of water, seemingly at no great distance from
them.
" By heaven, Tom," cried Barnstable, starting,
" there is the blow of a whale ?"
114
CYCLOPAEDIA OP AMEPJCAN LITEPvATURE.
" Ay, ay, sir," returned the cockswain -with undis-
turbed composure ; " here is his spout not half a
mile to seaward; the easte:ly gale has driven the
creaier to leeward, and he begins to find himself in
shoal water. He's been Bleeping; while he should
have been world: g to windward !"
" The fellow takes it coolly, too ! he's in no hurry
to get an ofm g !"
"I rather conclude, sir," said the cockswain, rolling
over Lis tobacco in his mouth, very composedly,
while his little sunken eyes began to twinkle with
pleasure at the sight, "the gentleman has lost his
reckoning, and don't know which way to head to
take himself back into bine water."
",Tis a fin-back!" exclaimed the lieutenant ; "he
will soon make head-way, and be off."
"Ko, sir, 'tis a light whale," answered Tom; "I
saw his spout ; he threw up a pair of as pretty rain-
bows as a Christian would wish to look at. lie's a
raal oil-butt, that fellow !"
Barnstable laughed, turned himself away from the
tempting sight, and tried to look at the cliffs; and
then unconsciously bent his loi ging eyes again on
the sluggish animal, who was throwing his lmge
carcass, at times, for many feet f, om the water, in
idle gambols. The temptation for sport, and the re-
collection of his early habits, at length pre\ ailed
over his anxiety in behalf of his friends, and the
your.g officer enquired of his cockswain —
" Is there any whale-line in the boat, to make fast
to that harpoon which you bear about with you in
fair weather or foul ?"
" I never trust the boat from the schooner without
part of a shot, sir," returned the cockswain ; " there
is something nateral in the sight of a tub to my old
eyes."
Barnstable looked at his wateh, and again at the
cliffs, when he exclaimed, in joyous tones — ■
"Give strong way, my hearties! There seems
nothing better to be done ; let us have a stroke of a
harpoon at that impudent rascal."
The men shouted spontaneously, and the old cock-
swain suffered his solemn visage to relax into a small
laugh, while the whale-boat spiang forward like a
courser for the goal. Duiii g the few minutes they
were pulling towards their game, long Tom arose
from his erouchh g attitude in the stern-sheets, and
transferred his huge form to the bows of the boat,
where he made such preparations to strike the whale
as the occasion required. The tub, containii g about
half of a whale line, was placed at the feet of Barn-
stable, who had been preparing an oar to steer with
in place of the rudder, which was unshipped, in
order that, if necessary, the boat might be whirled
round when not advancing.
Their approach was utterly unnoticed by the
monster of the deep, who continued to amuse himself
with throwing the water in two circular spouts high
into the air, occasionally flourishii g the broad flukes
of his tail with a graceful but terrific force, until the
hardy seamen were within a few hundred feet of him,
when he suddenly cast his head downward, and,
without an apparent effort, reared his immense body
for many feet above the water, waving his tail vio-
lently, and producing a whizzing noise, that Bounded
like the rushing of winds.
The cockswain stood erect, poising bis harpoon,
ready for the blow; but when he beheld the crea-
ture assume this formidable attitude, he waved his
hand to his commander, who instantly signed to his
men to cease rowing. In this situation the sports-
men rested a few moments, while the whale 6truck
several blows on the water in rapid succession, the
noise of which re-eehoed along the cliffs, like the
hollow reports of so many cannon. After this wanton
exhibition of his terrible strength, the monster sank
again into his native element, and slowly disappeared
fioin the eyes of his pursuers.
" Which way did he head, Tom ?" cried Barn-
stable, the moment the whale was out of sight.
"Pretty much up and down, sir," returned the
cockswain, whose eye was gradually brightening
with the ex.itement of the sport; "he'll soon run
his nose against the bottom if he stands loi g on that
course, and will be glad to get another snuii of pure
air; send her a few fathoms to starboard, sir, and
I promise we shall not be out of his ti aik."
The conjecture of the experienced old seaman
proved true ; for in a few moments the water bioko
near them, and another spout was east into the air,
when the hr.ge animal lu.-hed for half his length in
the same direction, and fell on the sea with a tuibu-
lence and foam equal to that which is produced by
the launchii g of a vessel, for the first time, into its
proper element. Afterthis evolution the whale rolled
heavily, and seemed to rest fiom further efforts.
His slightest movements were closely watched by
Barnstable and his cockswain, ai.d when lie was in
a state of comparative rest, the former gave a signal
to his crew to ply their oars 01 ee more. A few long
and vigorous strokes sent the boat directly up to the
broadside of the whale, with its bows pointing to-
wards one of the fins, which was, at time6, as the
animal yielded sluggishly to the action of the waves,
exposed to view. The cockswain poised his haipoon
with much pi ecision, and then darted it from him
with a violence that buried the iron in the blubber
of their foe. The instant the blow was »..ade, long
Tom shouted, with singular earnestness —
" Starn all !"
"Stern all!" echoed Barnstable; when the cbc-
dient seamen, by united efforts, forced the boat in a
backward direction beyond the reach of any blow
from their formidable antagonist. The alarmed ani-
mal, however, meditated no such lesistaice; igno-
rant of his own power, and of the insignificance of
his enemies, he soi glit refuge in flight. One moment
of stupid surprise succeeded the entrance of the iron,
when he cast his huge tail i..to the air, with a vio-
lence that threw the sea around him into increased
commotion, and then disappeared with the quickness
of lightning, amid a eloud of foam.
"Snub him!" shouted Barnstable; "hold on,
Tom ; he rises already."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the composed cockswain,
scizii g the line, which was running out of the boat
with a velocity that rendered such a manoeu-
vre rather hazardous, and causing it to yield more
gradually round the large loggerhead that was
placed in the bows of the boat for that purpose.
Presently the line stretched forward, ai d rising to
the surface with tremulous vibrations, it indicated
the diieetion in which the animal might be expected
to re-appear. Barnstable had cast the bows of the
boat towards that point, before the terrified and
wounded victim rose once more to the surface, whose
time was, however, no longer wasted in his sports,
but who cast the waters aside, as he forced his way,
with prodigious velocity, along the surface. The
boat was dragged violently in his wake, and cut
through the billows with a terrific rapidity, that at
moments appeared to bury the slight fabric in the
ocean. When long Tom beheld his victim throwing
his spouts on high again, he pointed with exultation
to the jetting fluid, which was streaked with the
deep red of blood, and cried —
"Ay! I've touched the fellow's life! it must he
more than two foot of blubber that stops my iron
from reaching the life of any whale that ever sculled
the ocean!"
JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.
115
" I believe you have saved yourself the trouble of
using the bayonet you have rigged for a lance," said
his commander, who entered imo the sport with all
the ardour of one whose youth had been chiefly
passed in such pursuits: "feel your line, Master
Coffin ; can we haul alongside of our enemy? I like
not the course he is steering, as he tows us from the
schooner."
" "lis the creater's way, sir," said the cockswain ;
" you know they need the air in their nostrils, when
they run, the same as a man ; but lay hold, boys, and
let's haul up to him."
The seamen now seized the whale-line, and slowly
drew their bo it to witliiu a few feet of the tail
of the fish, whose progress became sensibly less
rapid, as he grew weak with the loss of blood. In
a few minutes he stopped running, and appeared
to roll uneasily oil the water, as if sintering the agony
of death.
"Shall we pull in, and finish him, Tom?" cried
Ba'ni -table ; '" A few sets from your ba37onet would
do i:."
The cockswain stood examining his game with
cool discretion, and replied to this interrogatory —
" No, sir, no — lie's going into his flurry ; there's
no occasion for disgracing ourselves by usiig a sol-
dier's weapon in taking a whale. Starn oil, sir, starn
off! the creater's in his flurry!"
The warning of the prudent cockswain was
promptly obeyed, and the boat cautiously drew off
to a distance, leaving to the animal a clear space,
while under its dying agonies. From a state of per-
fect rest, the terrible monster threw its tail on high,
as when in sport, but its blows were trebled in vapi-
dity and violence, till all was hid from view by a
pyr.im.d of foam, that was deeply dyed with blond.
Tne roarings of the fish were like the bellowing of a
herd of bulls; and to one who was ignorant of the
fact, it would have appeared as if a thousand mon-
sters were engaged in deadly combat, behind the
bloody mist that obstructed the view. Gradually,
these effects subsided, and when the discoloured
water again settled down to the long and regular
swell of the ocean, the fish was seen, exhausted, and
yiel ling passively to its fate. As life departed, the
enormous black mass rolle .1 to o .e side; and when
the white and glisteni..g skin of the belly became
apparent, the seamen wed knew that their victory
wa; achieved.
" What's to be done now ?" said Barnstable, as he
stood and gazed with a diminished excitement at
their victim ; " he will 3"ield no food, and his carcass
wid probably drift to land, and furnish our enemies
with the oil."
" If I had but that creater in Boston Bay," said
the cockswain, " it would prove the making of me;
but such is my luck for ever ! Pull up, at any rate,
and let me get my harpoon and line — -the Englisb
shall never get them while old Tom Coffin can
blow."
TnE PANTHER — FROM THE PIONEERS.
By this time they had gained the summit of the
mountain, where they left the highway, and pursued
their course under the shade of the stately trees that
crowned the eminence. The day was becoming
warm, -and the girls plunged more deeply into the
forest, as they found its invigorating coolness agree-
ably contrasted to the excessive heat they had ex-
perienced in the ascent. The conversation, as if by
mutual consent, was entirely changed to the little
incidents and scenes of their walk, and every tall
pine, and every shrub or flower, called forth some
simple expression of admiration.
In this manner they proceeded along the margin
of the precipice, catching occasional glimpses of the
placid Otsego, or pausing to listen to the rattling of
wheels and the sounds of hammers, that rose from
the valley, to mingle the signs of men with the scenes
of nature, when Llizabcth suddenly started, and ex-
claimed—
" Listen ! there are the cries of a child on this
mountain ! is there a clearing near us ? or can some
little one have strayed from its parents?"
"Such things frequently happen," returned Lou-
isa. " Let us follow the sounds: it may be a wan-
derer starving on the hill."
Urged by this consideration, the females pursued
the low, mournful sounds, that proceeded from the
forest, with quick and impatient steps. More than
once, the ardent Elizabeth was on the point of an-
nouncing that she saw the sufferer, when Louisa
caught ner by the arm, and pointing behind them,
cried —
" Look at the dog !"
Brave had been their companion, from the time
the voice of his young mistress lured him from his
kennel, to the present moment. His advanced age
had long before deprived him of his activity; and
when his companions stopped to view the scenery,
or to add to their bouquets, the mastiff would lay
his huge frame on the ground, and await their move-
ments, with his eves closed, and a listlcssness in his
air that ill accorded with the character of a pro-
tector. But when, aroused by this cry from Louisa,
Miss Temple turned, she saw the dog with his eyes
keenly set on some distant object, his head bent near
the ground, and his hair actually rising on his body,
through fright or a ger. It was most probably the
latter, for he was growling in a low key, and occa-
sionally showing his teeth, in a manner that wrould
have terrified his mistress, had she not so well known
his good qualities.
"Brave!" she said, "be quiet, Brave! what do
you see, fellow ?"
At the sounds of her voice, the rage of the mas-
tiff, instead of beii g at all diminished, was very sen-
sibly increased. He stalked in front of the ladies,
and seated himself at the feet of his mistress, growl-
ing louder than before, and occasionally giving vent
to his ire, by a short, surly bai ki. g.
" What does he see i" said Elizabeth : " there
must be some animal in sight."
Hearing no answer from her companion, Miss
Temple turned her head, and beheld Louisa, stand-
ing with her face whitened to the color of death,
and her finger pointing upwards, with a sort of
flickering, convulsed motion. The quick eye of Eli-
zabeth glanced in the direction indicated by her
friend, where she saw the fierce front and glaring
eyes of a female panther, fixed on them in horrid
malignity, and threateni. g to leap.
"Let ns fly," exclaimed Elizabeth, grasping the
arm of Louisa, whose form yielded like melting snow.
There was not a single feeling in the temperament
of Elizabeth Temple that could prompt her to desert
a companion in such an extremity. She fell on her
knees, by the side of the inanimate Louisa, tearing
from the person of her friend, with instinctive readi-
ness, such parts of her dress as might obstruct her
respiration, and encouraging their only safeguard,
the dog, at the same time, by the sounds of her voice.
" Courage, Brave!" she cried, her own tones be-
ginning to tremble, " courage, courage, good Brave !"
A quarter-grown cub, that had hitherto been un-
seen, now appeared, droppirg from the branches of
a sapling that grew under the shade of the beech
which held its dam. This ignorant, but vicious crea^
ture, approached the dog, imitating the actions and
sounds of its parent, but exhibiting a strange mix-
116
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
ture of the plaj-fulness of a kitten with the ferocity
of its race, Standing on its hind legs, it would rend
the bark of a tree with its fore paw*, and play the
antics of a cat; and then, by lashing itself with its
tail, growling, and scratching the earth, it would
attempt the manifestations of ai.ger that rendered
its parent so terrific.
All this time Bravo stood firm and undaunted, his
short tail erect, his body drawn backward on its
haunches, and his eyes following the movements of
both dam and cub. At every gambol played by the
latter, it approached nigher to the dog, the growl-
ing of the three becoming more horrid at each mo-
ment, until the younger beast overleaping its in-
tended bound, fell directly before the mastiff. There
was a moment of fearful cries and struggles, but
they ' ended almost as soon as commenced, by the
cub appearing iii the air, hurled from the jaws of
Brave, with a violence that sent it against a tree so
forcibly as to render it completely senseless.
Elizabeth witnessed the short struggle, and her
blood was warming with the triumph of the dog,
when she saw the form of the old panther in the air,
springing twenty feet from the branch of the beech
to the back of the mastiff. No words of ours can de-
scribe the fury of the conflict that followed. It was
a confused struggle on the dry leaves, accompanied
by loud and terrific cries. Miss Temple continued
on her knees, bending over the form of Louisa, her
eyes fixed on the animals, with an interest so horrid,
and yet so intense, that she almost forgot her own
etake in the result. So rapid and vigorous were the
bounds of the inhabitant of the forest, that its active
frame seemed constantly in the air, while the dog
nobly faced his foe at each successive leap. 'When
the panther lighted on the shoulders of the mastiff,
which was its constant aim, old Brave, though torn
with her talons, and stained with his own blood,
that already flowed from a dozen wounds, would
6hake off his furious foe like a feather, and rearing
on his hind legs, rush to the fray again, with jaws
distended, and a dauntless eye. But age, and his
pampered life, greatly disqualified the noble mastiff
for such a struggle. In everythii g but coinage, he
was only the vestige of what he had once been. A
higher bound than ever raised the wary and furious
beast far beyond the reach of the dog, who was
making a desperate but fruitless dash at her, from
which she alighted in a favorable position, on the
back of her aged foe. For a single moment only
could the panther remain there, the great strength
of the dog returning with a convulsive effort. But
Elizabeth saw, as Brave fastened his teeth in the
side of his enemy, that the collar of brass around
his neck, which had been glittering throughout the
fray, was of the color of blood, and directly, that his
frame was sinking to the earth, where it soon lay
prostrate and helpless. Several mighty efforts of
the wild-cat to extricate herself from the jaws of the
dog followed, but they were fruitless, until the mas-
tiff turned on his back, his lips coDapsed, and his
teeth loosened, when the short convulsions and still-
ness that ensued, announced the death of poor
Brave.
Elizabeth now lay wholly at the mercy of the
beast. There is said to be something in the front of
the image of the Maker that daunts the hearts of
the inferior beings of his creation ; and it would
seem that some such power, in the present instance,
suspended the threatened blow. The eyes of the
monster and the kneeling maiden met for an instant,
when the former stooped to examine her fallen foe ;
next to scent her luckless cub. From the latter ex-
amination, it turned, however, with its eyes appa-
rently emitting flashes of fire, its tail lashing its
sides furiously, and its claws projecting inches from
her broad feet.
Miss Temple did not or could not move. Her
hands were clasped in the attitude of prayer, but
her eyes were still drawn to her terrible enemy —
her cheeks were blanched to the whiteness of mar-
ble, and her lips were slightly separated with horror.
The moment seemed now to have arrived for the
fatal termination, and the beautiful figure of Eliza-
beth was bowing meekly to the stioke, when a
rustling of leaves behind seemed rather to mock the
organs than to meet her ears.
"Hist! hist!" said alow voice, "steep lower, gal;
your bonnet hides the ereater's head."
It was rather the yielding of nature than a com-
pliance with this unexpected order, that caused the
head of our heroine to sink on her bosom ; when
she heard the report of the rifle, the whizzing of the
bullet, and the enraged cries of the beast, who was
rolling over on the earth biting its own flesh, and
tearing the twigs and branches within its reach. At
the next instant the foim of the Leather-stocking
rushed by her, and he called alond —
" Come in, Hector, come in, old fool ; 'tis a hard-
lived animal, and may jump ag'in."
Katty fearlessly maintained his position in front
of the females, notwithstandii g the violent bounds
and threatening aspect of the wounded panther,
which gave several indications of returnirg strength
and ferocity, until his rifle was again loaded, when
he stepped up to the enraged animal, and placing
the muzzle close to its head, every spark of life was
extinguished by the dischaige.
DEEESLAYEH AT TnE DEATn OF UK SAVAGE FOE.
By this time the piece was reloaded, and Beer-
slayer, after tossii g the tomahawk into the canoe,
advanced to his victim, and stood over him, leaning
on his rifle, in melancholy attention. It was the first
instance in which he had seen a man fall in battle.
It was the first fellow creature against whom he had
ever seriously raised his own hand. The sensations
were novel ; and regret, with the freshness of our bet-
ter feelings, mirgled with his triumph. The Indian
was not dead, though shot directly through the body.
He lay on his back motionless, but his eyes, row
full of consciousness, watched each action of his
victor — as the fallen bird regards the fowler — jealous
of every movement. The man probably expected
the fatal blow which was to precede the loss of his
scalp ; or perhaps he anticipated that this latter act
of cruelty would piecede his death. Deeislnyer
read his thoughts ; and he found a melancholy satis-
faction in relieving the apprehensions of the helpless
savage.
" So, no, red-skin," he said ; " you've nothing more
to fear from me. I am of a Christian stock, and
scalping is not of my gifts. I'll just make sartain
of your rifle, and then come back and do you what
sarvice I can. Though hei e I can't stay much longer,
as the crnck of three rifles will be apt to bring some
of your devils down upon me."
The close of this was said in a sort of soliloquy,
as the yourg man went in quest of the fallen rifle.
The piece was found where its owner had dropped
it, and was immediately put into the canoe. Laying
his own rifle at its side, Deerslayer then returned
and stood over the Indian again.
"All inmity atween you and me's at an ind, red-
skin," he said ; "and you may set your heart at rest
on the score of the scalp, or any further injury. My
gifts are white, as I've told you ; and I hope my
conduct will be white also !"
Could looks have conveyed all they meant, it is
probable Beerslayer's innocent vanity on the subject
JAMES A. HILLHOUSE.
117
of color would have been rebuked a liHle.; but lie
co up ehe.ide 1 the gratitude Unit was expressed in
the eyes of the dying savage, without in the least
detecting the bitter sarcasm that struggled with the
better feeling.
" Water !" ejaculated the thirsty and unfortunate
creature; "give poor Iujin water."
" Aye, water 3-011 shall have, if you drink the lake
dry. I'll just carry you down to it, that you may
take your (ill. This is the way, th'ey tell me, with
all wounded people — water is their greatest comfort
ami delight."
So saying, Deerslayer raised the Indian in his
arms, aid earned him to the lake. Here he first
helped him to tike an attitude in which he could
appease his burning thirst; after which he seated
himself on a stone, and took the head of his wounded
adversary in his own lap, and endeavored to soothe
bis ai'g lish in the best manner he could.
"It would be sinful in me to tell you your time
hadn't come, warrio -," he commenced, " and there-
fore I'll not say it. You've passe 1 the middle age
already, and, consideriu' the sort of lives ye lead,
your days have been pretty well filled. The prin-
cipal thing now, is to look forward to what conies
next. Neither red-skin nor pale-face, o:i the whole,
calculates much on sleepi.i' for ever; but both ex-
pect to live in another world. Each has his gifts,
and will be judg.'d by 'em, and I suppose, you've
thought these matters over enough, not to stand in
need of sarmons when the trial comes. You'll find
your hippy hunting-grounds, if you've been a just
Injiu ; if an onjust, you'll meet your departs in ano-
ther way. I've my own idces about these things ;
but you're too old and exper'e iced to need any ex-
planations from one as young as I."
"Good!" ejaculate! the Indian, whose voice re-
taine 1 its depth even as life ebbed away ; " young
bead — ole wisdom!"
" It's sometimes a consolation, when the ind comes,
to know that them we've harmed, or tried to harm,
forgive us. I suppose natur' seeks this relief, by
way of getting a pardon on 'arth : as we never can
know whether He pardons, who is all in all, till
judgment itself comes. It's soothing to know that
any pardon at such times; and that, I conclude, is
the secret. Now, as for myself, I overlook altogether
your designs ag'in my life : first, because no harm
came of 'em ; next, because it's your gifts, and natur',
and trainiu', and I ought not to have trusted you
at all; and, finally and chiefly, because I can bear
no ill-will to a dying man, whether heathen or
Christian. So put your heart at ease, so far as I'm
consarned ; you know best what other matters ought
to trouble you, or what ought to give you satisfac-
tion in so trying a moment."
It is probable that the Indian had some of the
fearful glimpses of the unknown state of being
which God in mercy seems at times to afford to all
the human race; but they were necessarily in con-
formity with his habits and prejudices. Like most
of his people, and like too many of our own, he
thought more of dying in a way to gain applause
among those he left than to secure a better state of
existence hereafter. While Deerslayer was speaking
bis mind was a little bewildered, though he felt that
the intention was good; and when he had done, a
regret passed over his spirit that none of his own
tribe were present to witness his stoicism, under
extreme bodily suffering, and the firmness with
which he met his end. With the high innate cour-
tesy that so often distinguishes the Indian warrior
before lie becomes eo -rupted by too much intercourse
with the worst class of the white men, he endeavored
to express his thankfulness for the other's good inten-
tions, and to let him understand that they were ap-
preciated.
" Good!" he repeated, for this was an English
word much used , by the savages — " good — young
head; young heart, top. Old heart tough ; noshed
tear. Hear Indian when he die, and no want to lie
—what he call him?"
" Deerslayer is the name I bear now, though the
Delawares have said that when I get back from this
war-path, I shall have a more manly title, provided
I can 'arn one."
" That good name for boy — poor name for warrior.
He get better quick. No fear there" — the savage
had strength sufficient, under the strong excitement
he felt, to raise a hand and tap the young man on
his breast — " eye sartain-i— finger lightning — aim,
j death — great warrior soon. No Deerslayer — Hawk-
eye — Hawkeye — Hawkeye. ,Shake hand."
Deerslayer — or Hawkeye, as the youth was then
first named, for in after years he bore the appellation
throughout all that region — Deerslayer took the
hand of the savage, whose last bre.ith was drawn in
that attitude, gazing in admiration at the counte-
nance of a stranger who had shown so much readi-
ness, skill, and firmness, in a scene that was equally
trying ami novel. When the reader remembers it is
the highest gratification an Indian can receive to see
his enemy betray weakness, he will be be\ttcr able to
appreciate the conduct which had extorted so great
a concession at such a moment.
"His spiiit has fled!" said Deerslayer, inv a sup-
pressed, melancholy voice. "All's me! Wtell, to
this we must all come, sooner or later; and .He is
happiest, let his skin be of wdiat color it may, wiho
is best fitted to meet it. Here lies the body of no
doubt a brave warrior, and the soul is already flying
towards its heaven or hell, whether that be a happy
hunting-ground, a place scant of game; regions of
glory, according to Moravian doctrine, or flames of
fire! So it happens, too, as regards other matters!
Here have old Hutter and Hurry Harry got them-
selves into difficulty, if they hav'u't got themselves
into torment and death, and all for a bounty that
luck offers to me in what many would think a law-
ful and suitable manner. But not a farthing of such
money shall cross my hand. White I was born, and
white will I die ; clinging to color to the last, even
though the King's Majesty, his governors, and all his
councils, both at liome and in the Colonies, forget
from what they come, and where they hope to go,
and nil for a little advantage in warfare. No, no —
warrior, hand of mine shall never molest your scalp,
and so your soul may rest in peace on the point of
making a decent appearance, when the body comes
to join it, in your own land of spirits."
Deerslayer arose as soon as he had spoken. Then
he placed the body of the dead man in a sitting
posture, with its back against the little rock, taking
the necessary care to prevent it from falling or in
any way settling into an attitude that might be
thought unseemly by the sensitive, though wild no-
tions of a savage. When this duty was performed,
the young man stood gazing at the grim countenance
of his fallen foe, iu a sort of melancholy abstraction,
JAMES A. HILLHOUSE.
The ancestors of James A. Hillhouse emigrated
from the county Derry, Ireland, where the family
had long held a high social position, to the colony
of Connecticut in 1720. The grandfather and
father of the poet were both men of standing and
influence, the one having been employed for half
a century in the public service of the colony, and
the other having occupied a seat in both branches
118
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
of the Federal Legislature, at periods not long
after the Kevolution. He married a daughter of
Colonel Melancthon Woolsey, of Dosoris, Long
Island, a lady of great refinement, beauty, and
strength of mind and character. Their son,
James, was horn at New Haven, September 20,
1789. He wat> remarkable in hi * boyhood for his
strength and dexterity in athletic exercises, and
for the grace of. his deportment. He entered
Yale College in his fifteenth year, and maintained
a high rank in hisl studies, and particularly in
English composition? Upon taking his Master's
degree, he delivered an oration on The Education
of a Poet, which was so much admired that it
obtained him an invitation to deliver a poem at
the next anniversary oT the Phi Beta Kappa So-
ciet}-. In fulfilment of this appointment he
produced The Jud-tmeiit, in 1812. Though a
topic baffling all ,!uumau intelligence, the poet
treated its august incidents as tliey are por-
trayed in holy writ, with elevation, exerci ing
his imagination/' on the allowable ground of the
human emotio/is and the diverse gathering of
the human race, with a truly poetic description
of the last c/ening of the expiring world.
Soon after leaving College, Hillhouse passed
three years in Boston, in preparation for a mer-
cantile career. The war proving an interruption
to his plans, he employed a period of enforced
leisure in writing Demetria, Percy's Masque, and
other dramatic compositions. After the peace he
engaged in commerce in the city of New York,
and in 1819 visited England, where he saw, among
other distinguished men, Zacliary Macaulay (the
father of the historian), who afterwards spoke of
him to his American friends as " the most
accomplished young man with whom he was
acquainted." During this visit he published
"Percy's Masque," in London. It was at once
reprinted in this country, and received with great
favor on both sides of the Atlantic.
In 1822 he manned Cornelia, the eldest daughter
of Isaac Lawrence of New York, and soon after
; removed to a country seat near New Haven,
| which he called Sachem's Wood, and where, with
the exception of an annual winter visit of a few
months to New York, the remainder of his life
was passed, in the cultivation and adornment of
his beautiful home, and in literary pursuits and
studies. These soon produced the ripe fruit of
his mind, the drama of Hadad, written in 1824,
and published in 1825.
In 1839, having carefully revised, he collected
his previously published works, including several
orations delivered on various occasions, and a
domestic tragedy, Demetria, written twenty-six
years before, in two volumes.* This settlement,
so to speak, of his literary affairs, was to prove
the precursor, at no remote interval, of the close
of his earthly career. Hi friend < had previously
been alarmed by the symptoms of consumption
which had impaired his former vigor, and this
disease assuming a more aggravated form, and
advancing with great rapidity, put an end to
his life on the 4th of January, 1841.t
The prevalent character of the writings of
Hillhouse is a certain spirit of elegance, which
characterizes both his prose and poetry; and
which is allied to the higher themes of passion
and imagination. He felt deeply, and expressed
his emotions naturally in the dramatic form.
His conceptions were submitted to a laborious
preparation, and took an artistieal shape. Of his
three dramatic productions, Demetria, an Italian
tragedy, is a passionate story of perplexed love,
jealou-y, and intrigue ; Hadad is a highly
wrought dramatic poem, employing the agency
of the supernatural; and Percy's Masque, sug-
gested by an English ballad, Bishop Percy's
Hermit of Warkworth, an historical romance,
of much interest in the narrative, the plot being
highly effective, at the expen-e somewhat of
character, while the dialogue is tilled with choice
descriptions of the natural scenery in which the
piece is cast, and tender sentiment of the lovers.
That, however, which gained the author most re-
pute with his contemporaries, and is the highest
proof of his powers, is the twofold characterization
of Hadad and Tamar; the supernatural fallen
angel appearing as the sensual heathen lovir,
and the Jewish maiden. The dialogue in which
these personages are displa3-ed, abounds with rare
poetical beauties; with lines and imagery worthy
of the old Elizabethan drama. The description,
in the conversation between Nathan and Tamar,
of the associations of Hadad, who is "of the
blood royal of Damascus," is in a rich imagina-
tive vein.
Nathan. I think thou saidst he had surveyed the
world.
Tamar. 0, father, he can speak
Of hundred-gated Thebes, towered Babylon,
And mightier Nineveh, vast Palibothra,
Serendib anchored by the gates of morning,
Renowned Benares, where the Suges teach
The mystery of the soul, and that famed Ilium
Where fleets and warriors from Elishah's Isles
Besieged the Beauty, where great Memnon fell : —
* Dramas, Discourses and other Pieces, by James A. ITilt-
house. 2 vols. Boston : Littie «fc Brown.
+ Eveiest's Poets of Connecticut, p. 1C9. An authentic
family narrative from Bishop Kip, iu Griswold's Poets of
America.
JAMES A. HILLEOITSE,
119
Of pyramids, temples, and superstitious caves
Filled with strange symbols of the Deity ;
Of wondrous mountains, desert-circled seas,
Isles of the ocean, lovely Paradises,
Set, like unfading emeralds, in the deep.
This being, who excites the revolt of Absalom,
introduced to us at first at the court of David, as
of an infidel race, practised in "arts inhibited and
out of warrant," in the end displays his true na-
ture in the spirit of the tiend, which has ruled
the designs of the fair Syrian. The softness and
confiding faith of the Hebrew girl, stronger in
her religion than her love, triumph over the
infidel spiritual assaults of lladad ; and in these
passages of tenderness contrasted with the
honeyed effrontery of the assailant, and mingled
with scene* of revolt and battle, Hillhouse has
displayed some of his finest graces. Perfection,
in such a literary undertaking, would have tasked
the powers of a Goethe. As a poetical and
dramatic >ketch of force and beauty, the author
of Hadad has not failed in it. The conception is
handled with dignity, and its defects are concealed
in the general grace of the style, which is
polished and refined.*
The descriptive poem of Sachem's Head is
an enumeration of the points of historic interest
and of family association connected with his
place of residence, sketched in a cheerful vein of
pleasantry.
' Several fine prose compositions close the au-
thor's collection of his writings. They are a
Phi Beta Kappa Discourse in 1826, at New
Haven, On Some of the Considerations which
should influence an Epic or a Tragic Writer in
the Choice of an Era ; a Discourse before the
Brooklyn Lyceum, in 183G, On the Relations of
Literature to a Republican Government ; and a
Discourse at New Haven, pronounced by request
of the Common Council, August 10, 183-t, in
Commemoration of the Life and Services of
General La Fayette . —all thoughtful, energetic,
and polished productions.
It is pleasant to record the eulog}' of one poet
by another. Halleck, in his lines "To the Re-
corder," has thus alluded to Hillhouse : —
nillhouse, whose music, like his themes,
Lifts earth to heaven — whose poet dreams
Are pure and holy as the hymn
Echoed from harps of seraphim,
By bards that drank at Ziou's fountains
When glory, peace and hope were hers,
And beautiful upon her mountains
The feet of angel messengers.
'Willis, too, paid a genial tribute to Hillhouse
in his poem before the Linouian Society of Yale
College, delivered a few months after the poet's
death — in that passage where he celebrates the
associations of the elm walk of the city.
LAST EVENING OF THE WORLD — FROM THE JUDGMENT.
By this, the sun his westering car drove low ;
Round his broad wheel full many a lucid cloud
Floated, like happy isles, in seas of gold :
Along the horizon castled shapes were piled,
* Id a note to one of Coleridge's Lectures on the Personality
of the Evil Being, &c. (Literary Remains, vol. i. p. 210, 1S36),
there is a passage given by him as written in a copy of Hadad,
which offers some suggestion on the use of the " Fallen
Spirits" in that poem.
Turrets and towers whose fronts embattled gleamed
With yellow light : smit by the slanting ray,
A ruddy beam the canopy reflected ;
With deeper light the ruby blushed ; and thick
Upon the Seraphs' wings the glowing spots
Seemed drops of lire. Uncoiling from its staff
With fainter wave, the gorgeous ensign hung,
Or, swelling with the swelling breeze, by fits,
Cast off upon the dewy air huge flakes
Of golden lustre. Over all the hill,
The Heavenly legions, the assembled world,
Evening her criuison tint for ever drew.
*****
Round I gazed
Where in the purple west, no more to dawn,
Faded the glories of the dying day.
Mild twinkling through a crimson-skirted cloud
The solitary star of Evening shone.
While gazing wistful on that peerless light
Thereafter to be seen no more, (as, oft.
In dreams strange images will mix,) sad thoughts
Passed o'er my soul. Sorrowing, 1 cried, "Farewell,
Pnle, beauteous Planet, that displayest so soft
Amid yon glowing streak thy transient beam,
A long, a last f irewell ! Seasons have changed,
Ages and empires rolled, like smoke away,
But, thou, unaltered, beamest as silver fair
As on thy birthnight 1 Bright and watchful eyes,
From palaces and bowers, have hailed thy gem
With secret transport ! Natal star of love,
And souls that love the shadowy hour of fancy,
How much I owe thee, how I bless thy ray !
How oft thy rising o'er the hamlet green,
Signal of rest, and social converse sweet,
Beneath some patriarchal tree, has cheered
The peasant's heart, and drawn his benison!
Pride of the West ! beneath thy placid light
The tender tale shall never more be told,
Man's soul shall never wake to joy again :
Thou sct'st for ever, — lovely Orb, farewell! "
INTERVIEW OF HADAD AND TAMAR.
The garden of Absolom's house on Mount Zion,near th*
palace, uaerioohing the city. Tamak sitting by ajuuntain.
Tam. How aromatic evening grows! The flower.->
And spicy shrubs exhale like onycha ;
Spikenard and henna emulate in sweets.
Blest hour! which He, who fashioned it so fair,
So softly glowing, so contemplative,
Hath set, and sanctified to look on man.
And lo ! the smoke of evening sacrifice
Ascends from out the tabernacle. — -Heaven,
Accept the expiation, and forgive
This day's offences ! — Ha ! the wonted strain,
Precursor of his coming ! — -Whence can this —
It seems to flow from some unearthly hand —
Enter Hadad.
Had. Docs beauteous Tamar view, in this clear
fount,
Herself, or heaven ?
Tam. Nay, Hadad, tell me whence
Those sad, mysterious sounds.
Had. What sounds, dear Princess?
Tam. Surely, thou know'st ; and now I almost
think
Some spiritual creature waits on thee.
Had. I heard no sounds, but such as evening sends
Up from the city to these quiet shades;
A blended murmur sweetly harmonizing
With flowing fountains, feathered minstrelsy,
And voices from the hills.
Tam. The sounds I mean,
Floated like mournful music round my head,
From unseen fingers.
120
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
Bad. When?
Tarn. Kuw, as thou earnest.
Had. 'T is but thy fancy, wrought
To ecstasy; or else th}' grandsire's h.irp
Resounding from his tower at eventide.
I 've lingered to enjoy its solemn tones,
Till the broad moon, that rose o'er Olivet,
Stood listening in the zenith ; yea, have deemed
Viols and heavenly voices answer him.
Tarn. But these —
Had. Were we in Syria, I might s.-iy
The Naiad of the fount, or some sweet Nymph,
The goddess of these shades, rejoiced in thee,
And gave thee salutations ; but I fear
Judah would call me infidel to Moses.
Tarn. How like my fancy 1 When these strains
precede
Thy steps, as oft they do, I love to think
Some gentle being who delights in us
Is hovering near, ai d warns me of thy coming;
But they are dirge-like.
Had. Youthful fantasy,
Attuned to sadness, makes them seem so, lady,
So evening's charming voices, welcomed ever,
As signs of rest and peace; — the watchman's call,
The closing gates, the Levite's mellow trump,
Announcing the returning moon, the pipe
Of swains, the bleat, the bark, the housing-bell,
Send melancholy to a drooping soul.
Tarn. But how delicious are the pensive dreams
That steal upon the fancy at their call !
Had. Delicious to behold the world at rest.
Meek labour wipes his brow, and intermits
The curse, to clasp the younglings of his cot;
Herdsmen and shepherds fold their flocks, — and
hark !
What merry strains they send from Olivet!
The jar of life is still ; the city speaks
In gentle murmurs ; voices chime with lutes
Waked in the streets and gardens; lovi: g pairs
Eye the red west in one anothei's arms;
And nature, breathing dew and fragrance, yields
A glimpse of happiness, which lie, who formed
Earth and the stars, hath power to make eternal.
THE TEMPTATION.
Aesolom, the failier of Tamar, is slain, and IIadad entreats
Iter to escape with him.
Tarn, (in alarm.) What mean'st thou?
Had. Later witnesses report
Alas !
Tarn. My father? — Gracious Heaven! —
Mean'st thou my father? —
Had. Dearest Tamar, — Israel's Hope —
Sleeps witli the valiant of the years of old.
(Tamar, with convulsed cry, bursts into tears :
Hadad seems to weep.)
The bond is rent that knit thee to thy country.
Thy father's murderers triumph. Turn not there,
To see their mockery. Let us retire,
And, piously, on some far, peaceful shore,
With mingled tears embalm his memory.
Tain, (clasping her hands.) Am I an orphan ?
Had. Nay, much-loved. Princess, not while this
Fond heart
Tarn. Misguided father ! — Hadst thou but listened,
Hadst thou believed
Had. But now, what choice is left?
What refuge hast thou but thy faithful Hadad?
Tarn. One — stricken — hoary head remains.
Had. The slayer of thy parent — Wouldst thou go
Where obloquy and shame and curses load him?
Hear him called rebel ?
Tarn. All is expiated now.
Had. Tamar, — wilt thou forsake me ?
Tarn. I must go to David.
Had. (aside.) Cursed thought!
Think of your lot — neglect, reproach, and scorn.
For who will wed a traitor's offspring ? All
The proud will slight thee, as a blasted thing.
Tarn. 0, wherefore this to roe? ■
Conduct me hence — Nay, instantly.
Had. (in an altered tone.) Hold ! hold !
For thou must hear. — If deaf to love, thou 'rt not
To fearful ecstacy.
(Tamar startled: — he -proceeds, but agitated
and irresolute.)
Confide in me —
I can transport thee- 0, to a paradise,
To which this Canaan is a darksome span ; —
Beings shall welcome — serve thee — lovely as An-
gels ;—
The Elemental Towers shall stoop — the Sea
Disclose her wonders, and receive thy feet
Into her sapphire chambers ; — orbed eloi.ds
Shall chariot thee from zone to zone, while earth,
A dwindled islet, floats beneath thee ; — every
Season and clime shall blend for thee the gailand —
The abyss of Time shall east its secrets, — ere
The I lood marred primal nature, — ere this Oib
Stood in her station ! Thou shalt know the stars,
The houses of Eternity, their names,
Their courses, destiny, — all marvels high.
Tain. Talk not so madly.
Had. (vehemently.) Speak — answer —
Wilt thou be mine, if unstress of them all?
Tain. Thy mien appals me ; — I know not what T
fear ; —
Thou wouldst not wrong me, — reft and father-
less—
Confided to thee as a sacred trust —
Had. (haughtily.) My power
Is questioned. Whom dost thou imagine me?
Tain. Indeed, surpassed by nothing human.
Had. Bah!
Tarn. 0, Hadad, Hadad, what unhallow'd thought
So ruffles and transforms thee?
Had. Still, still,
Thou call'st me Hadad, — boy, worm, heritor
Of a poor, vanquished, tributary King! —
Then know me.
Tain. Seraphs hover round me !
Had. AVoman ! — (Struggling, as with conflicting
emotions.)
What thou so dotest on — this form — was Hadad's —
But I — the Spirit — I, who speak through these
Clay lips, and glimmer through these eyes, —
Have challenged friendship, equality,
With Deathless Ones — prescient Intelligences, —
Who scorn Man and his molehill, and esteem
The outgoing of the morning, yesterday! —
I, who commune with thee, have dared, proved,
suffered,
In life — in death — and in that state whose bale
Is death's first issue ! I could freeze thy blood
With mysteries too terrible of Hades! —
Not there immured, for by my art I 'scaped
Those confines, and with beings dwelt of blight
Unbodied essence. — ^anst thou now conceive
The love that could persuade me to these fetters? —
Abandoning my power — I, wdio could touch
The firmament, and plunge to darkest Sheol,
Bask in the sun's oi b, fathom the green sea,
Even while I speak it — here to root and grow
In earth again, a mortal, abject thing,
To win and to enjoy thy love.
Tarn, (in a low voice of supplication.) Heaven I
Heaven!
Forsake me not I
JOHN W. FRANCIS.
121
tllE EDTTOATTON OF MFV OF T.EISTTI1F. — FF.OM TnF F.FT.ATI0N3
Oi'' LliEUATUUE TO A KEPJUL1CAN GOVERNMENT.
In casting about for the means of opposing the
sensual, selfish, and mercenary tendencies of our
nature (the real Hydra of free institutions), and of
so elevating man, as to render it not chimerical to
expect from him the safe ordering of his steps, no
mere human agency can be compared with the re-
6 mrces laid up in the great Tkeasurc-House of Li-
; TERATURE. — There, is collected the accumulated ex-
» perience of ages, — the volumes of the historian, like
lamps, to guide our feet; — there stand the heroic
patterns of courage, magnanimity, and self-denying
(virtue : — there are embo iied the gentler attributes,
which soften and purify, while they charm the
heart : — -there lie the charts of those who have ex-
plored the deeps and shallows of the soul: — there the
dear-bought testimony, which reveals to us the ends
of the earth, and shows, that the girdle of the waters
is nothing but their Maker's will: — there stands the
Poet's harp, of mighty compass, and many strings:
—there hang the deep-toned instrume ,ts through
which patriot eloquence has poured its inspiring
echoes over oppressed nations: — there, in the sanc-
tity of their o.vu self-emitted light., repose the
Heavenly oracles. This glorious fane, vast, and
full of wonders, has been reare 1 and store !
by the labors of Lettered Men ; a id could it be
destroyed, mankind might relapse to the state of
savages.
A restless, discontented, aspiring, immortal prin-
ciple, placed in a material form, whose clamorous
appetites, bitter pains, and final languishing and
decay, are perpetually at war with the pe ice and
innocence of the st i.itual occupa.t: and have, more-
over, power to jeopard its lasting welfare; is the
mysterious combination of Hainan Nature! To
employ the never-resting faculty ; to turn of its de-
sires from the da igero is illusions of the senses to the
ennobling enjoyments of the mind ; to pluje before
the bigh-reuchlug principle, objects that will excite,
and reward its e. forts, a. id, at the same time, not un-
fit a thing immortal for the prob ibintics that await
it when tune shall be no more ; — these are the legi-
timate aims of a perfect education.
Left to the scanty round of gratifications supplied
by the senses, or eked by the frivolous g ueties
which wealth mistakes for pleasure, the unfurnished
mind becomes weary of all things and itself. With
the capacity to feel its wretchedness, but without
tastes or intellectual light to guide it to any avenue
of escape, it gropes ro.md its confines of clay, with
the sensatioiis of a cage 1 wild beast. It riseth up,
it moveth to and fro, it liet l down again. In the
morning it says, Woul 1 God it were evening! in
the eve dug it cries, Would God it were morning !
Driven iu upon itself, with passions and desires that
madden for action, it grows desperate ; its vision
becomes perverted: and, at last, vice and ignominy
seem preferable to what the great Poet calls " the hell
of the lukewarm" Such is the end of ma.iy a youth,
to whom authoritative discipline and enlarged teach-
ing might have early opened the interesting spectacle
of ma i's past and prospective destiny. Instead of
languishing, — his mi. id might have throbbed and
burned, over the trials, the oppressions, the fortitude,
the triumphs, of men and nations: — breathed upon
by the life-giving lips of the Patriot, he might have
discovered, that he had not only a country to love,
but a head and a hear? to serve her: — goi: g out
with Science, in her researches through the universe,
he might have found, amidst the secrets of Nature,
ever-growing food for reflection and delight: — as-
cending where the Muses sit, he might have gazed
on transporting scenes, and transfigured beings; and
snatched, through heaven's half-unfolded portab,
glimpses unutterable of thing! beyond.
In view of these obvious considerations, one of the
strangest miseonceptio:is is that which blinds us to
the policy, as well as duty, of educating in the most
finished manner our youth of large expectations,
expressly to meet the dangers and fulfil the duties
of men of leisure. The mischievous, and truly Ameri-
can notion, th.it, to enjoy a respectable position,
every man must traffic, or preach, or practise, or hold
an office, brings to beggary and infamy, many who
might have lived, under a juster estimate of things,
usefully and happily ; and cuts us off from a i eedi'ul
as well as ornamental; portion of society. The ne-
cessity of labo ing for sustenance is, indeed, the
great safeguard of the world, the ba'.last, without
which the wild passions of men would bring com-
munities to speedy wreck. But man will not labor
without i a motive ; aid successful accumulation, on
the part of the parent, deprives the son of this im-
pulse. Instead, then, of vainly contending against
laws, as insurmountable as those of physics, and at-
temptii g to drive their children into lucrative indus-
try, why do not men, who have made themselves
opulent, open their eyes, at once, to the glari g fact,
that the cause, — the cause itself, — which braced their
own nerves to the struggle for fortune, docs not exist
for their offspring?' The father lias taken from the
son his motive! — a motive confessedy important to
happiness and virtue, in the present state of things.
He is bound, therefore, by every consideration of
prudence and humanity, neither to attempt to drag
him forward without a cheering, animating principle
of action, — nor recklessly to abandon him to iiis own
guidance, — nor to poiso i him with the love of lucre
for itself; but, under new circumstances, — with new
prospects, — at a totally diJVercnt starting-place from
Iiis own, — to supply other motives, — drawn from our
sensibility to reputation, — from our natural desire to
know, — from an enlarged view of our capacities and
enjoyments, — and a more high and liberal estimate
of our relations to society. Fearful, indeed, is the
responsibility of lenvi. g youth, without mental re-
sources, to the temptations of splendid idleness!
Men who have not considered this subject, while the
objects of their auction yet surround their table,
drop no see Is of generous sentiments, animate them
with no discourse on the beauty of disinterestedness,
the paramount value of the mind, and the dignity
of that renown which is the e ho of illustrious
actions. Absorbed in one pursuit, their morning
precept, their mid-day example, and their evening
moral, too often co.. spire to teach a single maxim,
and that in direct contradiction of the inculcation,
so often and so variously repeated: "It is better to
get wisdom than gold." Right views, a careful
choice of agents, and the delegation, betimes, of strict
authority, would insure the c b,ect. Only let the
parent feel, and the son be early taught, that, with
the command of money and leisure, to enter on
manhood without havi g mastered every attainable
accomplishment, is mo: e disgraceful than threadbare
garments, and we might have the happiness to see
in the inheritors of paternal wealth, less frequently,
idle, ignorant prodigals and heart-breakers, and
more frequently, high-minded, highly educated
young men, embellishi. g, if not called to public
trusts, a private station.
JOnjf "W. FRANCIS.
Dr.. Jonx W. Francis, whose long intimacy and
association with two generations of American
authors constitute an additional claim, with his own
professional and literary reputation, upon honor-
122
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
able attention in any general memorial of Ameri-
can literature, was born in the city of New York,
November 17, 1789. His father, Melchior Fran-
cis, was a native of Nuremberg, Germany, who
came to America shortly after the establishment
of American independence. He followed the
business, in New York, of a grocer, and was
known for his integrity and enterprise. lie fell
a victim to the yellow fever. Dr. Francis's mother
was a lady of Philadelphia. Tier maiden name was
Sommers, of a family originally from Berne, in
Switzerland. It is one of the favorite historical
reminiscences of her son that she remembered
when those spirits of the Revolution, Franklin,
Bush, and Paine, passed her door in their daily
associations, and the children of the neighborhood
would cry out, " There go Poor Richard, Com-
mon S.-nse, and the Doctor." His association
with Franklin is not merely a matter of fancy.
In his youth Francis had chosen the calling of a
printer, and was enlisted to the trade in the
office of the strong-minded, intelligent, and ever-
industrious George Long, who was also a pro-
minent bookseller and publisher of the times, and
who, emigrating from England by way of the
Canadas, had carved out his own fortunes by his
self-denial and perseverance. We have heard
Mr. Long relate the anecdote of the hours stolen
by the young Francis from meal-time and re-
creation, as, sitting under his frame, he partook of
a frugal apple and cracker, and conned eagerly
the Latin grammar; and of the pleasure with
which he gave up his hold on the 3'oung scholar,
that he might pursue the career to which his
tastes and love of letters urged him. At this
early period, while engaged in the art of print-
ing, lie was one of the few American sub-
scribers to the English edition of Rees's Cyclo-
paedia, which he devoured with the taste of a
literary epicure ; he afterwards became a personal
friend and correspondent of the learned editor,
and furnished articles for the London copy of
that extensive and valuable work. His mother,
who had been left in easy circumstances, had
provided liberally for his education : first at a
school of reputation, under the charge of the Rev.
George Strebeck, and afterwards securing him
the instructions in his classx d studies of the Rev.
John Conroy, a graduate of Trinity College,
Dublin. He was thus enabled to enter an ad-
vanced cla-s of Columbia College, and he pushed
his advantages still further by commencing his
medical studies during his undergraduate cour-e.
He received his degree in 1809, and adopting
the pursuit of medicine, became the pupil of the
celebrated Dr. Ilosack, then in the prime of life
and height of his metropolitan reputation.
In 1811 Francis received his degree of M.D.
from the College of Physicians and Surgeons,
which had been established in 1807 under the
presidency of Dr. Romayne, and which had been
lately reorganized; with Dr. Bard at its head.
Franci-'s name was the first recorded on the list
of graduates of the new institution. The subject
of his E isay on the occasion was The Use of Mer-
cury, a topic which he handled not only with
medical ability, but with a great variety of his-
torical research. The paper was afterwards pub-
lished in the Medical and Philosophic-it Register,
and gained the author much distinction. He
now became the medical partner of nosack, an
association which continued till 1820, and the
fruits of which were not confined solely to his
profession, as we find the names of the two united
in many a scheme of literary and social advance-
ment.
In compliment to his acquirements and per-
sonal accomplishment*, Francis was appointed
Lecturer on the Institutes of Medicine and the
Materia Medica in the state college.
In 1813, when the medical faculty of Columbia
College and of the " Physicians and Surgeons"
were united, he received freim the regents of the
state the appointment of Professor of Materia
Medica. "With characteristic liberality he delivered
his course of lectures without fees. His popularity
gained him from the students the position of
president e>f their Medico-Chirurgical Society, in
which he succeeded Dr. Mitcbill. At this time
he visited Great Britain and a portion of the
continent. In Lemdon he attended the lectures
and enjoyed a friendly intercourse with Abernethy,
to whom he carried the first American reprint
of his writings. On receiving the volumes from
the hands of Francis, satisfied with the compli-
ment from the distant country, and not dreaming
of copyright possibilities in those days, the eccen-
tric physician grasped the books, ran his eye
hastily over them, and set them on the mantel-
piece of bis study, with the exclamation, " Stay
here, John Abernethy, until I remove yeiu !
Egad! this from America!" In Edinburgh, his
acquaintance with Jameson, Playfair, John Bell,
Gregory, Brewster, and the Duncans, gave him
every facility of adding to the stores of know-
ledge. A residence of six months in London,
and attendance on Abernethy and St. Bartho-
lomew's Hospital, with the lectures of Pearson
and Brande, increased these means ; and in Paris,
Gall, Denon, Dupuytren, were found accessible in
the promotion of his scientific designs.
He returned to New York, bringing with him
the foundation of a valuable library, since grown
to one of the choicest private collections of the
i city. There were numerous changes in the ad-
j ministration of the medical institution to which
[ he was attached, but Francis, at one time Pro-
I fesseir of the Institutes of Medicine, at another
j of Medical Jurisprudence, and again of Obste-
trics, helfl position in them all till his voluntary
resignation with the rest of the faculty, in 1826;
'. when he took part in the medical school founded
j in New York under the auspices of the char-
| ter of Rutgers College. Legislative enactments
dissolved this school, which had, while in ope-
ration, a most successful career. But its exist-
ence was in nowise compatible with the interests
of the state school. For about twenty years he
was the assiduous and successful professor in
several departments of medical science. With
his retirement from this institution ceased his
professorial career, though he was lately the first
president of the New York Academy of Medicine,
and is at present head of the Medical Board of
the Bellevue Hospital. -He has since been a
leading practitioner in the city of New York,
frequently consulted by his brethren of the fa-
culty, and called to solve disputed points in the
courts of medical jurisprudence.
In 1810 he founded, in conj uuction with Hosack,
JOIIX VT. FEAXCIS.
123
the American Medical and Philosophical Regis-
ter, which he continued through four annual
volume-;. It was a very creditable enterprise,
and now remains for historical purposes one of
the most valuable journals of its clas=. Though
dealing largely in the then engrossing topic of
epidemics, its pages are by no means confined to
medicine. It led the way with the discussion of
steam and canal navigation, with papers from
Fulton, Stevens, and Morris. Wilson's Orni-
thology, Livingston's merino sheep- shearing at
Clermont, the biography of professional and other
worthies with the universalities of Mitohill, each
had a share of its attention. It also contains a
number of well executed original engraving-; and
for all the-e things it should not be forgotten
there was, as usual in those time; with such
advances in the libjral arts, an unpaid expendi-
ture of brain, and a decidedly unremunerating
investment of mo'iey. Besides his contributions
to this journal, his medical publication-; include
his enlarged edition of Denmau's Midwifery,
which has several times been reprinted, Cases of
Morbid Anatomy, Oi the Value of Vitriolic
Emetics in the Membranous Stage of Croup,
Facts and Inferences in Medical Jurisprudence,
On the Anatomy of Drunkenness, and Dea':h by
Lightning, & -., essays on the cholera of New
York in 1832, on the mineral waters of Avon,
two discourses before the New York Academy
of Medicine, and other minor performances. He
(^Zrt/ff^Pza^^y
was also one of the editors, for some time, of
the New York Medical and Physical Journal,
lie has been a prominent actor through the sea-
sons of pestilence in New York for nearly fifty
yenr3; and was the first who awakened the at-
tention of the medical faculty of the United
States to the fact of the rare susceptibility of the
human constitution to a second attack of the
pestilential yellow fever, which he made known
in his letter on Febrile Contagion, dated London,
June, 1816.
In general literature, the productions of Fran-
cis, though the occupation of moments extorted
from his overwrought profession, are numerous.
He has largely added to our stock of biographical
knowledge by many articles. His account of
Franklin in New York has found its way into Val-
entine's Manual. lie has delivered addresses beforo
the New York Horticultural Society in 1820 ; tho
Philolexian Society of Columbia College in 1831,
the topic of which is the biography of Chancellor
Livingston; the discourse at the opening of tho
New Hall of the New York Lyceum of Natural
History in 1S36; several speeches at the Historical
Society and the Typographical Society of New
York, before which he read, at the anniversary
in 1832, a paper of Reminiscences of Printers,
Au'hors, and Booksellers of New York, which,
as it was afterwards published at length,* con-
stitutes an interesting addition to tlu literary
history of the country. It is filled with vivid
pictures of by-gone worthies', and might be readily
enlarged from tho published as well as conversa-
tional stores of tho author to a large volume ; for
Francis has been a liberal contributor to the
numerous labors of this kind of tho Knapps,
Dunlaps, Thachers, an 1 others, from whose vo-
lumes he might reclaim many a fugitive pago.
His notices of Daniel Webster, called forth by tho
public proceedings ater the death of that states-
man, have been published by the Common Coun-
cil of the city. His reminiscences of tho novelist
Cooper, with whom his relation had been one of
long personal friendship, called forth by a similar
occasion, appeared in tho " Memorial" of tho
novelist, published in 1832. Dr. Francis is a
member of many Medical and Philosophical Asso-
ciations both abroad and in his native Ian 1. In
1830 he received the degree of LL.D. from Trinity
College, Connecticut.
One of the latest and most characteristic of
these biographical sketches is the paper on Chris-
topher Codes, read in 183 it before the New
York Historical Society, of which Dr. Francis
has been, from an early date, a most efficient
supporter. The subject was quaint and learned,
with rare opportunities for picturesque descrip-
tion in the fortunes of a simple-minded, enthu-
siastic city reformer and philosopher, whose slen-
der purse was out of all proportion with his
enthusiasm and talent. His virtues were kindly
dealt with, and his abilities intelligently set forth;
while his "thin-spun life" was enriched by asso-
ciation with the memorable men and things of old
New York in his day.
While thus inclined to dwell with the past, Dr.
Francis, in bis genial home, draws together the
refined activities of the present. At his house in
Bond street, enjoying the frankness and freedom
of his warm, unobtrusive hospitality, may be met
most of the literary and scientific celebrities of
the time, who make their appearance in tho
metropolis. The humor and ' character of tho
host are universal solvents for all tastes and tem-
peraments. Art, science, opera, politics, theology,
and, above all, American history and antiqui-
ties, are handled, in that cheerful society, with
zest and animation. If a dull argument or an
* In the International Most, for Feb., 1S52.
t It has been published ia tho Knickerbocker Gallery, 1355.
m
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN" LITERATURE.
over-tecliotis talc is siometimes invaded by a
shock of liearty liabelaisiaii effrontery — truth does
not suffer in the encounter. The cares and
anxieties of professional life were never more
happily relieved than in these intellectual recrea-
tions
They were shared in lately by one whose
early death has been sincerely mourned by many
friends. In the beginning of ISoo, the eldest son
of Dr. Francis, bearing his father's name, at the
early age of twenty-two, on the eve of taking
his medical degree with high honor, fell by an
attack of typhus fever, to which he had subjected
himself i:i the voluntary charitable exercise of his
profession. A memorial, privately printed since
Iris death, contains numerous tributes to his vir-
tues and talents, which gave earnest promise of
important services to the public in philanthropy
and literature.
CimiSTOPHEli COLLES.
As Colics was aa instructive representative of
much of that peculiarity in the condition and affairs
of New York, at the time in which he may be said
to have flourished, I shall trespass a moment, by a
brief exhibit of the circumstances which marked the
period, in which he was, upon the whole, a promi-
nent character. Everybody seemed to know him ;
no one spoke disparngi. gly of him. His enthusiasm,
his restlessness, were familiar to the citizens at large.
He, in short, was a part of our domestic history, and
an extra word or two may be tolerated, the betler
to give him his fair proportions. Had I encouatcie 1
Codes ia any laud, I would have been willing to
have naturalized him to our soil and institutions.
He had virtues, the exercise of which must prove
Erofitable to any people. The biographer of Chaucer
as seen fit, inasmuch as his hero was bora ia Lon-
don, to give us a history and description of that city
at the time of Chaucer's birth, as a suitable intro-
duction to his work. I shall attempt no such task,
nor shall I endeavor to make Codes a hero, much as
I de ir.L to swell his dimensions. I shall circumscribe
him to a chap-book; he might be distended to a
quarto. Yet the ardent and untiring man was so
connected with divers affairs, even after he had do-
mesticated himself among us, that every move-
ment in which he took a part must have had a salu-
tary influence on the masses of those days. He was
a lover of nature, and our village city of that time
gave him a fair opportunity of recreation among the
lordly plane, and elm, and eatalpa trees of Wall
street, Broadway, Pearl street, and the Bowery.
The beautiful groves about Richmond Hill and Lis- |
penard Meadows, and old Yauxhall, mitigated the
duluess incident to his continuous toil. A trip to
the scattered residences of Brooklyn awakened
rural associations ; a sail to Communipaw gave him
the opportunity of studyii g marls and the bivalves.
That divine principle of celestial origin, religious
toleration, seems to have had a strong hold on the
people of that day ; and the persecuted Priestley,
shortly after he reached our shores, held forth in the
old Presbyterian Church in Wall street, doubtless
favored in a measure by the friendship of old Dr.
Rodgers, a convert to Whitefield, and a pupil of
"Witherspoon. This fact I received from John Pin-
tard. Livingston and Rodgers, Moore and Provoost,
supplied the best Christian dietetics Ids panting
desires needed ; while in the persons of Bayley and
Kissam, and Hosack and Post, he felt secure from
the misery of dislocations and fractures, and that
alarming pest, the yellow fever. He 6aw the bar
occupied with such advocates as Hamilton ana Burr,
Hoitinan and Colden, and he dreaded neither tho
assaults of the lawless nor the chicanery of contrac-
tors. The old Tontine gave him more daily news
than he had time to digest, and the Argus and Mi-
nerva, FrencaiCs Time-Piece, and Swords' New York
Magazine, inspired him with increased zeal for
liberty, and a fondness for belles-lettres. The city
libraiy had, even at that early day, the same tena-
city of purpose which marks its career at the pre-
sent hour. There were literary warehouses in
abundance. Judah had decorated his with the por-
trait of Paine, and here Codes might study Common
Sense and the Rights of Man, or he might stroll
to the store of Duyckinck, the patron of books of
piety, works on education, and Noah Webster ; or
join tete-a-tete with old Hugh Gaine, or James Riv-
ington, and Philip Freneau ; now all in harmony,
notwithstanding the witherii g satire against those
accommodating old lories, by the great bard of the
revolutionary crisis.
The infantile intellect of those days was enlarged
with Humpty-Dumpty and Hi-did die-diddle, Shop-
windows were stoi ed with poi traits of Paul Joi.es
and Truxton, and the musical sentiment bioke forth
in ejaeuhitio. s of Tally IJo! and old Towler in one
part of the town, and, in softer accents, with Rous-
seau's Dream in another. Here and there, too,
might be found a coterie giatified with the cres-
cei do and d mini e do of S gnor Trazerta: nearly
thirty years e.apsed from this peiiod eie the arrival
of the Garcia troupe, through the efforts of our
lamei ted Almaviva, Hominick Lynch, the nonpareil
of society, when the Italian opera, with its unrival-
led claims, burst forth fiom the enchantii g voice of
that marvellous company. The years 17E5-1800
were unquestionably the period in which the trea-
sures of the German mind were fiist developed in
this city by our exotic aid indigenous writers. That
learned orientalist, Dr. Kui.ze, now commenced the
translations into English of the German Hynn s, and
Strebeck and Milledoler gave us the Catechism of
the Luthe.ai.s. The Rev. Mr. Will, Charles Smith,
and William Dunlap, row supplied novelties from
the German dramatic school, and Kotzebue and
Schiller were found on that stuge where Shakespeare
had made l.is first appearance in the New Woild in
1752. Codes had other mental resources, as the
gaieties and gravities of life were dominant with
him. The city was the home of many noble spirits
of the Revolution ; General Stevens of the Boston
Tea-party was heie, full of anecdote, Fish of York-
town celebrity, and Gates of Saiatoga, always ac-
cessible.
There existed in New York, about these times, a
war of opinion, which seized even the medical fa-
culty. The Bastile had been taken. French specu-
lations looked captivating, and Genet's movements
won admiration, even with grave men. In common
witli others, our schoolmasters partook of the pre-
vailing mania; the tri-eoloied cockade was worn by
numerous schoolboys, as well as by their seniors.
The yellow-fever was wastii g the population ; but
the patriotic fervor, either for French or Ei glish
politics, glowed with ardor. With other boys I
united in the enthusiasm. The Carmagnole was
heard everywhere. I give a veise of a popular sorg
echoed throughout the streets of our city, and heard
at the Belvidere at that period.
America that lovely nation,
Orce w;is bound, but now is free;
She broke her chain, for to maintain
The lights and cause of liberly.
Strains like this of the Columbian bards in those
days of party-virulence emancipated the feelings of
ELIZA TOWNSEND.
12c
many a throbbing breast, even as now the songs,
of pregnant simplicity and affluent tenderness, by
Morris, afford delight tu a community pervaded by
a calmer spirit, and controlled by a loftier refine-
ment. Moreover, we are to remember that in that
early age of the Republic an author, and above all
a poet, was not an every-day article. True, old Dr.
Smith, the brother of the historian, and once a che-
mical professor in King's College, surcharged with
learning and love, who found Delias and Daphnes
everywhere, might be seen in the public ways, in
his velvet dress, with his madrigals for the beautiful
women of his select acquaintance ; but the buds of
promise of the younger Low (of a poetic family)
were blighted by an ornithological error :
'Tis morn, and the landscape is lovely to view,
The niff/Uingate warbles her song in the grove.
Weems had not yet appeared in the market with
his Court of Hymen and his Nest of Love; Cliffton
was pulmonary; Beach, recently betrothed to
Thalia, was now dejected from dorsal deformity ;
Linn, enceinte with the Powers of Genius, h;td not
yet advanced to a parturient condition ; Townsend,
sequestered amidst the rivulets and groves near
Oyster Bay, had with ambitious effort struck the
loud harp, but the Naiads and the Dryads were heed-
less of his melodious undulations ; Wardell's decla-
ration
To the tnneful Apollo I now mean to hollow!
was annunciatory — -ami nothing more ; and Searson,
exotic by birth, yet domesticated with us, having
made vast struggles in his perilous journey towards
Mount Parnassus, had already descended, with what
feelings is left to conjecture, by the poet's closing
lines of his Valedictory to his muse.
Poets like grasshoppers, sing till they die,
Yet, ia this world, some laugh, some sing, some cry.
The Mohawk reviewers, as John Davis called the
then critics of our city, thought, with the old saying,
that " where there is so much smoke, there must be
some fire." But it is no lo:iger questionable, that
our Castalian font was often dry, and when other-
wise, its stream was rather a muddy rivulet than a
spring of living waters. It needs our faithful Los-
sing to clear up the difficulties of that doubtful
period of patriotism and of poetry.
ELIZA TOWNSEND.
Eliza Towxsexd was descended from an ancient
and influential family, and was born in Boston in
1781). She was a contributor of poems to the
Monthly Anthology, the Unitarian Miscellany,
and the Port Folio, during the publication of those
magazines, and to other periodicals. Her produc-
tions were anonymous, and the secret of their au-
thorship was for some time preserved. They are
almost entirely occupied with religious or moral
reflection, are elevated in tone, and written in an
animated and harmonious manner. They are not
numerous, are all of moderate length, and have
never been collected. The verses on The In-
comprehensibility of God ; An, Occasional Ode,
written in June, 1809, and published at the time
in the Monthly Anthology, in which she com-
ments with severity on the career of Napoleon,
then at the summit of bis greatness; Lines to
Robert Sonthey, written in 1812; The Rainbow,
published in the General Repository and Review,
are her best known productions. She died at her
residence in Boston, January 12, 1854.
Miss Townsend was much esteemed, not only
for the high merit of her few literary productions
but for the cultivation and vigor of her mind, her
conversational powers, and her many amiable
qualities.*
INCOMPREHENSIBILITY OF GOD.
" / go forward, but he is not there: and backward, but I
ca/nnvt perceive him."
"Where art thou ? — Tuou I Source and Support
of all
That is or seen or felt ; Thyself unseen,
llnfelt, unknown, — alas! unknowable!
I look abroad among thy works — the sky,
Vast, distant, glorious with its world of suns, —
Life-giving earth, — and ever-moving main, —
And speaking winds, — and ask if these are Thee!
The stars that twinkle on, the eternal hills,
The restless tide's outgoing and return.
The omnipresent and deep-breathing air —
Though hailed as gods of old, and ouly less —
Are not the Power I seek ; are thine, not Thee I
I ask Thee from the past; if in the years,
Since first intelligence could search its source,
Or in some former unremembered being,
(If such, perchance, were mine) did they behold Thee !
And next interrogate futurity —
So fondly tenanted with better things
Than e'er experience owned — but both are mute;
And past and future, vocal on all else,
So full of memories and phantasies,
Are deaf and speechless here ! Fatigued, I turn
From all vain parley with the elements;
And close mine eyes, and bid the thought turn
inward.
From each material thing its anxious guest,
If, in the stillness of the waiting soul,
He may vouchsafe himself — Spirit to spirit!
O Thou, at once most dreaded and desire 1,
Pavilioned still in darkness, wilt thou hide thee?
What though the rash request be fraught with fate
Nor human eye may look on thine and live?
Welcome the penalty ; let that come now,
Which soon or late must come. For light like this
Who would not dare to die?
Peace, my proud aim,
And hush the wish that knows not what it asks.
Await his will, who hath appointed this,
With every other trial. Be that will
Done now, as ever. For thy curious search,
And unprepared solicitude to gaze
On Him — the Unrevealed — learn hence, instead,
To temper highest hope with humbleness.
Pass thy novitiate in these outer courts,
Till rent the veil, no longer separating
The Holiest of all — as erst, disclosing
A brighter dispensation ; whose results
Ineffable, interminable, tend
E'en to the perfecting thyself — thy kind'
Till meet for that sublime beatitude,
By the firm promise of a voice from heaven
Pledged to the pure in heart !
TOE RAINBOW.
Seen through the misty southern air,
What painted gleam of light is there
Luring the charmed eye?
Whose mellowing shades of different dyes,
In rich profusion gorgeous rise
And melt into the sky.
Higher and higher still it grows
Brighter and clearer yet it shows,
It widens, lengthens, rounds ;
* Obituary Notice by the Rev. Convers Francis. D.D., of the
Theological School of Harvard College; published in the Bos-
ton Daily Advertiser. Griswold's Female Poets of America.
126
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
And now that gleam of painted light,
A noble arch, compact to sight
Spans the empyreal bounds !
"What curious mechanician wrought,
"What viewless hands, as swift as thought,
Have bent this flexile bow ?
What seraph-touch these shades could blend
Without beginning, without end?
"What sylph such tints bestow i
If Fancy's telescope we bring
To scan withal this peerless thing,
The Air, the Cloud, the Water-King,
Twould seem their treasures joined:
And the proud monarch of the day,
Their grand ally, his splendid ray
Of eastern gold combined.
Tain vision hence! That will revere
Which, in creation's infant year,
Bade, in compassion to our fear,
(Scarce spent the deluge rage)
Each elemental cause combine,
"Whose rich effect should form this sign
'ihrough every future age.
0 Peace! fie rainbow-emblemed maid,
AVhe;e have thy fairy footsteps strayed?
Where hides thy seraph form?
What twilight caves of ocean rest?
Or in what island of the blest
Sails it on gales of morn ?
Missioned from heaven in early hour,
Designed through Eden's blissful bower
Delightedly to tread ;
Till exiled thence in evil time,
Scared at the company of crime,
Thy startled pinions fled.
E'er since that hour, alas! the thought!
Li'ce thine own dove, who vainly sought
To find a sheltered nest ;
Still from the east, the south, the north,
Doomed to be driven a wanderer forth,
And find not where to lest.
Till, when the west its world displayed
Cf hiding hills, and sheltering shade —
Either thy weary flight was stayed,
Here fondly fixed thy seat;
Our forest glens, our desert caves,
Our wall of interposing waves
Deemed a secure retreat.
In vain — from this thy last abode,
(One pitying glance on earth bestowed)
We saw thee take the heavenward road
Where yonder cliffs arise ;
Saw thee thy tearful features shroud
Till cradled on the conscious cloud,
That, to await thy coming, bowed,
We lost thee in the skies.
For now the maniac-demon War,
Whose ravings heard so long from far
Convulsed us with their distant jar,
Nearer and louder soars ;
His arm, that death and conquest hurled
On all beside of all the world,
Claims these remaining shores.
What though the laurel leaves he tears
Proud round his impious brows to wear
A wreath that will not fade ;
What boots him its perennial power —
Those laurels canker where they flower,
They poison where they shade.
But thou, around whose holy head
The balmy olive loves to spread,
Return, 0 nymph benign !
"With buds that paradise bestowed,
"Whence " healing for the nations" flowed,
Our bleeding temples twine.
For thee our fathers ploughed the strand,
For thee they left that goodly land,
The turf their childhood trod;
The hearths on which their infants played.
The tombs in which their sires were laid,
The altars of their God.
Then, by their consecrated dust
Their spirits, spirits of the just !
Now near their Maker's face,
By their privations and their cares,
Their pilgrim toils, their patriot prayers,
Desert thou not their race.
Descend to mortal ken confest,
Known by thy white and stainless vest,
And let us on the mountain crest
That snowy mantle see;
Oh let not here thy mission close,
Leave not the erring sons of those
Who left a world for thee !
Celestial visitant! again
Resume thy gentle golden reign,
Our honoured guest once more ;
Cheer with thy smiles our saddened plain,
And let thy rainbow o'er the main
Tell that the storms are o'er !
January, 1S13.
SARAH J. HALE.
Sarati JosF.prrA Buell was born at the town of
Newport, New Hampshire. Her education was
principally directed by her mother and a brother
in college, and was continued after her marriage
by her husband, David Hale, an eminent lawyer
and well read man. On his death in 1822, she
was left dependent upon her own exertions for
her support and that of her five children, the
eldest of whom was but seven years old, and as a
resource she turned to literature. A volume,
The Genius of Oblivion and other original poems,
was printed in Concord in 1823, for her benefit
by the Freemasons, a body of which her husband
had been a member. In 1827 she published North-
wood, a novel in two volumes.
In 1828, she accepted an invitation to become
editor of " The Ladies' Magazine/' published at
Boston, and removed in con equence to that city.
In 1837 the magazine was united with the Lady's
Book, a Philadelphia monthly, the literaiy charge
of which was placed and still remains in her
hands. She has published Sketches of American
Character ; Traits of American Life; The Way
to live well and to be well while we live ; Grosve-
nor, a Tragedy (founded on the Revolutionary
story of the execution of Col. Isaac Hayne of
South Carolina) ; A lice Bay, a Romance in Rhyme;
Harry Guy, the Widow's Son, a story of the sea
(also in verse) ; Three Hours, or, the Vigil of
Love, and other Poems. Part of these have been
reprinted from the magazines edited by her,
which also contain a large number of tales and
sketches in prose and verse from her pen not yet
collected. Mrs. Hale's stories are brief, pleasant
narratives, drawn generally from the every-day
course of American life.
JOB DURFEE.
127
Her poems are for the most part narrative and
reflective — and are written with force and ele-
gance. One of the longest, Three Hours, or the
Vigil of Love, is a story whose" scene is laid in
New England, and deals with the spiritual and
material fears the early colonists were subjected
to from their belief in witchcraft and the neigh-
borhood of savage foes.
In 1853 Mrs. Hale published Woman's Record, or
Sketches of all Distinguished Women, from " the
Beginning" till A. D. 1850. In this work, which
forms a large octavo volume of nine hundred and
four pages, she has furnished biographical notices
of the most distinguished of her sex in every
period of history. Though 7nany of the articles
are necessarily, brief, and much of it is a com-
pilation from older cyclopaedia*, there are nume-
rous papers of original value. The Record
includes of course many distinguished in the held
of authorship, and in these cases extracts are
given from the productions which have gained
eminence for their writers. The choice of names
is wide and liberal, giving a fair representation of
every field of female exertion.
Mrs. Hale has also prepared A Complete Dic-
tionary of Poetical Quotations, containing Selec-
tions from the Writings of the Poe's of England
and America, in a volume of six hundred double
column octavo pages, edited a number of annuals,
written several books for children, and a volume
on cookery.
IT SNOWS.
"It snows!" cries the school-boy — "hurrah!" and
his shout
Is ri.iging through parlor and hall,
While swift as the wing of a swallow, he's out,
And his playmates have answered his call.
It make? the heart leap but to witness their joy, —
Proud wealth lias no pleasures, I trow,
Like the rapture that throbs in the pulse of the bey,
As he gathers Ids treasures of snow ;
Then lay not the trappings of gold on thine heirs,
While health, and the riehes of Nature are theirs.
"It snows!" sighs the imbecile — "Ah!" and his
breath
Conies heavy, as clogged with a weight;
While fi om the pale aspect of Nature ill death
He turns to the blaze of his grate :
And nearer, and nearer, his soft cushioned chair
Is wheeled tow'rds the life-giving flame —
He dreads a chill puff of the suow-buideued air,
Lest it wither his delicate frame ;
Oh ! small is tiie pleasure existence can give,
When the fear we shall die o.ily proves that we
live! 3 '
!Ho
:id the
" It snows !" cries the traveller-
word
Has quickened his steed's lagging pace ;
The wind rushes by, but its howl is unheard
Unfelt the sharp drift in his face ;
For bright through the tempest his own home ap-
peared—
Ay ! though leagues intervened, he can see
* Woman's Record: or Sketches of all Distinguished Wo-
men, from " the Beginning" till A.D. 1S50. Arranged in four
eras. With selections from female writers of every age. By
Sarah Josepha Hale. New York : 1853.
There's the clear, glowing hearth, and the table pre-
pared,
And his wife with their babe3 at her knee.
Blest thought! how it lightens the grief-laden hour,
That those we love dearest are safe from its power.
" It snows !" crie3 the Belle, — " Dear how lucky,"
and turns
From her mirror to watch the flakes fall ;
Like the first rose of summer, her dimpled cheek
burns
While musing on sleigh-ride and ball:
There are visions of conquest, of splendor, and mirth,
Floating over each drear winter's day ;
Bat the tintmgs of Hope, on this storm-beaten earth,
Will melt, like the snowflakes, away;
Turn, turn thee to Heaven, fair maiden, for bliss
That world has a fountain ne'er opened in this.
" It snows !" cries the widow, — " Oh, God !" and her
sighs
Have stifled the voice of her prayer,
Its burden ye'll read in her tear-swollen eyes,
On her cheek, sunk with fasting anil care.
'Tis night — and her fatherless ask her for bread —
But " He gives the young ravens their food,"
And she trusts, till her dark hearth adds horror to
dread,
And she lays on her last chip of wood.
Poor euff'rer ! that sorrow thy Go 1 only knows —
'Tis a pitiful lot to be poor, when it snows !
JOB DUEFEE.
Job Durfee was born at Tiverton, Rhode Island,
September 20, 1790. He entered Brown Uni-
versity in 1809, and on the conclusion of his aca-
demic course studied law and was licensed to
practise. In 1814 he was elected a member of
the i-tate legislature, and six years afterwards of
the national House of Representatives. He dis-
-f^^
languished himself in Congress by his advocacy
of the interests of his state in the bill providing
for a new apportionment of representatives, anil
by his moderate course on the tariff. Pie re-
mained in Congress during two terms. In 1826
he was re-elected to the state legislature, but
after a service of two years declined a re-nomina-
tion, and retired to his farm, where he devoted
himself to literature, and in 1832 published a
small edition of his poem of Whatcheer.
In 1833 he was appointed associate, and two
years after chief-justice of the Supreme Court of
the state. He continued in this office until his
death, July 2G, 1847. His works were collected
in one octavo volume, with a memoir by his son,
in 1849. They consist of his Whatcheer and a
few juvenile verse-, mostly of a fanciful charac-
ter; a few historical addresses; an abstruse phi-
losophical treatise, entitled Panidea, the object of
which is to show the pervading influence and
presence of the Deity throughout nature; and a
few of his judicial charges.
Whatcheer is a poem of nine cantos, each con-
taining srmie fifty or sixty eight-line stanzas. It
is a ver-ified account of Roger Williams's depart-
ure from Salem, his journey through the wilder-
ness, interviews with the Indians, and the tettle-
128
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
merit of Rhode Island. It is written in a very
plain manner, and makes no pretensions to high
poetic merit, but many passages are impressive
from their earnestness and simplicity. The ver-
sification is smooth and correct.
E0C-EE WILLIAMS IN THE FOEEST.
Above his head the branches writhe and bend,
Or in the mil gled wreck the ruin flies —
The storm redoubles, and the whirlwinds blend
The rising snow-drift with descending skies;
And oft the crags a friendly shelter lend
His breathless bosom, and bis sightless eyes ;
But, when the transient gust its fury spends,
He through the storm again upon his journey wen :1s.
Still truly does his course the magnet keep —
No toils fatigue him, and no fears appal ;
Oft turns he at. the glimpse of swampy deep ;
Or thicket dense, or crag abrupt and tall,
Or backward treads to shun the headlong steep,
Or pass above the tumbling waterfall ;
Yet still he joys wheue'er the torrents leap,
Or crag abrupt, or thicket dense, or swamp's far
sweep
Assures him progress, — From gray morn till noon —
Hour after hour — from that drear noon until
The evening's gathering darkness had begun
To clothe with deeper glooms the vale and hill,
Sire Williams journeyed in the forest lone ;
And then night's thickening shades began to fill
His soul with doubt — for shelter had he none —
And all the out-stretched waste was clad with one
Vast mantle hoar. And he began to hear,
At times, the fox's bark, and the fierce howl
Of wolf, sometimes afar — sometimes so near,
That in the very glen they seemed to prowl
Where now he, wearied, paused — and then his ear
Started to note some shaggy monster's growl,
That from his snow-clad, rocky den did peer.
Shrunk with gaunt famine in that tempest drear,
And scenting human blood — yea, and so nigh,
Thrice did our northern tiger seem to come,
He thought he heard the fagots crackling by,
And saw, through driven snow and twilight gloom,
Peer from the thickets his fierce burning eye,
Scanning his destined prey, and through the broom,
Thrice stealing on his ears, the whining cry
Swelled by degrees above the tempest high.
Wayworn be stood — and fast that stormy night
Was gathering round him over hill and dale —
He glanced around, and by the lingering light
Found he hnd paused within a narrow vale;
On either hand a snow-clad rocky height
Ascended high, a shelter from the gale,
Whilst deep between them, in thick glooms bedight,
A swampy dingle caught the wanderer's sight.
Through the white billows thither did he wade,
And deep within its solemn bosom trod ;
There on the snow his oft repeated tread
Hardened a flooring for his night's abode ;
All there was calm, for the thick branches made
A screen above, and round him closely stood
The trunks of cedars, and of pines arrayed
To the rude tempest, a firm barricade.
And now his hatchet, with resounding stroke,
Hewed down the boscage that around him rose,
And the dry pine of brittle branches broke,
To yield him fuel for the night's repose:
The gathered heap an ample store bespoke —
He smites the steel — the tinder brightly glows,
And the fired match the kindled flame awoke,
And light upon night's seated darkness broke.
High branched the pines, and far the colonnade
Of tapering trunks stood glimmering through the
glen;
Then joyed our Father in this lonely glade,
So far from haunts of persecuting men,
That he might break of honesty the bread,
And blessings crave in his own way again —
Of the piled brush a seat and board he made,
Spread his plain fare, and piously he prayed.
" Father of mercies ! thou the wanderer's guide,
In this dire storm along the howling waste,
Thanks for the shelter thou dost here provide,
Thanks for the mercies of the day that's past ;
Thanks for the frugal fare thou bast supplied ;
And O ! may still thy tender mercies last;
And may thy light on every falsehood shine,
Till man's freed spirit own no law save thine!
" Grant that thy humble instrument still shun
His persecutors in their eager quest;
Grant the asylum yet to be begun,
To persecution's exiles yield a rest ;
Let ages after ages take the boon,
And in soul-liberty fore'er be blest —
Grant that I live until this task be done,
And then, 0 Lord, receive me as thine own !"
LEVI WOODBTJEY.
Levi Woodbury was born at Francestown, New
Hampshire, December 22, 1789. After receiving
an excellent preliminary education, he entered
Dartmouth College. On the completion of his
course in 1809, he studied law at the celebrated
Litchfield school, commenced practice in his
native village, and rapidly rose to such eminence
that in 1816 he was appointed one of the Judges
of the Superior Court of his State.
In 1823 he was elected Governor, and in 1825
a member of the Hout-e of Representatives, where
he was made Speaker, and soon after chosen Se-
nator. In May, 1831, he was made Secretary of
the Navy by President Jackson, and in 1834 Se-
cretary of the Treasury. In 1841 he was a second
time chosen Senator, and in 1845 became one of
the Associated Judges of the Supreme Court,
lie died at his residence in Portsmouth, New
Hampshire, September 4, 1851.
His political, judicial, and literary writings
were collected in 1852 in three large octavo
volumes, a volume being devoted to each, and a
portion only of his productions of either class
given. The first volume contains speeches and
reports delivered in Congress as Governor, and
in the deliberative assembly of his State, with
"occasional letters and speeches on important
topic->." An Appendix furnishes us with spe-
cimens of his political addres-es at popular meet-
ings. The second volume is made up of Argu-
ments and Charges. The third contains Addresses
on the Importance of Science in the Arts, the
Promotion and Uses of Science, the Remedies
for Certain Defects in American Education ; on
Progress ; on Historical Inquiries. The style in
these is clear and efficient; the argument ingeni-
ous and practical.
MEANS AND MOTIVES IN AMERICAN EDUCATION — FROM TOT
ADDEESS ON THE REMEDIES FOE DEFECTS IN EDUCATION.
Print, if possible, beyond even the thirty sheets
by a steam press now executed in the time one was
SAMUEL H. TURNER; THE UNIVERSITY OF VERMONT.
129
formerly struck off. Go, also, beyond the present
gain in their distribution over much of the world by
improvements in the locomotive and the steamboat,
so as to accomplish like results at far less than the
former cost. Promote the discovery of still further
materials than rags, bark, or straw, for the wonder-
ful fabric of paper, — used, not merely as the orna-
ment of our drawing-rooms, tjie preserver of history,
the organ of intercourse between both distant places
and distant ages, the medium of business, the evi-
dence of property, the record of legislation, and in
all ranks the faithful messenger of thought and
affection ; but, above all, the universal instrument
of instruction. Reduce still further, by new inven-
tions, the already low price of manufacturing paper.
Render types also cheaper, as well as more durable.
And, in short, set no boundaries and prostrate all
barriers whatever to the enterprise of the human
mind, in devising greater facilities for its own pro-
gress. Next to these considerations, new means
might well be adopted to improve the quality of
those books which are in most common use. This
could be accomplished by greater attention to their
practical tendency and suitableness to the times in
which we live, and the public wants which exist
under our peculiar institutions, whether social or
political. The highest intellects might beneficially
descend, at times, to labor in writing for the humblest
spheres of letters and life. In cases of long and ob-
vious deficiencies in books designed for particular
branches of instruction, boards of education might
well confer premiums for better compilations. Such
boards might also, with advantage, strive to multiply
institutions particularly intended to prepare more
efficient teachers, female as well as male. In short,
the fountains must always be watched, in order to
insure pure streams; and the dew which descends
nightly on every object, and in all places, however
lowly, is more useful than a single shower confined
to a limited range of country. We must take pa-
ternal care of the elements on which all at first feed ;
and if in these modes we seek with earnestness the
improvement of the many, we help to protect the
property and persons of the favoured few as much
as we elevate the character and c'onduct of all situ-
ated in the more retired walks of society. There is
another powerful motive for exertion, even by the
higher classes, to advance the better education of the
masses. It is this : the wealth}-, for instance, can
clearly foresee that, by the revolutions of fortune's
wheel, their own children, or grandchildren, are in
time likely to become indigent, so as to be the im-
mediate recipients of favor under any system of free
education, and thus may be assisted to attain once
more rank and riches. Nor should the talented be
parsimonious in like efforts, because a degeneracy of
intellect, not unusual after high developments in a
family, may plunge their posterity into ignorance
and want, where some untaught Addison or " mute
inglorious Milton" might, after a few generations, re-
appear, but never instruct or delight the age, unless
assisted at first by opportunities and means furnished
through a system like this. All which is thus be-
stowed will likewise prove, not only an inheritance
for some of the offspring of the favored classes, but
a more durable one than most of those honors and
riches, endeavored so often, but fruitlessly, to be trans-
mitted. It is true that vicissitudes seem impressed
on almost everything human, — painful, heartrending
vicissitudes, — which the fortunate dread, and would
mitigate, if not able to avert. But the}' belong less
to systems than to families or individuals, and can
be obviated best by permanent plans to spread stores
of intellectual wealth, constantly and freely, around
all.
SAMUEL II. TURNER
Was born in Philadelphia, January 23, 1790, the
son of the Rev. Joseph Turner. He took his de-
gree at the University of Pennsylvania in 1807.
He was ordained deacon in the Protestant Epis-
copal Church by Bishop White in 1811, and the
next year became settled in a parish in Chester-
town, Kent county, Maryland. He returned to
Philadelphia in 1817, and, October 7, 1818, was
appointed Professor of Historic Theology in the
General Theological Seminary at New York,
where he has since resided, attached to that insti-
tution, with the exception of an interval in 1820
and 1821, which he passed at New Haven. In
the last year he was appointed Professor of Bibli-
cal Learning and the Interpretation of Scripture,
in the Seminary. In 1831 he was chosen Pro-
fessor of the Hebrew Language and Literature in
Columbia College.
His life has been almost exclusively passed in
the occupations of a scholar engaged in the work
of instruction : but he has also given the public
numerous important hooks. He was one of the
first to introduce into the country translations of
the learned German critics and divines. In 1827
he prepared, with the joint assistance of Mr.
(now Bishop) William R. Whittingham, of Mary-
land, a translation of John's Introduction to the
Old Testament, with notes, and,m 1834, a tran-la-
tion of Planck's Introduction to Sacred Criticism
and Interpretation, with notes.
A third publication, in 1847, exhibits Dr.
Turner on the ground of one of his favorite
studies, the Rabbinical Literature, with which ho
is particularly conversant. It is entitled Bio-
graphical Notices of Jewish Rabbles, with Trans-
lations and Notes.
He is the author also of several theological
writings; Spiritual Things compared with
Spiritual or Parallel References, published in
1848 ; Essay on our Lord's Discourse at Caper-
naum, in John vi., in 1851 ; Thoughts on
Scriptural Prophecy, 1852.
He has of late been engaged on a series of
Critical Commentaries on the Epistles of the New
Testament, of which the volumes on the Hebrews
and the Romans severally appeared in 1852 and
1853.
Dr. Turner has, in addition, corrected and pre-
pared for the pre-s Mr. Jaeger's Translation of
the Mythological Fictions of the Greeks and Ro-
mans, published in 182!) by Moritz.
Dr. Turner maintains a high rank for his exact
critical scholarship and the fairness of his writ-
ings, which have received the approval of those
who differ from him in theological opinions.
THE UNIVERSITY OF VERMONT.
\~$ the first organization of this state, when the
country was for the most part a wilderness, the
Constitution, in 1777, included a recommendation
for the founding of a University. There was
some delay while negotiations were going on with
the neighboring Dartmouth College, which re-
ceived a grant of land from Vermont in 1785.
The home project was, however, fairly set on foot
in 1789, when Ira Allen, of Colchester, made
a liberal offer of lands, labor, and materials.
Allen was the brother of Colonel Ethan Allen,
130
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
He was prominently connected with the early
annals of Vermont, of which, in 1798, he pub-
lished a history, and was always a zealous advo-
cate of the interests of the College. His gift of
land was liberal, and his selection of the posi-
tion of the University clear-sighted. President
Wheeler, in his College Historical Discourse in
1854, speaks of "his comprehensive mind and
highly creative and philosophical spirit."
There was much agitation, as usual, respecting
a site for the institution, but the various local
claims were finally overcome in favor of Burling-
ton, which, from its fine position on Lake Ohain-
pluin, on the high road of travel, offered the
most distinguished inducements. The University
was chartered in 1791, but its officers were not
appointed nor its building commenced till 1800.
The Rev. Daniel C. Sanders, a graduate of Har-
vard of 1788, was elected the first president; of
decided personal traits, in a stalwart figure, and
mingled courage and courtesy, he was an efficient
director of the youth under his charge. lie per-
formed his onerous duties for the first three
j'ears without an assistant. The class of 1804,
we read, received all their inatruciaons from him;
and as the classes increased he often employed
six, eight, and ten hours of the day in personal re-
citations. " He was not profound as a thinker,"
adds Dr. Wheeler, " nor severely logical as a rea-
Boner, nor of a high form of classical elegance
and accuracy as a writer; but he was lucid,
fresh, and original in forms of expression, full of
benignity and kindness in his sentiments, and
was listened to with general admiration.'"* By
the year 1807 a college building, including a
chapel and a president's house, had been erected,
and the commencement of a library and philoso-
phical apparatus secured. The course of study
embraced the usual topics, with the addition of
anatomy; the Rev. Samuel Williams, the author
of the Natural and Civil History of Vermont,
first published in 1794, having delivered, for two
years, lectures on astronomy and natural philoso-
phy. As an illustration of the simple habits of
the time and place, a calculation was made by
the president, that "a poor scholar, by keeping
school four months each winter, at the average
price of sixteen dollars a month, could pay all his
college bills and his board, and leave college with
thirty-two dollars in his pocket.' t The college
asked only twelve dollars a year from each stu-
dent. There was a moderate income from pub-
lic lands, from which the president received a
salary of six hundred dollars ; a professor of ma-
thematics less than three hundred and fifty, and
a tutor three hundred. These simple receipts
and expenditure required constant vigilance and
self-denial in the management of the institution,
which was shortly affected from without by the
stoppage of the commerce of the town with Ca-
nada in consequence of the non-intercourse po-
licy of Jefferson, by the rivalry of Middlehnry
College, which was chartered in 1S00.J and by
* Historical Discourse, p. 12.
+ MSS uf Sanders, quoted by President Wheeler.
X Middlcbmy College, was encouraged by the success nf the
Addison County Grammar school, and the natural desire of
the intelligent citizens of the (list iet to take the lead in edu-
cation. The Rev. Jeremiah Atwater, who had been connected
vitli the school, was the first prosidont. In 1S15 there were
the interference of the legislature with the vested
rights under the charter. The University out-
grew these several difficulties. The war ended ;
it became strong enough to hold its own against
all diversions; and the Dartmouth College legal
decision having led to a better understanding of
the rights of college property, the old charter was
restored in its integrity. While under the more
immediate control of the legislature the wants of
the University were at least clearly indicated by
a committee composed of the Hon. Royal Tyler
and the Hon. W. C. Bradley, who reported in
favor of the ap] ointment of new professorships
of the learned languages, of law, belles lettres,
chemistry, and mineralogy. During the war the
college exercises were suspended and the faculty
broken up.
After the establishment of peace, the Rev.
Samuel Austin was elected president in 1815.
He was a native of Connecticut, born in 1760, a
graduate of Yale, subsequently teacher of a gram-
mar-school in New Haven, while he studied
theology with the Rev. Dr. Jonathan Edwards
then settled there, next a valued clergyman in
Connecticut, and at the time of his call to the
college settled in Worcester, Mass., where he had
preached since 1790. He was a man of earnest
religious devotion ; and his reputation in this par-
ticular, no less than his especial labors, served the
institution, which was thought in danger of lay
influences, from the immediate control of the le-
gislature of its affairs.
Dr. Austin resigned in 1821, despairing of re-
viving the college, which was now greatly pressed
by financial embarrassments. The suspension of
the college appeared at hand, when new vigor
was infused, chiefly through the activity of Pro-
fessor Arthur L. Porter, whose services were
soon again required, on the destruction of the
original college building by fire. The Rev.
Daniel Haskell, a man of energy, was elected
president, and was shortly succeeded, in 1825, by
the Rev. Willard Preston, of an amiable charac-
ter, who again, in the next year, gave place to
the Rev. James Marsh, under whose auspices the
fame of the institution was to be largely in-
creased.
r£.
*y/ULf^7'
James Marsh, the scholar and philosopher, was
horn in Hartford, Vermont, July 19, 1794. His
grandfather was one of the early settlers in the
state, and its first lieutenant-governor. His father
was a farmer; and it was amongst rural occupa-
tions, for which he ever after entertained a long-
ing, that the first eighteen years of the life of the
future professor, were passed. He was brought up
to the hardy labor of the farm, and it was only
upon the withdrawal of his elder brother from
sixteen ^radnates. Henry Davis, who had been professor of
languages in Union Colletre. succeeded to Atwater in 1S10, and
held the office till 1S17. The Itev. Joshua Bates, of Dcdham,
Mass., was next chosen. He has since been succeeded by the
Eev. Dr. Benjamin Labaree. The Institution has been well
attended and lias become enriched., from time to time, by va-
rious important donations and bequests. — Historical Sketch by
Professor Fowler. Atn. Quar. Keg. ix. 22U-229.
THE UNIVERSITY OF VERMONT.
131
the college opportunities tendered to him, that
he turned his studies in that direction. He was
admitted at Dartmouth in 1813, where lie pur-
sued the ancient ■ languages and literature with
diligence ; and where, under the influence of a
roligious excitement which took placss at the col-
lege, he hecame deeply devotional, which led to
his entrance at the theological scho >1 at Andover.
He passed a year there, and hecame a tutor in
1818 at Dartmouth. After two years profitably
spent in this way he raturnsd to Andover, taking
a visit to Cambridge by the way, for the sake ot'
a candid view of the studies he W:n prosecuting.
His course at Andover was laborious. Abstemi-
ous in diet, and frugal of his physical resources
and the claims of society, he devoted all his pow-
ers to learning. One of the first fruits of these
studies was an article on Anc'ent and Modem
Poetry, published in the North American Re-
view for July, 1822, in which lis exhibits the
influences of Christianity upon the later litera-
ture. German literature had occupied much of
his attention, and he prepared a translation of
the work of Bellerman on the Geography of the
Scriptures, as he afterwards employed himself
noon a version of Hedgawisoh on the Elements of
Chronology. His most important work in this
way was his translation of Herder's Spirit of He-
brew Poetry, published in two volumes at Bur-
lington, in 1833.
From Andover he passed for awhile to the
South, where he was engaged in the business of
tuition in Hampden Sidney College, in Virginia,
with Dr. Rice. He sometimes preached, though
he had little fondness or aptitude for this " acting
in public," as he called it at the time. Turning
his thoughts to the North, an editorial connexion
was planned with the Christian Spectator, a
theological review at New Haven, a position for
Which he was well qualified, but it was not car-
ried out. In 1824 he was formally appointed to
a professorship in Hampden Sidney, and the same
year was ordained a minister. His entire con-
nexion with this college lasted but three years,
when he was appointed to the presidency of the
University of Vermont in 1826, a position which
he entered upon and occupied till 1833, when he
exchanged its duties for the professorship of Mo-
ral and Intellectual Philosophy in the same insti-
tution. He held this till his death, July 3, 1842,
in the fifty-eighth year of his age.
It is by his college labors and the philosophical
publications which they elicited, as well as by
his noble personal influence upon his pupils, that
Dr. Marsh is best known. He was one of the
first to revive attention in the country to the
sound Christian philosophy advocated by Cole-
ridge, and illustrated in the writings of the old
English divines, as contradistinguished to the
school of Locke. In the words of his faithful
biographer, Professor Torrey,* "the prevailing
doctrine of the day was, Understand, and then
believe; while that which Mr. Marsh would set
forth, not as anything new. but as the old doc-
trine of the church from the earliest times, was,
"Believe, that ye may understand." "Such
views," said Marsh, " may not indeed bo learned
from the superficial philosophy of the Paleian and
* Memoir prefixed to the Remains, p. 91.
Caledonian schools; hut the higher and more
Spiritual philosophy of the great English divines
of the seventeenth century abundantly teaches
them, both by precept and practice." In accord-
ance with these views he published in 1829 the
first American edition o1' Coleridge's Aids to Re-
flection, as a book which answered his purpose,
for which he wrote an able Preliminary Essay,
addressed to " the earnest, single-hearted lovers"
of Christian, spiritual, and moral truth. With
the same view he edited a volume of Selections
from the Old English Writers on. Practical The-
ology, which contained Howe's Blessedness of tho
Righteous, and Bates's Four Last Things.-
His views of colLge study and discipline were
those of a liberal-minded reformer, and were to a
considerable extent adopted by the institution over
which he presided. He held that the admission
to colleges might be extended with advantage to
those who could avail themselves only of a par-
tial course; that a paternal discipline, based on
moral and social influence, might be employed;
that the liberty of the powers of the individual
might be preserved under a general system of
training ; that additional studies might be prose-
cuted by the enterprising: and that honors should
be conferred on those only of real abilities and
attainments. These were all liberal- objects ; and
as they were pursued with warmth and candor
by Dr. Marsh, they gained him the respect and
atfection of the be-t minds among his students,
who have now carried his influence into the walks
of active lite.
In addition to the writings which wo have
mentioned, Dr. Marsh published in 1829 a series
of papers in the Vermont Chronicle, signed "Phi-
lopolis," on Popular Education. He wrote also
for the Christian Spec'aior a review of Professor
Stuart's Commentary on the Hebrews, in which
he did justice to the objects of the author. At
the close of bis life Dr. Marsh intrusted his manu-
scripts to Professor Torrey of the University of
Vermont, by whom in 1843 a volume of Remains
was published with a Memoir. It contains the
author's college lectures on psychology, several
philosophical essays, and theological discourses,
lie had projected and partially executed a System
of Logic, and meditated a matured treatise on
psychology.
In 1833, on the retirement of Dr. Marsh from
the presidency, the Rev. John Wheeler, of Wind-
sor, Vermont, was appointed president. A sub-
scription which had been projected for tho
benefit of the college was now completed, and
the sum of thirty thousand dollars obtained,
which added largely to the practical efficiency of
the institution. Other collections of funds have
since been made, which have farther secured its
prosperity.
During the administration of Dr. Wheeler,
Professor Torrey succeeded Dr. Marsh in his
chair of moral and intellectual philosophy, tho
Rev. Calvin Pease was elected professor of the
Latin and Greek languages, and the Rev. W. G.
T. Shedd professor of English literature. In
1 847 Professor George W. Benedict, a most ac-
tive supporter of the college welfare, resigned his
seat as professor of chemistry and natural his-
tory, after twenty-two years' services to the in-
stitution.
132
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
President Wheeler resigned in 1848, and was
succeeded by the present incumbent, the Rev.
Worthington Smith, D.D., of St. Alban's, Vt..
On the 1st of August, 1854, the semi-centen-
nial anniversary of the University was celebrated
at Burlington.
A historical discourse was delivered by the
former president, Dr. Wheeler, from which the
materials of this narrative have been mostly
drawn. An oration, " Our Lesson and our Work,
or Spiritual Philosophy and Material Politics,"
was pronounced by Mr. James R. Spalding; a
poem by the Rev. O.G. Wheeler; while the asso-
ciations' of the Institution were recalled in the
after dinner festivities, with an honest pride in
the favorite philosophy of the University.
In the course of the Historical Address Dr.
Wheeler gave the following sketch of the course
of study projected by Dr. Marsh and his asso-
ciates, for the institution.
" The principal divisions or departments of a
course of collegiate study are set forth in the
laws of the University. They are four : first, the
department of English literature ; second, the
department of languages ; third, that of the ma-
thematics and physics; fourth, that of political,
moral, arid intellectual philosophy. Every year,
during my personal connexion with the Univer-
sity, the synopsis was carefully examined, always
in reference to its practical execution, and com-
monlj- in reference also to its theoretic excellence.
How mnch this means and involves, few can un-
derstand, who were not members of the faculty.
If this course of study i-i carefully examined, it
will be found to contain, perhaps, what no other
course of collegiate study in the United States
has so fully attempted. It seeks to give a cohe-
rence to the various studies in each department,
so that its several parts shall present more or
less the unity, not of an aggregation, nor of a juxta-
position, nor of a merely logical arrangement, but
of a natural development, and a growth ; and
therefore the study of it, rightly pursued, would
be a growing and enlarging process to the mind
of the student. It was intended also, that these
departments of study should have a coherence of
greater or less practical use with each other.
The highest department, that of philosophy, it
■was intended, should be, now the oscillating
nerve, that should connect the various studies
together, during the analytical instruction in
each ; and now the embosoming atmosphere that
should surround and interpenetrate the whole
and each in its synthetical teachings. In philo-
sophy the course began with crystallography —
the lowest form of organization — and discussed
the laws of all forms, that is, the geometry of all
material existence. It proceeded to the laws of
vegetable life, as the next highest ; to the laws
of animal life,, that is to physiology, as the next;
thence to psychology, and the connexion of the
senses with the intellect ; — thence to the science
of logic — the laws of the intellect, — in the acqui-
sition and in the communication of knowledge,
that is, the laws of universal thought, as seen in
language and grammar ; and thence to metaphy-
sics, as the highest and last form of speculative
reasoning, or of contemplation. Within this pale
it considered the spiritual characteristics of hu-
manity, as distinguished from all other exig-
ences. From this position moral science was
seen to issue ; the ground of the fine arts was
examined and made intelligible ; the principles
of political science, as grounded in the truths of
reason, but realized under the forms of the un-
derstanding, was unfolded, and natural and re-
vealed religion was shown to open the path
where reason had readied her termination, to
glory, honor, and immortality."
CHARLES SPEAGUE
Was born in Boston, October 26, 1791. His fa-
ther, a native of Hingham, Mass., where thefami-
ly had lived for five generations, was one of those
spirited Whigs of the Revolution who engaged in
the adventure of throwing overboard the tea in
Boston harbor. His mother, Joanna Thayer of
Braintree, is spoken of for her original powers of
mind and her influence in the development of her
son's talents. The latter was educated at the
Franklin school at Boston, where he had for one
of his teachers, Lemuel Shaw, now the Chief-jus-
tice of Massachusetts. By an accident at this
time he lost the use of his left eye. At thirteen,
he entered a mercantile house engaged in the im-
portation of dry-goods; and in 1816, at the age
of twenty -five, formed a partnership with his em-
ployers, Messrs. Thayer and Hunt, which was
continued till 1820, when he became a teller in the
State Bank. On the establishment of the Globe
Bank in 1825, he was chosen its cashier, an office,
the duties of which he has discharged with exem-
plary fidelity to the present day.
Halleck, another poetical cashier by the way,
has sighed over this " bank note world" and the
visions of the romantic past, now that
Noble name and cultured land,
Palace and park and vassal band,
Are powerless to the notes of hand
Of Rothschild or the Barings.
<&a^A*i
But we may be contented with the change if
bank offices produce many such poets.
Sprague, says his recent biographer, Mr. Loring,
CHARLES SPRAGUE.
133
"dares to acknowledge his homnge to the Nino,
in the very temple of the money changers'; and
enjoys, at the same time, the most favoring in-
spirations of the former, ant the unlimited confi-
dence of the latter. The Globe Bank has never
faile I to ma!ce a dividend ; and its cashier has ne-
ver failed to be at his station on the very day
when the hqpks were opened for the purpose to
this period."*
The poetical writings of Mr. Sprague, of which
there has been a recent edition, published by
Ticknor in 1850, consist of a series of theatrical
prize addresses which first gave the poet celebri-
ty; a " Shakespeare "Ode" delivered at the Bos-
ton theatre in 1823, at the exhibition of a pageant
in honor of the great dramatist ; his chief poem,
Curiosity, delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa
Society of Harvard, in 1829 ; a centennial ode the
following year on the celebration of the settle-
ment of Boston, and a number of poems chiefly
on occasional topic-, which the author's care and
ability have rendered of permanent interest.
The dramatic odes are elegant polished com-
positions, and possess a certain chaste eloquence
which is a characteristic of all the author's pro-
ductions.
" Curiosity" is a succession of pleasing pictures
illustrating this universal passion in the various
means, low and elevated, taken for its gratifica-
tion. The execution of the culprit, the pulpit, the
fashionable preacher, the stage, the press, the
learned pursuits of the antiquarian, the idle hu-
mors of the sick chamber, the scandal and gossip
of social life ; the incentives and delights of fo-
reign travel ; the earnest seeking of the eye of
faith into the mysteries of the future world: —
these all pass in review before the reader, and are
touched with a skilful hand.
The Centennial Ode is a warm tribute to the
virtues of the Pilgrim Fathers, with an animated
sketch of the progress of national life since.
A civic Fourth of July Oration delivered in
Boston in 1825, and an address in 1827, before
the Massachusetts Society for the suppression of
intemperance, are two vigorous prose composi-
tions, published with the author's poetical writ-
ings.
PRIZE PROLOGUE — RECITED AT TrTE OPENING OPTIIE PARK THEA-
TRE, 1321.
When mitred Zeal, in wild, unholy days,
Bared his red arm, and bade the fagot blaze,
Our patriot sires the pilgrim sail unfurled,
And Freedom pointed to a rival world.
Where prowled the wolf, and where the hunter
roved,
Faith raised her altars to the God she loved ;
Toil, linked with Art, explored each savage wild,
The lofty forest bowed, the desert smiled ;
The startled Indian o'er the mountains flew,
The wigwam vanished, a. id the village grew;
Taste reared her domes, fair Science spread her page,
And Wit and Genius gathered round the Stage!
The Stage ! where Faney sits, creative queen,
And waves her sceptre o'er life's mimic scene;
Where young-eyed Wonder comes to feast his sight,
And quaff instruction while he drinks delight. —
The Stage! — that threads each labyrinth of the sou],
Wakes laughter's peal and bids the tear-drop roll ;
* Hundred Boston Orators, p. 418.
1 That shoots at Folly, mocks proud Fashion's slave,
Uncloaks the hypocrite, and brands the knave.
The child of Genius, catering for the Stage,
Rifles the wealth of every clime and age.
lie speaks! the sepulchre resigns her prey,
And crimson life rnns through the sleeping clay.
The wave, the gibbet, and the battle-field,
At his command, their festering tenants yield.
j Pale, bleeding Love comes weeping from the torn1
j That kindred softness may bewail her doom ;
i Murder's dry bones, reelothed, desert the dust,
I That after times may own his sentence just ;
Forgotten Wisdom, freed from death's embrace,
Reads awful lessons to another race ;
And the mad tyrant of some ancient shore
Here warns a world that he can curse no more.
May this fair dome, in classic beaut}' reared,
By Worth be houore 1, and by Vice be feared ;
May chastened Wit here be.;d to Virtue's cause,
Reflect her image, and repeat her laws;
And Guilt, that slumbers o'er the sacred page
Hate his own likeness, shadowed from the Stage!
Here let the Guardian of the Drama sit,
In righteous judgment o'er the realms of wit.
Not his the shame, with servile pen to wait
On private friendship, or on private hate ;
To flatter fools, or Satire's javelin dart,
Tipped with a lie, at proud Ambition's heart :
His be the nobler task to herald forth
Young, blushing Merit, and neglected Worth ;
To brand the page where Goodness finds a sneer,
And lash the wretch that breathes the treason here!
Here shall bright Genius wing his eagle flight.
Rich dew-drops slinking from his plumes ofbg.it,
Till high in mental worlds, from vulgar kea
He sours, the wonder and the pride of men.
Cold Censure here to decent Mirth shall bow,
And Bigotry unbend his monkish brow.
Here Toil shall pause, his ponderous sledge thrown
°y.
And lieauty bless each strain with melting eye;
Grief, too, in fiction lost, shall cease to weep
And all the world's rude cares be laid to sleep.
Eaeli polished scene shall Taste and Truth approve,
And the Stage triumph in the people's love.
ART.
An Ode written for the Sixth Triennial Festival of the Mazsa-
chusetts Clucritable Jlee/uiniv Association, 1S24.
When, from the sacred garden driven,
Man fled before his Maker's wrath,
An angel left her place in heaven,
And crossed the wanderer's sunless path.
'TwasArt! sweet Art! new radiance broke
Where her light foot flew o'er the ground,
And thus with seraph voice she spoke —
" The Curse a Blessing shall be found."
She led him through the trackless wild,
Where noontide sunbeam never blazed;
The thistle shrunk, the harvest smiled,
Ami Nature gladdened as she gazed.
Earth's thousand tribes of living tilings,
At Art's command, to him are given ;
The village grows, the city springs,
And point their spires of faith to heaven.
He rends the oak — and bids it ride,
To guard the shores its beauty graced ;
He smites the rock — upheaved in pride,
See towers of strength and domes of taste.
Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal,
Fire bears his banner on the wave,
He bids the mortal poison heal,
And leaps triumphant o'er the grave.
131
CYCLOPAEDIA CF AMERICAN LITERATURE,
Lie plucks the pearls that stud the deep,
Admiring .Beauty's lap to fill ;
He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep,
And now mocks his Creator's skiiL
With thoughts that swell his glowing soul,
lie bids the ore illume the p:ige,
And, proudly scorning Time's control,
Commerces with an unborn age.
In fields of air he writes his name,
And treads the chambers of the sky ;
lie reads the stars, and grasps the flame
That quivers round the Throne on high.
It war renowned, in peace sublime,
He moves in greatness and in grace ;
Ilis power, subduing spaee and lime,
Links realm to realm, a. id rice to race.
TnE TEAVELLEE — FEOM CCEIOSITY.
Withdraw yon curtain, look within that room,
Where all is splendor, yet where all is gloom:
Why weeps that mother? why, in pensive mood,
Group noiseless round, that lutlc, lovely brood ?
The battledoor is still, laid by each book,
And the harp slumbers in i.s customed nook.
Who hath done this? what cold, uupityii.g foe
Hath made this house the dweiling-plaee of woe?
Tis he, the husband, father, lost iu care,
O'er that sweet fellow iu his crndie there:
The gallant bark that rides by yonder strand
Bears him to-morrow from his native hind.
Why turns lie, half unwilling,- from his home,
To tempt the ocean, and the earth to roam?
Wealth lie can boast a miser's sigh would hush,
And health is laughing in that ruddy blush;
Friends spring to greet him, and he lias no foe —
So honored and so blessed, what bids him go '{ —
His eye must see, his foot each spot must tread,
Where sleeps the dust of earth's recorded dead;
Where rise the monu uents of ancient time,
Pillar a..d pyramid iu age sublime ;
The Pagan's temple and the Churchman's tower,
War's bloodiest plain and Wisdom's greenest bower;
All that his wonder woke in school-boy themes,
All that his fancy fired in youthful dreams :
Where Socrates once taught he thirsts to stray,
Where Homer poured his everlasting lay ;
From Virgil's tomb he longs to pluck one flower,
By Avon's stream to live one moonlight hour ;
To pause where England " garners up" her great,
And drop a patriot's tear to Milton's fnte ;
Fame's living masters, too, he must behold,
Whose deeds shall blazon with the best of old;
Nations compare, their laws and customs scan,
And read, wherever spread, the book of Man ;
For these he goes, self-banished from his hearth,
And wrings the hearts of all he loves on earth.
Yet say, shall not new joy those hearts inspire,
When, grouping round the future winter fire,
To hear the wonders of the world they burn,
And lose his absence in his glad return ? —
Return? — alas! he shall return no more,
To bless his own sweet home, his own proud shore.
Look once again — cold in his cabin now,
Death's finger-mark is on his pallid brow ;
No wife stood by, her patient watch to keep,
To smile on him, then turn away to weep;
Kind woman's place rough mariners supplied,
And shared the wanderer's blessing when he died.
Wrapped in the raiment that it long must wear,
His body to the deck they slowly bear ;
Even there the spirit that I sing is true,
The crew look on with sad, bit curious view ;
The setting sun flings round his farewell rays,
O'er the broad ocean not a ripple plays;
How eloquent, how awful, in its power,
The 6ilent lecture of death's sabbath-hour
One voice that silence breaks — the prayer is said,
And the last rite man pays to man is paid;
The plashing waters mark his resting-place,
And fold him round iu one long, cold embrace;
Bright bubbles for a moment sparkle o'er,
Then break, to be, like him, beheld no more ;
Down, countless fathoms down, he sinks to sleep,
With all the nameless shapes that haunt the deep.
TOE BEOTnEKS.
We are but two — the others sleep
Through Death's untroubled night;
We are but two — 0, let us keep
The link that binds us bright f
Heart leaps to heart — the sacred dool
That warms us is the same ;
That good old man — his honest blood
Alike we fondly claim.
We in one mother's arms were locked —
Long be her love repaid ;
In the same cradle we were rocked,
Round the same hearth we played.
Our boyish sports were all the same,
Each little joy and woe ; —
Let manhood keep alive the flame,
Lit up so long ago.
We are but two — be that the band
To hold us till we die ;
Shoulder to shoulder let us stand,
Till side by side we lie.
THE WINGED WOKSniPPEES.
Addressed to tieo SwaUawn ihntfirw into the Cliauncey Placi
Cuurck during Divine Service.
Gay. guiltless pair,
What seek ye from the fields of heaven ?
Ye have no nee 1 of prayer,
Ye have no sins to be forgiven.
Why perch ye here,
Where mortals to their Maker bend?
Can your pure spirits fear
The God ye never could oifeud?
Ye never knew
The crimes for which we come to weep.
Penance is not for you,
Blessed wanderers of the upper deep-
To j'ou 't is given
To wake sweet .Nature's untaught lays ;
Beneath the arch of heaven
To chirp away a life of praise.
Then spread each wing,
Far, far above, o'er the lakes and lands,
And join the choirs that sing
In yon blue dome not reared with hands.
Or, if ye stay,
To note the consecrated hour,
Teach me the airy way,
And let me try your envied power.
Above the crowd,
On upward wings could I but fly,
I'd bathe in yo i bright cloud,
And seek the stars that gem the sky.
Twere Heaven indeed
Through fields of trackless light to soar.
On Nature's charms to feed,
And Nature's own great God adore.
LYDIA IL SIGOURXEY.
135
OnARLES James Sprague, a son of the preced-
ing, has also written verses in a delicate vein of
sentiment. One of these is entitled —
THE EMPTY DOUSE.
" This house to let !" — so long the placard Baid,
I we.it across to see
If it were dull, or dark, or comfortless,
Or what the cause could be.
The parlor was a pleasant little room;
The chambers snug and light,
The kitchen was quite neat and cheerful too,
Although 'twas almost night.
My mind was somewhat in a thoughtful mood,
bo on a broken chair,
I sat me down to moralize awhile
Upon the silence there.
How many changing scenes of life, thought I,
Tins solitude recalls!
Joy's ringing laugh and sorrow's smothered moan,
Have echoed from these walls!
Here in this parlor, jovial friends have met
On raanj a winter's night!
Ripe ale has foamed, and this old rusty grate
bent forth a cheerful light.
Here stood the sofa, whereupon has wooed
Borne young and loving pair!
Here hung the clock that timed the last caress,
And kiss upon the stair!
These chambers might relate a varied talc,
Could the dumb walls find breath ;
Of healthful slumber, and of wakeful pain —
The birth-cry and the death.
Some crusty bachelor has here, perhaps,
Crept grumbling into bed ;
Some phrensied Cm He desperately sought
To hide his aching head.
Some modest girl has here unrobed the charms
Too pure for vulgar view;
Some bride has tasted here the sweets of love, — ■
And curtain lectures, too.
Tlcis little studio has seen the toil
Of some poor poet's brain,
His morn of hope, his disappointed day,
And bitter night of pain.
Or else some well paid preacher has wrought out
His hundredth paraphrase;
Or some old bookworm trimmed his lamp, to read
The tale of other days.
And what are they to whom this was a home ?
How wide have they been cast,
Who gathered here around the social board,
And sported in days past?
How many distant memories have turned
To this deserted spot !
Recalling errors and reviving joys
That cannot be forgot!
Young love may here have heaved its dying sigh,
When angry words were spoken ;
Domestic tyranny may hero have reigned,
And tender hearts have broken.
Perchance some mother, as she passes by,
May east a lingering gaze
Upon the scene of many a happier hour.
The home of her young days.
And what are they who next will till this void
With busy, noisy life ?
Will this become a home of happy peace,
Or one of wretched strife f
la sober thought, I left the silent house,
And gladly sought my own ;
And wheu I passed next week, upon the door
I saw the name of — Brown.
LYDIA n. SIGO0P.NET.
Lydia TJuntley, the daughter and only child of
Ezekiel Huntley and Sophia Wentworth, was
born at Norwich, Conn., September 1, 1791.
Her father, who bore a part in the war of the
Revolution, was a man of worth and benevolence.
His wife possessed those well balanced, unobtru-
sive virtues of character winch marked the New
England lady of the olden time.
Among the happiest influences attending the
childhood of their daughter, was the cultivated
society of'Madam Lathrop, the widow of Dr.
Daniel Lathrop, and the daughter of the Hon.
John Talcott, of Hartford, who held for a succes-
sion of years the office of Governor of Con-
necticut,/ Mr. Huntley, having charge of her
estate, resided with his separate family under her
roof, and in that tine old mansion their child was
born. J/ller precocity was exhibited in reading
fluently at the age of three, and composing simple
verse; at seven, smooth in rhythm, and of an in-
variable religious sentiment. As she grew older,
she profited by the society of the distinguished
visitors who sought the hospitable home; and
received in addition every advantage of educa-
tion which could then be obtained.
•AVhen Mi-s Huntley was fourteen, she had the
misfortune to lose her venerable friend, who died
at the ripe age of eighty-nine. She continued
her studies until her nineteenth year, when she
put into execution a plan she had long contempla-
ted, of engaging in the work of instruction. As-
sociating herself with her most intimate friend,
Miss Ann Maria Hyde, who sympathized warmly in
her scheme, a school was opened for young ladies,
and conducted with great success for two years.
In 1814 Miss Huntley was induced to com-
mence a select school at Hartford, under the
auspices of influential relatives of her early friend,
Mrs. Lathrop. Removing to that city, she be-
came an inmate in the mansion of Mrs. Wads-
worth, the widow of Colonel Jeremiah Wads-
worth, a lady of high intellectual and moral
worth. 'It was at the suggestion, and under the
auspices of a son of this lady, Daniel Wadsworth,
Esq., who had known Miss Huntley from her
infancy, that a selection from her writing-; ap-
peared in 1815. Moral Pieces in Prone and Verse,
the title of Miss Huntley's volume, affords a good
indication to its contents, almost all of the short
poems which it contains having a direct moral
purposein view. The prose essays are introduced
by the remark, that they were addressed to " a
number of young ladies under her care," and the
writer, throughout the volume, seems to have had
her vocation of teacher in view. A poem on
General St. Clair, "neglected and forgotten by
his country, poor and in obscurity, on one of the
Alleghany mountains," shows the Sympathy with
patriotic and national topics which has character-
ized her entire literary career. The volume was
well received, and led to the author's engage-
ment as a contributor to various periodicals. '
In the summer of 1819 Miss Huntley became
the wife of Mr. Charles Sigoumey, a thoroughly
136
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
educated and accomplished merchant of Hartford.
They removed to a beautiful rural residence over-
looking the city, where they resided for nearly
twenty years.
Residence of Mrs. Sigourney.
In 1822 Mrs. Sigourney published Traits of the
Aborigines, an historical poem, in five cantos.
A collection of her miscellaneous ^poems was
made about the same time in London, under the
title of Lays from the West. In 182-1 she pub-
lished a volume in prose, A Sketch of Connecticut
Forty Years Since. These were followed in rapid
succession by Letters to Young Ladies and Let-
ters to Mothers, a collection of poem.-,* and of prose
tales, and Poetry for Children. In 1S36 Zinzen-
dorff and Other Poemsf appeared. The opening
and chief production of the collection introduces
us to the beautiful vale of Wyoming, and after an
eloquent tribute to its scenery and historic fame,
to the missionary Zinzendorff, doubly noble by
ancestral rank and self-sacrificing labor, engaged
in his missionary exertions among the Indians.
We meet him striving to administer consolation
by the couch of the dying chief; beneath the wide-
spreading elm addressing the multitude on the
subject of his mission, the welfare of their souls ;
at his quiet devotions in his tent, watched by as-
sassins who shrank back from their purpose as
they saw the rattlesnake glide past his feet un-
banning and unharmed, so calm and absorbed
was the good man in his duty, the messengers of
death returning to the grim savage prophet who
had sent them on their errand, with the reply,
that the stranger was a god. The poem closes
with the departure of Zinzendorff at a later period
from the infant city of Philadelphia, and an elo-
quent tribute to missionary labor, combined with
an exhortation to Christian union.
The remaining poems are descriptive of natural
scenery, commemorative of departed friends, ver-
sifications of scripture narratives, or inculcative
of scripture truth. A warm sympathy with mis-
sionary effort, and with philanthropic labor of
every description, is manifest in all.
,- In 1841 Pocahontas and Other Poeim\ ap-
peared. The Pocahontas is one of the longest
« Philadelphia. 1P34, 12mo., pp.
t New York, 12mo., pp. BOO.
% New York, limo., pp. 284.
(extending to fifty-six strnzas of nine lines eachj
and also most successful of the author's produc-
tions. It opens with a beautiful picture of the
vague and shadowy repose of nature, which the
imagination conceives as the condition of the New
World prior to the possession of its shores by the
Eastern voyagers. We have then presented the
landing at Jamestown, and the worship in the
church quickly raised by the pious hands of the
colonists. The music which formed a part of
their daily service of common prayer attracts the
ear of the Indian, and thus naturally and beau-
tifully brings Powhatan and his daughter on the
scene. The rescue of Captain Smith is but
slightly alluded to, the writer preferring to dwell
upon the less hackneyed if not equally picturesque
scenes before her, in the life of her heroine. We
have her visit of warning to the English, her bap-
tism, reception in Enghmd, marriage, quiet do-
mestic life, and early death, all presented in an
animated and S3Tmpathetic manner, frequently in-
terrupted by passages of reflection in Mrs. Sigour-
ney's best vein. The remaining poems are simi-
lar in character to the contents of the volumes
already noticed.
Pleasan t Mem ories of Pleasant Lands, published
in 1812,* is a volume of recollections in prose
and poetry, of famous and picturesque scenes
visited, and of hospitalities received during an
European tour in 181-0. The greater portion of
the " Memories" are devoted to England and Scot-
land. The poems are descriptive, reflective, and
occasionally in a sportive vein. During this so-
journ in Europe, two volumes of Mrs. Sigourney's
poems were published in London. Among the
ayv- *iw^
o^4
" eytA^l^l^oy.
gifts and tokens of kindness which greeted the
author from various distinguished persons, was a
splendid diamond bracelet from the Queen of the
French.
Myrtis, with other Etchings and Sketches, ap-
* 12mo., pp. 80S.
LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.
13T
peared in 1846. In 184-8 a choice edition of tho
author's miscellaneous poems was published, with
illustrations from the pencil of Darley. In 1850,
the death of her only son, ami, with the exception
of a daughter, only child, a youth of much promise,
at the early age of nineteen, was followed by the
publication of The Faded Hope, a touching and
beautiful memento of her severe bereavement.
Mrs. Sigourney lias since published, The Western
Home, and O'her Poems, and a graceful volume
of prose sketches entitled, Past Meridian.
Mrs. Sigonrney has been one of the most volu-
minous of American female writer-, having pub-
lished from forty to fifty different volumes.* U
z^Her most successful efforts are her occasional
poems, which abound in passage-! of earnest, well
expressed thought, and exhibit in their graver
moods a pathos combined with hopeful resigna-
tion, characteristic of the mind trained by ex-
ercise in self-knowledge and self-control. They
possess energy and variety. Mrs. Sigourney's
wide and earnest sympathy with all topics of
friendship and philanthropy is always at the
service of these interests, while her command
of versification enables her to present them with
ease and fluency.
INDIAN NAMES.
"How can the red men be forgotten, while so many of onr
states and territories, bays, lakes, and rivers, are iadelibly
stamped by names of their giving?"
Ye say they all have passed away,
That noble race and brave,
That their light canoes have vanished
From off the crested wave ;
That 'mid the forests where they roamed
There rings no hunter's shout,
But their name is on your waters,
Ye may not wash it out.
'Tis where Ontario's billow
Like Ocean's surge is curled,
"Where strong Niagara's thunders wake
The echo of the world.
"Where red Missouri bringeth
Rich tribute from the west,
And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps
On green Virginia's breast.
Ye say their conedike cabins,
That clustered o'er the vale,
Have fled away like withered leaves,
Before the autumn gale,
* The following is a complete list of the titles of Mrs. Si-
gourney's works, in the order of their publication : — Moral
Pieces in Prose and Verse ; 1815. Biography and Writings of
A. M. Hyde ; 1816. Traits of the Aborigines: a Poem ; 1S22.
Sketch of Connecticut ; 1824. Poems; 1S27. Biography of
Females ; 1329. Biography of Pious Persons ; 1882. Evening
Readings in History. Letters to Young Ladies. Memoir of
Phebe Hammond. How to be Happy; 1883. Sketches and
Tales. Poetry for Children Select Poems. Tales and Essays
for Children. Zinzendorff and Other Poems: 1834. History
of Marcus Aureiius Antoninus; 1S35. Olive Buds; 1S36.
Girl's Heading Book. Letters to Mothers ; 1883. Boy's Read-
ing Book ; 1839. Religious Poems, Religions Souvenir, an an-
nual, edited by Mrs. Sigournev. for 1839 and 1S40. Pocahontas
and Other Poems: 1841. Pleasant Memories of Pleasant
Lands. Poems: 1842. Child's Book. Scenes in My Native
Land : 1844. Poems for the Sea. Voice of Flowers. The
Lovely Sisters; 1845. Mvrtis and Other Sketches. Weeping
Willow; 1S46. Water Drops: 1847. Illustrated Poems; 1848.
Whisper to a Bride; 1849. Letters to Pupils; 1850. Olive
Leaves. Examples of Life and Death; 1851. The Faded
Hope. Memoir of Mrs. Harriet Newell Cook : 1852. The
Western Home and Other Poems. Past Meridian. Sayings
of the Little Ones, and Poems for their Mothers ; 1S54.
But their memory liveth on your hills,
Their baptism on your shore,
Your everlasting rivers speak
Their dialect of yore.
Old Massachusetts wears it,
Within her lordly crown,
And broad Ohio bears it,
Amid his young renown ;
Connecticut hath wreathed it
Where her quiet foliage waves,
And bold Kentucky breathed it hoarse
Through all her ancient caves.
"Wachuset hides its lingering voice
"Within his rocky heart,
And Alleghany graves its tone
Throng lout his lofty chart;
Monaduock oa his forehead hoar
Doth seal the sacred trust,
Your mountains build their monument
Though ye destroy their dust.
Ye call these red-browed brethren
The insects of an hour,
Crushed like the noteless worm amid
The regions of their power ;
Ye drive them from their fathers' lands,
Ye break of faith the seal,
But can ye from the court of Heaven
Exclude their last appeal ?
Ye see their unresisting tribes,
With toilsome step and slow,
On through the trackless desert pass,
A caravan of woe ;
Think ye the Eternal's ear is deaf?
His sleepless vision dim?
Think ye the soul's blood may not cry
From that far land to him *
POETRV.
Morn on her rosy couch awoke,
Enchantment led the hour,
And mirth and musi^ drank the dews
That freshened Beauty's flower,
Then from her bower of deep delight,
I heard a young girl sing,
" Oh, speak no ill of poetry,
For 'tis a holy thing."
The sun in noon-day heat rose high,
And on with heaving breast,
I saw a weary pilgrim toil
Unpitied and unblest,
Yet still in trembling measures flowed
Forth from a broken string,
" Oh, speak no ill of poetry.
For 'tis a holy thing."
'Twos night, and Death the curtains drew,
'Mid agony severe,
While there a willing spirit went
Home to a glorious sphere,
Yet still it sighed, even when was spread
The waiting Angel's wing,
" Oh, speak no ill of poetry,
For 'tis a holy thing."
JAMESTOWN CnUP.CH.
Yet, 'mid their cares, one hallowed dome they
reared,
To nurse devotion's consecrated flame ;
And there a wondering world of forests heard,
First borne in solemn chant, Jehovah's name;
First temple to his service, refuge dear
From strong affliction and the alien's tear,
How swelled the sacred song, in glad acclaim :
138
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
England, sweet mother I many a fervent prayer
There poured its praise to Heaven for all thy love
and care.
And they who 'neath the vaulted roof had bowed
Cf some proud minster of the olden time,
Or where the vast cathedral towards the cloud
Reared its dark pile in symmetry sublime,
While through the storied pane the sunbeam
played,
Tinting the pavement with a glorious shade,
Now breathed from humblest fane their ancient
chime :
And learned they not, His presence sure might
dwell
With every seeking soul, though bowel in lowliest
cell?
Yet not quite unadorned their house of prayer:
The fragrant offspring of the genial morn
Thej- duly brought; and fondly offered there
The bud that trembles ere the rose is born,
The blue clematis, and the jasmine pale,
The scarlet woodbii.e, waring in the gale,
The rhododendron, and the snowy thorn,
The rich magnolia, with its foliage fair,
High priestess of the flowers, whose censer fills the
air.
Might not such incense please thee. Lord of love?
Thou, who with bounteous hand dost deign to
show
Some foretaste of thy Paradise above,
To cheer the way-worn pilgrim he c below?
Bidd'st thou 'mid parching sands the flow'ret
meek
Strike its frail root and raise its tinted cheek,
And the slight pine defy the arctic snow,
That even the skeptic's frozen eye may see
On Nature's beauteous page what lines she writes
of Thee ?
What groups, at Sabbath morn, were hither led!
Dejected men, with disappointed frown,
Spoiled youths, the parents' darling and their
dread,
From castles in the air hurled ruthless down,
The sea-bro, zed mariner, the warrior brave,
The keen gold-gatherer, graspi: g as the grave ;
Oft, 'mid these mouldering walls, which nettles
crown,
Stern breasts have locked their purpose and been
still,
And contrite spirits knelt, to learn their Maker's
will
Here, in his surplice white, the pastor stood,
A holy man, of countenance serene,
Who, 'mid the quaking earth or fiery flood
Unmoved, in truth's own panoply, had been
A fair example of his own pure creed ;
Patient of error, pitiful to need,
Persuasive wisdom in his thoughtful mien,
And in that Teacher's heavenly meekness blessed,
Who laved his followers' feet with towel-girded
vest.
Music upon the breeze ! the savage stays
His flying arrow as the stiain goes by ;
He starts! he listens! lost in deep amaze,
Breath half-suppressed, and lightning in his eye.
Have the clouds spoken ? Do the spirits rise
From his dead fathers' graves, with wildering
melodies?
Oft doth he muse, 'nenth midnight's solemn sky,
On tho*e deep tones, which, rising o'er the sod,
Bore forth, from hill to hill, the white man's hymn
to God.
LIFE 8 EVENING.
' Abide with us, for it i3 now evening, and the day of life is
far spent.*'
Bishop Andeews.
The bright and blooming morn of youth
llnth faded from tlie sky,
And the fresh garlands of our hope
Are withered, sere, and dry ;
O Thou, whose being hath no end,
Whose years can ne'er decay,
Whose strength and wisdom are our trust,
Abide with us, we pray.
Behold the noonday sun of life
Doth seek its western bound,
And fast the lengthening shadows cast
A heavier gloom around,
And all the glow worm lamps are dead,
That, kindling round our way,
Gave fickle promises of joy —
Abide with us, we pray.
Dim eve draws on, and many a friend
Our early path that blessed,
Wrapped in the cerements of the tomb,
Have laid them down to rest ;
But Thou, the Everlasting Friend,
Whose Spirit's glorious ray
Can gild the dreary vale of death,
Abide with us, we pray.
THE EAELT BLUE-BIF.D.
Blue-bird ! on yon leafless tree,
Dost thou carol thus to me,
" Spring is coming ! Spring is here ! "
Say'st thou so, my birdie dear ?
What is that in misty shroud
Stealing from the darkened cloud!
Lo! the snow-flake's gathering mound
Settles o'er the whitened ground,
Yet thou singest, blithe and clear,
" Spring is coming ! Spring is here' "
Strik'st thou not too bold a strain?
Winds are piping o'er the plain,
Clouds are sweeping o'er the sky.
With a black and threatening eye;
Urchins by the frozen rill
Wrap their mantles closer still;
Yo.i poor man, with doublet old,
Doth he shiver at the cold?
Hath he not a nose of blue?
Tell me, birdling — tell me true?
Spring's a maid of mirth and glee,
Busy wreaths and revelry ;
Hast thou wooed some winged love
To a nest in verdant giove?
Sung to her of greenwood bower.
Sunny skies that never lower ?
Lured her with thy promise fair.
Of a lot that ne'er knows care?
Prithee, bird in coat of blue,
Though a lover — tell her true.
Ask her, if when storms are long,
She can sing a cheerful song?
When the rude winds rock the tree,
If she'll closer cling to thee?
Then, the blasts that sweep the sky,
Unappalled shall pass thee by ;
Though thy curtained chamber show.
Sittings of untimely snow,
Warm and glad thy heart shall be,
Love shall make it spring for thee.
JONATHAN MAYHEW WAINWRIGHT; EDWIN C. HOLLAND.
139
TALK WITH T1IF. 8EA.
I said with a moan, as [ roamed a'one,
By the side of the solemn sea, —
"Oh cast at my feet which thy billows meet
Some toke.i to comfort me.
'Mid thy surges cold, a ring of gold
I have lost, with an amethyst b.ig'it,
Tho'i hast locked it so long, i,i thy casket strong,
That the rust must have quenched its light.
"Send a gift, I pray, oa thy sheeted spray,
To solace my drooping mind.
For I'm sad and grieve, and ere long must leave
This rolling globe behind."
The.i the Sea answered, "Spoils arc mine,
From many an a gosy,
An 1 pearl-drops sleep i:i my bosom deep,
But naught have 1 there for thee! "
" When I muse 1 before, on this rock-bound shore,
The beautiful walke I with me.
She hath gone to her rest in the c lurcbyard's breast
Since 1 saw thee last, thou sea !
Restore! restore! the smile she wore,
Whe i her cheek to mine was pressed,
Give back thevoiee of the fervent soul
That could lighten the darkest b.east! "
But the haughty Sea, in its majesty
Swept onward as before,
Though a surge in wrath from its ro;ky path,
Shrieked o it to the sounding shore —
" T.iou hast aske 1 of our kii:g. a harder thing
Than mortal e'er elainie 1 before,
For never the we ilth of a loving heart,
Could Oeea.i or Earth restore."
JONATHAN MAYHEW WAINWEIGHT.
J. M. Wain'wmout wis born at Liverpool, Eng-
land, February 24, 171)2. His father, an English-
man by birth, had settled in America after the
Revolution an 1 married a daughter of Dr. May-
hew, the celebrated clergyman in Boston of that
era. His residence in Englan 1, at the time of his
son's birth, was not per nanent, and the family
not long after returnsd to America. The future
Bishop graduated at Harvard in 1812, and sub-
sequently wis Tutor of Rhetoric and Oratory in
that Institution. Ha early chose the Ministry of
the Episcopal Church as his calling. When
minister at Hartford, Ct., in 1819, he published
Charts, adipted to the Hymns in the Morning
and Evening Service of the Pro' extant Episcopal
Ghwrch, an 1 afterwards, in 1828, issue I a volume
of Music of the Ciurch, and again, in 1851, in
conjunction with Dr. Muhlenberg, The Choir and
Family Psidter ; a collection of fie Psalms of
David, with the Cant'cles of the Morning and
Evening Prayer of the Episc ipal service, arranged
for chanting. He was always a devoted lc»ver
of music. When Malibran vi sited America, she
sang on several occasions in the choir of Grace
Church, with which Dr. Wainwright was long
connected as pastor, in New York. His employ-
ments in the official duties of his church were
various. He left New York for a time to be
Rector of Trinity Church, in Boston. When he
was chosen Provisional Bishop of New York in
1852, he was connected with Trinity Parish in
the city. He would have been elected to that
office in the previous year had he not cast his
own vote against himself. He wa- indefatigable
in the duties of his Bishopric during the severe
heats of 1851, and in the autumn of that year,
September 21, he died, prostrated by an attack
of severe remittent fever. His chief literary
works were two volumes of descriptive foreign
travel, published in 1850 and the following year,
after his return from a tour to the East. They
bear the titles. The Pathways and Abiding
Places of Our Lord, i'ltistra'e I in the Journal
of a Tour through the Land of Promise and the
Lund of Bondage ; its Ancient Monuments and
Present Condition, being the Journal of a Tour
in Egypt. The style is pleasing and flowing, and
the devotional sentiment uniformly maintained.
Dr. W. also edited for Messrs. Appleton two
illustrated volumes, The Women of the Bible, and
Our Saviour with Prophe's and Apostles.
Dr. Wainwright was engaged in a de'once of
Episcopacy, in a controversy with the R^v. Dr.
Potts of the Presbyterian Church of New York,
which grew out of a remark let fall by Ruins
Choate, at the annual celebration of the New
England Society, in New York, in 1843, in which
the orator complimented a people who had planted
"a state without a king, and a church without a
bishop." At the dinner which followed, Dr.
Wainwright, an invited guest, took exception to
the saving, and was challenged to the contro-
versy by Dr. Potts.
The die mrsos published by Dr. W. were few.
In 182!) he published a thin octavo of Sermons on.
Religious Education and Filial Duty. His
social influence was great. Courtly and easy in
his manners, and taking part in the active inter-
ests of the day, ho was universally known, and a
general favorite in the city in which he resided.
He ssisted in the formation of the University of
the city of New York. His reading in the Church
services was much admired, his voice being finely
modulated, with a delicate emphasis. As a
preacher his style was finished in an ample rheto-
rical manner.
EDWIN C. HOLLAND.
Edwix C. Holland, a lawyer of Charleston, S.
C, published in 1814 a volume of Odes, Naval
Songs, and other occasional Poems, suggested for
the most part by the war with England pending
during their first publication in the Port Folio.
His style is fluent, and occasionally somewhat too
ornate and grandiloquent. One of the most
spirited compositions is his prize poem —
THK PILLAR OF CLORY.
Hail to the heroes whose triumphs have brightened
The darkness which shrou le 1 America's name;
Long shall their valour in battle that lightened,
Live in the brilliant escutcheons of fame:
Dark where the torrents flow,
And the rude tempests blow.
The stormy clad spirit of Albion raves ;
Long shall she mourn the day,
When in the vengeful fray,
Liberty walked like a god on the wave3.
The ocean, ye chiefs, (the region of glory,
Where fortune has destined Columbia to reign,)
Gleams with the halo and lustre of story,
That curl round the waves as the scene of hor
fame :
There, on its rnging tide.
Shall her proud navy ride.
The bulwark of Freedom, protected by Heaven ;
140
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
There shall her haughty foe
Low to her prowess low,
There shall renown to her heroes be given.
The pillar of glory, the sea that enlightens,
Shall last till eternity rocks on its base;
The splendour of Fame, its waters that brightens,
Shall light the footsteps of Time in his race:
"Wide o'er the stormy deep,
Where the rude surges sweep,
Its lustre shall circle the brows of the brave ;
Honour shall give it light,
Triumph shall keep it bright,
Long as in battle we meet on the wave.
Already the storm of contention lias hurled,
From the grasp of Old England, the trident of war;
The beams of our stars have illumined the world,
Unfurled our standard beats proud in the air :
Wild glares the eagle's eye,
Swift as he cuts the sky,
Marking the wake where our heroes advance;
Compassed with rays of light, .
Hovers he o'er the fight;
Albion is heartless, and stoops to his glance.
WILLIAM II. TIMROD
Was born in Charleston, South Carolina, in 1792.
In straitened circumstances and of a limited edu-
cation, and while following the trade of a me-
chanic, lie wrote verses which were received with
favor. His conversational abilities are also re-
membered by his friends witli pleasure. In the
year 1836 lie went to St. Augustine as the captain
of a militia corps of Charleston, which had vo-
lunteered to garrison that town for a certain pe-
riod against the attacks of the Indians. In this
expedition he contracted, from exposure, a dii-ease
which resulted in his death two years after-
wards.
TO HARRY.
Harry ! my little blue-eyed boy !
I love to hear thee playing near,
There's music in thy shouts of joy
To a fond father's ear.
I love to see the lines of mirth
Mantle thy cheek and forehead fair,
As if all pleasures of the earth
Had met to revel there.
For gazing on thee do I sigh
That these most happy hours will flee,
And thy full shnre of misery
Must fall in life to thee.
There is no lasting grief below,
My Harry, that flows not from guilt —
Thou can'st not read my meaning now,
In after times thou wilt.
Thou'lt read it when the churchyard clay
Shall lie upon thy father's breast,
.And he, though dead, will point the way
Thou shalt be always blest.
They'll tell thee this terrestrial ball,
To man for his enjoyment given,
Is but a state of sinful thrall
To keep the soul from Heaven.
My boy ! the verdure-crowned hills,
The vales where flowers innumerous blow,
The music often thousand rills,
Will tell thee 't is not so.
God is no tyrant who would spread
Unnumbered dainties to the eyes,
Yet teach the hungering child to dread
That touching them, he dies.
No ! all can do his creatures good
He scatters round with hand profuse —
The only precept understood —
" Enjoy, but not abuse."
Henry Timrod, the son of the preceding, is a
resident of the city of Charleston. His verses,
which keep the promise of his father's reputa-
tion, have usually appeared in the Southern Lite-
rary Messenger with the signature " Aglaus."
THE PAST — A FRAGMENT.
To-day's most trivial act may hold the seed
Of future fruitfulness, or future dearth —
Oh, cherish always every word and deed,
The simplest lecord of thyself has worth.
If thou hast ever slighted one old thought.
Beware lest Grief enforce the truth at last —
The time must come wherein thou shalt be taught
The value and the beauty of the Past.
Not merely as a Warner and a Guide,
" A voice behind thee" sounding to the strife—
But something never to be put aside,
A part and parcel of thy present life.
Not as a distant and a darkened sky
Through which the stars peep, and the moonbeams
glow —
But a surrounding atmosphere whereby
We live and breathe, sustained 'mid pain and woe.
A Fairy-land, where joy and sorrow kiss —
Each still to each corrective and relief — -
Where dim delights are brightened into bliss,
And nothing wholly perishes but grief.
Ah me! not dies — no more than spirit dies —
But in aehai ge like death is clothed with wings —
A serious angel with entranced eyes
Looking to far off and celestial things.
JOI1N HOWARD PAYNE.
TnE ancestors of John Howard Payne were men
of eminence. His paternal grandfather wasa mi-
litary officer and member of the Provincial Assem-
bly of Massachusetts; and Dr. Osborn, the author
of the celebrated whaling song, and Judge Paine,
one of the signers of the Declaration of Independ-
ence, were of the family. His father was educated
as a physician under General Warren, but soon
abandoned the profession, owing to the unsettled
state of affairs caused by the Revolution, and be-
came a teacher, a calling in which he attained
high eminence. Mr. Pajne was the child of his
second wife, the daughter of a highly respected
inhabitant of the ancient village of East Hamp-
toif, Long Island, where his tombstone bears
the simple epitaph, " An Israelite, indeed, in
whom there was no guile." The oft-repeated
story is first told of him, that sending a present
of cranberries to a friend in England, he received,
with the news of their arrival, the information
that the fruit " had all turned sour upon the
way." Payne's father, after an unsuccessful mer-
cantile venture, became a resident of East Hamp-
ton, and the principal of the Clinton Academy,
an institution of high reputation throughout the
island, which owed its foundation to the reputa-
tion of Mr. Payne as a teacher. He afterwards
removed to New York, where John Howard
Payne was born June 9, 1792. He was one of
JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.
141
the eldest of nine children — seven sons and two
daughters. One of the latter shared to some
extent in his precocious fame. At the age of
fourteen, after eight days' study of the Latin lan-
guage, she underwent an examination by the
classical professors of Harvard College, and dis-
played a remarkable skill in construing and pars-
ing. She was afterwards highly distinguished as
an amateur artist, and her literary compositions,
none of which have been published, and corre-
spondence, were said, by some of the best author-
ities of the country, to have been " among the
most favorable specimens of female genius exist-
ing in America." Soon after Payne's birth, his
father accepted the charge of a new educational
establishment in Boston, and the family removed
to that city. Here our author first came before
the public as the leader of a military association
of schoolboys who paraded the streets, and be-
came the town-talk. On one occasion of gene-
ral parade, when drawn up in the common near
the regular troops, they were formally invited
into the ranks, and reviewed by the commanding
officer, Major-General Elliott. We soon after
hear of him on a scene which was a nearer ap-
proach to that of his future fame. His father
was highly celebrated as an elocutionist. A ner-
vous complaint, by which the son was incapaci-
tated for two or three years from severe study,
was supposed to be benefited by exercises of this
character. The pupil showed a remarkable apti-
tude, and soon became a leader in the school
exhibitions in soliloquy and dialogue. A Boston
actor, fresh from the performances of Master
Betty in London, whose reputation was then world-
wide, was so struck with the ability of Master
Payne, that he urged his father to allow him to
bring out the youth on the stage as the young
American Roscius. The offer, much to the
chagrin of its subject, was declined. He made
his debut, however, in literature, becoming a
contributor to a juvenile paper called the Fly,
which was published by Samuel Woodworth,
from the office where he worked as a printer's
bov.
At this period, William Osborn, Payne's eldest
brother, a partner in the mercantile house of
Forbes and Payne, died, and partly with a view
of weaning him from the stage, the would-be
Roscius was set to " cramp his genius" among
the folios of the counting-house of Mr. Forbes,
who continued the business of the late firm, in the
hope that Payne might ultimately fill the deceased
brother's place. He was, however, no sooner
installed in the new post in New York, than he
commenced the publication of a little periodical,
entitled The Thespian Mirror. One " Criti-
cus" demurred to some of its statements and
opinions, and the announcement in the Evening
Post, that his communication would appear in
the next newspaper, brought a letter to the
editor from his juvenile contemporary, who,
fearful of the anger of his relations, who were
ignorant of his publication, besought the senior
not to allow his incognito to be broken. Mr.
Coleman invited Payne to call upon him, na-
turally interested in a boy of thirteen, who
was a brother editor, and, as he states in his
paper of Jan. 2-i, 1806, was much pleased with
the interview. " His answers," he says, " were
such as to dispel all doubts as to any imposition,
and I found that it required an effort on my part
to keep up the conversation in as choice a style
as his own." Mr. Coleman's object in making
the incident public, in spite of Payne's objections,
was to call attention to his remarkable merits,
and to create an interest in his career. In this
he was so successful, that a benevolent gentleman
of this city, Mr. John E. Seaman, volunteered to
defray the youth's expenses at Union College.
The offer was gladly accepted, and Payne took
his departure for Albany in a sloop, in company
with his friend and kind adviser, Charles Brock-
den Brown. He kept a journal of the tour, of
which the following poetical fragment is all that
has been preserved : —
On the deck of the slow-sailing vessel, alone,
As I silently sat, all was mute as the gi'.ive;
It was night — and the moon mildly beautiful shone,
Lighting up with her soft smile the quivering
wave.
So bewitchbigly gentle and pure was its beam,
In tenderness watching o'er nature's repose,
Th;it I likened its ray to Christianity's gleam,
When it mellows and soothes without chasing our
woes.
And I felt such an exquisite mildness of sorrow,
While entranced by the tremulous glow of the
deep,
That I longed to prevent the intrusion of morrow,
And stayed there for ever to wonder and weep.
At college he started a periodical, called The
Pastime, which became very popular among tho
students. The busybodies, who had pestered
him with their advice after Mr. Coleman's publi-
cation in New York, ■continued their favors to
him at Schenectady, especially after the publica-
tion of a Fourth of July ode, which was com-
posed by Payne, and sung by the students in
one of the churches. The author, as a joke,
published an article in one of the Albany papers,
berating himself, after the manner of his critics,
in round terms. It produced a sensation among
his associates, many of whom turned the cold
142
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
shoulder upon him. The affair came to an issue
at a supper party, where an individual gave as
a toast " The Critics of Albany," and was, in
common with the other carpers, satisfactorily
nonplus-ed by Payne's quietly rising and return-
ing thanks.
Soon after Payne's establishment at college, he
lost his mother. The effect of this calamity on
his father, already much broken by disease, was
such as to incapacitate him for attention to his
affairs, which had become involved, and his
bankruptcy speedily followed. In this juncture,
the son insisted upon trying the stage as a means
of support, and obtaining the consent of his
patron and parent, made his first appearance at
The Park Theatre.
the Park Theatre as Young Norval on the even-
ing of February 2-t, 1809, in his sixteenth year.
The performance, like those of the entire engage-
ment, was highly successful. A writer, who had
seen Garrick and all the great actors since his
day, said, " I have seen Master Payne in Douglas,
Zaphna, Solim, and Octavian, and may truly say,
I think him superior to Betty in all. There was
one scene of his Zaphna, which exhibited more
taste and sensilility than I have witnessed since
the davs of Garrick. He has astonished every-
body."
From New York Payne went to Philadelphia,
and afterwards to Boston, performing with great
success in both cities. He also appeared at Balti-
more, Richmond, and Cbarleston, where Henry
Placide, afterwards the celebrated comedian of
the Park Tbeatre, gained his first success by a
capital imitation of his style of acting.
On his return to New York, after these en-
gagements, Payne yielded to the wishes of his
family by retiring from the stage, and started a
circulating library and reading-room, the Athe-
naeum, which he designed to expand into a great
public institution. Soon after this, George Fre-
derick Cooke arrived in America. Payne, of
course, became acquainted with him, and was very
kindly treated by the great tragedian, who urged
him to try his fortune on the London stage.
They appeared once at the Park Theatre to-
gether, Payne playing Edgar to Cooke's Lear.
Other joint performances were planned, but
evaded by Cooke, whose pride was hurt at " hav-
ing a boy called in to support him." The
Athenaeum speculation proving unprofitable, he
returned to the stage. While playing an engage-
ment at Boston, his father died. He afterwards
played in Philadelphia and Baltimore. During
his stay in the latter city, the printing-office of
his friend Hanson, an editor, was attacked by a
mob during the absence of its proprietor. He
offered his services, and rendered essential aid to
the paper at the crisis, and Mr. Hanson not only
publicly acknowledged his services, but exerted
himself in aiding his young friend to obtain the
means to visit Europe. By the liberality of a
few gentlemen of Baltimore this was effected,
and Payne sailed from New York on the seven-
teenth of January, 1813, intending to be absent
but one year. His first experience of England,
where he arrived in Februaiy, was a brief im-
prisonment in Liverpool, the mayor of that city
having determined to act with rigor in the ab-
sence of instructions from government respecting
aliens.
On arriving in Lcndcn, he spent several weeks
in sight-seeing before applying to the managers.
By the influence of powerful persons to whom he
brought letters, he obtained a hearing from Mr.
"Whitbread of Drury Lane, and appeared at that
theatre as Douglas, the performance being an-
nounced on the bills .as by a young gentleman,
" his first appearance," it being deemed advisable
to obtain an unbiassed verdict from the audience.
The debut was successful, and lie was announced
in the bills of his next night as "Mr. Payne, from
the theatres of New York and Philadelphia."
After playing a triumphant engagement, he made
the circuit of the provinces, and, upon his return
to London, visited Paris principally for the pur-
pose of seeing Talma, by whom he was most cor-
dially received. Bonaparte returned from Elba
scon after his arrival, and he consequently re-
mained in Paris during the Hundred Days. He
then repaired to London, taking with him a
translation of a popular French melodrama, The
Maid and the Magpie, which he had made as
an exercise in the study of the language with-
out any view to representation. He was asked
to play at Drury Lane, but by the influence of Mr.
Kinnaird, one of the committee of stockholders
who then conducted the management, his reap-
pearance was po:-tponed until a more favorable
period of the theatrical season. Happening to be
questioned about the famous new piece in Paris,
Payne produced his version, and it was read by
Mr. Kinnaird, who was so much pleased that he
proposed to the translator to return to Paris for
the purpose of watching the French stage, and
sending over adaptations of the best pieces for the
Drury Lane management, regretting, at the same
time, that having engaged a translation of The
Maid and the Magpie, it was impossible to pro-
duce Mr. Payne's superior version. He accepted
the proposal, but before his departure, Mr. Harris,
the rival manager of Covent Garden, purchased
his manuscript of The Maid and the Magpie for
one hundred and fifty pounds. Soon after his
arrival, he sent over the play of Accusation, so
carefully prepared for the stage, that it was per-
formed six days, after its reception, and was suc-
cessful. Payne remained steadily at work for
JOHX HOWARD PAYNE.
143
soma months, sending over translations and drafts
for cash to meet the heavy expenses incurred by
his agency ; but finding that the first were not
produced, and the second not paid, returned to
London to settle matters. Here the contract was
repudiated by the management, on the ground
that it was made by Mr. Kinnaird in his private
capacity, and not as a member of the committee.
In the midst of the controversy, Harri ;, the rival
manager, stepped in and engaged Payne for Co-
vent Garden at a salary of £300 for the season, to
appear occasionally in leading parts, anil look
after the literary interests of the theatre, further
remuneration being secured in the event of ori-
ginal pieces or translations from his pen being
produced. The arrangement lasted but one sea-
son, difficulties springing up in the company with
regard to the distribution of parts. Payne was
repeatedly announced to appear in the tragedy
of Adelgitha by Monk Lewis, in connexion with
Miss O'Xeil, and Messrs. Young and Macready,
and was naturally desirous of taking part in so
strong a cast, but the performance was postponed,
as the appointed evening approached, by the
" indisposition " of one or another of his col-
leagues. Towards the close of the season he
sprained his ankle, and so was prevented from
appearing. On his recovery he was offered the
parts in which Charles Kemble had appeared, a
proposal which, not wishing to bring- himself
into direct comparison with an established favor-
ite, and incur the charge of presumption from the
public, he declined. This led to a rupture, and
the close of the engagement with Harris.
Released from this charge, Payne devoted him-
self to a tragedy, which he had long planned, on
the subject of Brutus. It was designed fir, and
accepted by Kean, and produced by him at
Drury Lane, December 4, 1818, with a success
unexampled for years. In the height of its popu-
larity, the printer of the theatre made the author
an offer for the copyright; which was accepted.
It was printed with the greatest expedition, the
manuscript being taken, page by page, from the
prompter during the performance, to a cellar
under the stage, where the author descending to
. correct the proofs, found to his surprise that
august body, the Roman senate, busy, with their
togas thrown over their shoulders, "setting type."
The hurry necessitated a brief preface, but in it
the author made a distinct avowal of his obliga-
tions to the plays on the same subject, no less
than seven in number, which had preceded his.
" I have had no hesitation," he says in it, " in
adopting the conceptions and language of my
predecessors, wherever they seemed likely to
strengthen the plan which I had prescribed."
The play was published, and in spite of the
avowal we have quoted, the cry of plagiarism
was raised. A long discussion of the question
ensued. " zE*ehylu=" and " Vindex" maintained
a long and angry controversy in the Morning
Post, and many other periodicals were similarly
occupied. Payne had been too long before the
public not to have made enemies. He was
assailed on all sides. One of the very proprietors
who were making money out of the piece, told
him that the owners of Cumberland's play of the
Sybil, one of the seven predecessors of Brutus,
intended to bring an action for the invasion of
the copyright, and that an injunction on the per-
formance of the play by the government, on the
ground of the dangerous democratic sentiments
it contained, was anticipated.
He promptly di-posed of these charges by
notes, which produced emphatic disclaimers of
the alleged designs by the publisher of Cumber-
land's works, and Sir William Scott, who was
said to have suggested the injunction to his
brother the Lord Chancellor.
The dramatist met with as harsh and unfair
treatment within as without the theatre. The
proceeds of the benefits, which were the stipu-
lated sources of his remuneration, were reduced
on varioti- pretences; and the leading performer,
whose popularity had received a powerful impulse
from the run of the piece, presented a gold snuff-
box to the stage-manager, but made no acknow-
ledgment of his indebtedness to the author. At
the suggestion of the actor, the dramatist wrote and
submitted a second classical play, Virginiw, which
was laid aside in favor of one on the same subject
by a competitor, whose production was damned
the first night. Annoyed by these and similar
mishaps, Mr. Payne ' leased Sadlers' Wells, a
theatre then on the outskirts of the city, and be-
came a manager. lie produced several new
pieces, and appeared himself with success, but
the situation and previous character of the house,
and the interruption of the performances by
deaths which occurred in the royal family, were
obstacles which he could not surmount, and ho
retired at the end of the season sadly put of pocket.
His next play was Therese, or the Orphan of
Geneva, adapted from a French original, and pro-
duced by EHiston, who had succeeded the com-
mittee of Drury Lane as manager of that theatre
It was very successful, but the author's profits
were impaired by the production of a pirated
copy, taken down in shorthand during the per-
formance of the original, at a minor theatre, and
a rival version at Covent Garden.
Payne next went to Paris, in the interests of
Elliston. Here he was visited by one Burroughs,
who made a similar contract for the Surrey
Theatre. Both proved bad paymasters, and Payne
is said to have suffered much from actual want.
Meanwhile, Charles Kemble became manager
of Covent Garden, and applied, like his predeces-
sors and rivals, to Payne for aid. He offered the
new manager a number of manuscripts for £230.
The odd thirty was the value set opposite the
piece afterwards called Clari. Kemble closed
with the offer, and produced this piece, which, at
his request, the author had converted into an
opera. It made the fortune of every one promi-
nently connected with it, except the usual excep-
tion in these cases — the author. It gained for
Miss M. Tree (the elder sister of Mrs. Charles
Ke.'m), who first sang "Home, sweet Home," a
wealthy husband, aud filled the house and the
treasury.
HOME, SWEET nOME.
'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Still, be it ever so humble, there's no place like
home ;
A charm from the skies seems to hallow it there,
Which, go through the world, you'll not meet else
where.
144
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Home, home,
Sweet home !
There's no place like home —
There's no place like home.
An exile from home, pleasure dazzles in rain,
Ah I give me my lowly thatched cottage again;
The birds singing sweetly, that came to my call —
Give me them, and that peace of mind, dearer than
all.
Home, home, <£e.
Upwards of one hundred thousand copies of the
song were estimated in 1832 to have been sold by
the original publishers, whose profits, within two
years alter it was issued, are said to have amounted
to two thousand guineas. It is known all over the
world, and doubtless, years after its composition,
saluted its author's ears in far off Tunis. He
not only lost the twenty-five pounds which was
to have been paid for the copyright on the
twentieth night of performance, but was not
even complimented with a copy of bis own song
by the publisher. Author and actor soon after
made a great hit in Charles the Second. It be-
came one of Kemble's most favorite parts. The
author sold the copyright for fifty pounds, one
quarter of the average price paid for a piece of
its length.
Soon after this, Payne returned to London, on
a visit to superintend the production of his ver-
sion of a French opera, La Lame Blanche, and
started a periodical called The Opera Glass. Its
publication was interrupted by a long and severe
illness. On his recovery he found Stephen Price,
with whom be had had difficulties in the Young
Eoscius days at the Park, vice Elliston, bank-
rupt. Price still showed Payne the cold shoul-
der, and soon followed Elliston, with his pockets in
a similar condition. Charles Kemble held on, but
with almost as much ill success. These gloomy
theatrical prospects led to Payne's return home,
in August, 1832. Soon after his return he issued
the prospectus of a periodical, with the fanciful
title, JamJehan Niina, meaning the Goblet where-
in you may behold the Universe. " It is scarcely
necessary to add," says the prospectus, " that the
allusion is to that famous cup, supposed to possess
the strange property of representing in it the
whole world, and all the things which were then
doing, — and celebrated as Jami Jemsheed, the cup
of Jemshud, a very ancient king of Per.-ia, and
which is said to have been discovered in digging
the foundations of Persepolis, filled with the
elixir of immortality." The work was to appear
simultaneously in England and the United States,
and be contributed to by the best authors of both
countries ; to be the organ of American opinion in
Europe, and of correct views of Europe in Ame-
rica. It was to be published in weekly numbers,
of thirty-two octavo pages, at an annual subscrip-
tion price of ten dollars.' The affair never, how-
ever, got beyond a prospectus of eight pages, of
unusually magnificent promise even among the
hopeful productions of its class.
He contributed, in 1838, to the recently esta-
blished Democratic Review, a number of prose
papers, one of which contains his pleasant picture
of East Hampton. During this period, while
travelling in the southern states, he was arrested
by some over-zealous soldiers belonging to the
forces raised against the Seminoles, as a sym-
pathizer with the enemy, and was not released
until some days after. His amusing account of
the occurrence went the rounds of the newspapers
of the time.
He not long after received the appointment of
Consul at Tunis, where he remained a few years,
and then returned to the United States. After an
ineffectual solicitation for a diplomatic post more
in accordance with his wishes, he accepted a re-
appointment to Tunis. He died soon after, in
1852.
At the time of Payne's return, in 1832, two
long and interesting articles on his career were
published in the New York Mirror, from the pen
of his friend Theodore S. Fay. "We are indebted
to these for our full account of Pajme's experi-
ences with the London managers, a curious chap-
ter of literary history, which could not, without
injury to its interest, have been compressed in
closer limits.
Our portrait is from an original and very beau-
tifully executed miniature by Wood, and repre-
sents the young Eoscius about the period of his
first histrionic triumphs.
For the Thirty-First Anniversary of American
Independence.
. WritteD as a College Exercise.
When erst our sires their sails unfurled,
To brave the trackless sea,
They boldly sought an unknown world,
Determined to be free!
They saw their homes recede afar,
the pale blue hills diverge,
And, Liberty their guiding star,
They ploughed the swelling surge!
No splendid hope their wand'iings cheered,
No lust of wealth beguiled ; —
They left the towers that plenty reared
To seek the desert wild ;
The climes where proud luxuriance shone.
Exchanged for forests drear;
The splendour of a Tyrant's throne,
For honest Freedom here !
Though hungry wolves the nightly prowl
Around their log-hut took ;
Though savages with hideous howl
Their wild-wood shelter shook;
Though tomahawks around them glared, —
To Fear could such hearts yield ?
Ko ! God, for whom they danger dared,
In danger was their shield !
When giant Power, with blood-stained crest,
Here grasped his gory lance,
And dared the warriors of the West
Embattled to advance, —
Our young Columbia sprang, alone
(In God her only trust),
And humbled, with a sling and stone,
This monster to the dust!
Thus nobly rose our greater Rome,
Bright daughter of the skies, —
Of Liberty the hallowed home,
Whose turrets proudly rise, —
Whose sails now whiten every sea,
On every wave unfurled ;
Formed to be happy, great, and free,
The Eden of the world 1
JAMES HALL.
m
Shall wo, the sons of valiant sires,
Such glories tamely stain?
Shall these rich vales, these splendid spires,
E'er brook a monarch's reign ?
No! If the Despot's iron hand
Must here a sceptre wave,
Razed be those glories from the land,
And be the land our gravel
THE TO.MB OF GENrtTS.
Where the chilling north wind howls,
Where the weeds so wildly wave,
Mourned by the weeping willow,
Washed by the beating billow,
Lies the youthful P.oet's grave.
Beneath yon little eminence,
Marked by the gniss-green turf,
The winding-sheet his form encloses,
On the cold rock his head reposes —
Near him foams the troubled surf!
" Roars around" his tomb " the ocean,"
Pensive sleeps the moon-beam there 1
Naiads love to wreathe his urn —
Dryads thither hie to mourn —
Fairy music melts in air !
O'er his tomb the village virgins
Love to drop the tribute tear ;
Stealing from the groves around,
Soft they tread the hallowed ground.
And scatter wild flowers o'er his bier.
By the cold earth mantled —
All alone — ■
Pale and lifeless lies his form :
Ba':ters on his grave the storm :
Silent now his tuneful numbers,
Here the son of Genius slumbers:
Stranger! mark his burial-stone!
The author, in a note, regrets that he has not
space to insert the music composed for these
verses by Miss Eleanor Augusta Johnson, who, at
the tender age of fourteen, has thrown into her
valued complement to the poetry, a skill and
expressiveness which, for one so young, may be
regarded as little less than miraculous.
JAMES HALL
Was born in Philadelphia August 19, 1793, and
commenced the study of law in that city in 1811.
At this period he saw something of military life.
In 1813 lie was one of a company of volunteers,
the Washington Guards, commanded by Condy
Raguet, Esq., afterwards United States Minister
to Brazil, who entered the service of the United
States and spent several months in camp, on the
Delaware, watching the motions of a British fleet,
performingall the dutiesof soldiers. Atthecloseof
that year he was commissioned a Third Lieutenant
of Artillery, in the Second Regiment, commanded
by Colonel Win field Scott, who about that time-
became a Brigadier-General.
In the spring of 1814he marched to the frontier
with a company of artillery commanded by Captain
Thomas Biddle, and joined the army at Buffalo
under General Brown, in which Scott* Ripley, and
Porter were Brigadiers. In the battle of "Chip-
pewa he commanded a detachment from his com-
pany, and had a full share of that brilliant affair.
He was in the battle of Lundy's Lane (or Bridge-
water), at Niagara, the siege of Fort Erie, and all
the hard lighting and severe service of that cam-
VOL. II. — 10
paign, and was commended afterwards officially,
as having rendered " brave and meritorious ser-
vices."
At the close of the war, unwilling to be inac-
tive, Mr. Hall went to Washington and solicited a
Midshipman's warrant in the Navy, in the hope
of going out in Decatur's squadron against the
Algerines, but without success. Subsequently it
was decided to send out with that expedition a
bomb-vessel and some mortars to be used in the
bombardment of Algiers, under the command of
Maj( ir Archer of the artillery ; and our author had
the honor of being selected as one of four young
officers who accompanied him. He sailed in Sep-
tember, 1815, from Boston in the United States
Brig Enterprise, commanded by Lieutenant Law-
rence Kearney, now the veteran Commodore.
The war with Algiers was a short one, and after
a brief, but to him most delightful cruise in the
Mediterranean, he returned at the clo>e of the
same year and was stationed at Newport, Rhode
Island, and afterwards at various other ports until
1818, when he resigned, having previously re-
sumed the study of law at Pittsburgh, Pennsylva-
nia, where he was then stationed, and been ad-
mitted to the bar.
In the spring of 1820, having no dependence
but his own exertions, with great ardor and hope-
fulness of spirit, and energy of purpose, he re-
solved to go to a new country to practise his pro-
fession where he could rise with the growth of
the population; but allured in fact by a romantic
disposition, a thirst fur adventure, and a desire to
see the rough scenes of the frontier, he went to Illi-
nois, then recently admitted into the LTnion as a
State, and commenced practice at Shawneetown,
and edited a weekly newspaper, called the Illinois
Gazette, for which he wrote a great deal. The
next winter he was appointed Circuit Attorney,
that is public prosecutor for a circuit containing
ten counties.
In a reminiscence of these journej'ings, which
were to supply the author with that practical
knowledge of the people of the west, and the
scenes of genial humor which abound in Ins pages,
he remarks — " Courts were held in these counties
twice a year, and they were so arranged as to time
that after passing through one circuit we went
directly to the adjoining one, and thus proceeded
to some twenty counties in succession. Thus wo
were kept on horseback and travelling over a very
wide region the greater part of our time. There
was no other way to travel but on horseback.
There were but few roads for carriages, and we
travelled chiefly by bridle-paths, through unculti-
vated wilds, fording rivers, and sometimes swim-
mingcreeks, and occasionally campingout.' There
were few taverns, and we ate and slept chiefly at
the log cabins of the settlers. The office of pro-
secuting in such a country is no. iinccv re. Several
of the counties in my circuit were bounded by the
Ohio river, which separated them from Kentucky,
and afforded facilities to rogues and ruffians to
change their jurisdictions, which allured them to
settle among us in great gangs, such as could often
defy the arm of the law. We had whole settle-
ments of counterfeiters or horse thieves with their
sympathizers, where rogues could change names,
or pass from house to house, so skilfully as to
elude detection, and where, if detected, the whole
146
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
population were ready to rise to the rescue.
There were other settlements of sturdy honest
fellows, the regular backwoodsmen, in which
rogues were not tolerated. There was, therefore,
a continual struggle between these parties, the
honest people trying to expel the others by the
terrors of the law, and when that mode failed,
forming regulating companies and driving them
out by force. To be a public prosecutor among
such a people requires much discretion and no
small degree of courage. "Whenthe contest breaks
out into violence, when arms are used, and a little
civil war takes place, there are aggressions on
both sides, and he is to avoid making himself a
party with either; when called upon to prosecute
either he is denounced and often threatened, and
it required calmness, self-possession, and some-
times courage to enable him to do his duty, pre-
serving his self-respect and the public confidence."*
In these cases Mr. Hall was a rigorous prosecu-
tor, never flinching from duty, and on some occa-
sions turning out himself and aiding in the arrest
of notorious and bold villains. lie served in that
office four years, and obtained also a large prac-
tice on the civil side of the court. He was then
elected by the legislature Judge of the Circuit
Court, the court having general original jurisdic-
tion, civil and criminal. He presided in that court
three years, when a change in the judiciary system
took place, the circuit courts were abolished, and
all the judges repealed out of office. At the same
session of the legislature he was elected State
Treasurer, and removed to Vandalia, the seat of
government. This office he held four years, in
connexion with an extensive law practice, and in
connexion also with the editorship of the Illinois
Intelligencer, a weekly newspaper, and of the Il-
linois Monthly Magazine, which he established,
published, owned, edited, and for which he wrote
nearly all the matter — tale, poem, history, criti-
cism, gossip.
In 1833 Mr. Hall removed to Cincinnati, his
present residence, having lived in Illinois twelve
years. He has since 1836 been engaged in finan-
cial pursuits, having been at first the cashier of
the Commercial Bank, and since 1 853 the presi-
dent of another institution bearing the same name.
The series of Mr. Hall's numerous publications
commenced with his contributions to the Port
Folio during the editorship of his brother, who
took charge of that work. In 1820, when de-
scending the Ohio, and afterwards during the
early part of his residence in Illinois, Mr. Hall
wrote a series of letters from the West, which
were published in the Port Folio. They were
written in the character of a youth travelling for
amusement, giving the rein to a lively fancy, and
indulging a vein of levity and rather extravagant
fnn. They were intended to be anonymous, but
having been carried by a friend to England, unex-
pectedly to the author appeared from the London
press ascribed to "the Hon. Judge Hall" on the
title-page. The English reviews had their sport
out of the apparent incongruity. They acknow-
ledged a certain sort of ability about it, and con-
fessed that the author wrote very good English ;
* Mr. Fall has given a pleasant sketch of this time and region
in the preface to his revised edition of the Legends of the
"West, published by Putnam in 1853.
but sneered at the levities, and asked the English
public what they would think of a learned judge
who should lay aside the wig and robe of office,
and roam about the land in quest of " black eyes"
and "rosy cheeks," dancing at the cabins of the
peasantry, and "kissing the pretty girls." The
venerable Illinois Judge they pronounced to be a
" sly rogue," and wondered if the learned gentle-
man was as funny on the bench, &c. &c. The
author never allowed the book to be republished.
Mr. Hall's subsequent literary productions may
be classed under the heads of periodical literature,
books written to exhibit the political and social
character and statistics of the West, and an exten-
sive series of works of fiction illustrating the ro-
mance, adventure, and humor of the region. In
1829 he edited and secured the publication of
the Western Souvenir, in imitation of the elegant
annuals then in vogue. Half of the matter was
written by himself. Though the appearance of
the work suffered from mechanical defects, its
spirit was admitted, and as a novelty it was quite
successful.
In October, 1830, Mr. Hall published the first
number of the Illinois Monthly Magazine at Van-
dalia, which was also a novelty, and judging from
the numbers before us, quite a creditable one. In
the worth and elegance of its matter it would not
be out of place now in any of the leading cities of
the country. Then it was a free-will offering of
time, enthusiasm, and money (for the work was
sustained by the author's purse as well as pen), to
the cause of social improvement and refinement
in a virgin state, the resources of which were as
yet all to be developed. It was continued for two
years, and served well its liberal purposes. This
work was followed by the Western Monthly Ma-
gazine, published at Cincinnati for three years
from 1833 to 1835, and sustained by a large sub-
scription. Like the former it was not only dili-
gently edited but mostly written by Mr. Hall.
A work of considerable magnitude, in which
Mr. Hall soon engaged, involved vast labor and
JAMES HALL.
147
original research. In connexion with Col. Tho-
mas L. M'Kenney he undertook to edit and write
A History and Biography of the Indians of North
America. The work, a costly one, was to be
illustrated by a series of portraits taken at Wash-
ington by King, who had formed a gallery in the
War Department of the various celebrated chiefs
who visited the capital. It was proposed by Col.
M'Kenney, who had been Commissioner for Indian
Affairs, to publish one hundred and twenty por-
traits, with a memoir of each of the chieftains.
The work appeared easy, but it was soon found
sufficiently difficult to task the energies of Mr.
Hall, upon whom the toil of composition fell, to
the extent even of his accustomed diligence and
pliant pen. The material which had been sup-
posed to exist in official and other documents at
hand had to be sought personally from agents of
government, old territorial governors, and such
original authorities as Governor Cas^, General
Harrison, and others. With the exception of a few
facts from the expeditions of Long, Pike, and
Schoolcraft, nothing was compiled from books.
The testimony of actors and eye-witnesses was
sought and sifted, so that the work is not only full
of new and interesting facts but of a reliable cha-
racter.
The expensive style of this publication, a copy
costing one hundred and twenty dollars, has con-
fined it to the public libraries or to the collections
of wealthy persons. From the failure of the first
publishers, the change of others, and the expense
of the work, Messrs. M'Kenney anil Hall, who
were to have received half the profits, got little or
nothing.
In 1835 Mr. Hall published at Philadelphia two
volumes of Sketches of History, Life, and Man-
ners in the West, and subsequently at Cincinnati,
another pair of volumes entitled The West, its
Soil, Surface, and Productions ; Its Navigation
and Commerce. The " Sketches" illustrate the
social, the others the material characteristics of
this important region.
During the canvass between General Harrison
and Van Buren in 1836 Mr. Hall published a life
of the former, the materials of which lie had pre-
pared for the Sketches of the West.* It is a po-
lished and interesting history.
The several volumes of Mr. Hall's tales include
the separate publications, The Legends of the
West ; The Border Tales ; The Soldier's Bride
and other Tales; Harpes Head, a Legend of
Kentucky ; The Wilderness and the War Path.
Many of these first appeared in magazines and
annuals. They are characterized by a certain
amenity and ease of narrative, a poetic appre-
ciation of the beauties of nature, and the gentler
moods of the affections; while the author's pleas-
ing narrative has softened the rudeness without
abating the interest of the wild border strife. The
Indian subjects are handled with peculiar deli-
cacy; the kindly sentiment of the author dwelling
on their virtues, while his imagination is enkin-
dled by their spiritual legends. His style, pure in
sentiment and expression, may be aptly compared
with the calm, tranquil aspect of his own Ohio
river, occasionaUy darkened by wild bordering
* A Memoir of the Public Services of 'William Henry Harri-
son of Ohio. Philadelphia.
wood->, but oftener reflecting the beauty of the
azure heaven.
Several of Mr. Hall's family have engaged in
literature. His mother, Mrs. Sarah Hull, the
daughter of Dr. John Ewing, wrote Conversations
on the Bible, which were republished abroad, and
which have passed through several editions. She
was a contributor to the Port Folio from the com-
mencement and during the editorship of her son.
A volume of her writings was edited and pub-
lished by Harrison Hall in 1833, with a prefatory
memoir by Judge Hall. She was born October
30, 1760, and died April 3, 1830.
John E. Hall, her eldest son, was born Decem-
ber, 1783. He was educated at Princeton, read
law with Judge Hopkinson, was admitted to
practice in 1805, and removed to Baltimore. He
published the American Law Journal in Phila-
delphia from 1808 to 1817. He was elected Pro-
fessor of Rhetoric and Belles Lettres in the Uni-
versity of Maryland. He collected and arranged
an edition of the British Spy, to which he contri-
buted several letters much to the gratification of
Wirt the author. When the Baltimore riot broke
out in 1811, he was one of the party of Federalists
who aided in defending Hanson's house, and was
one of the nine thrown on a heap as killed. He
left Baltimore soon afterwards, removing to Phi-
ladelphia, where he assumed the editorship of the
Port Folio in 1806. The memoirs of Anacreon in
that journal were from his pen. They were a re-
production on this thread of narrative of Grecian
manners and customs, supposed to be written by
Critias of Athens, and the author was stimulated
to their composition by the approval of the poet
Moore, who was then creating a sensation in the
literary circles of Philadelphia. Mr. Hall was the
author of the life prefixed to the poems of his
friend Dr. John Shaw, published in Baltimore in
1810. In 1827 he edited with biographical and
critical notes, The Philadelphia Souvenir, a col-
lection of fugitive pieces from the press of that
city. The editor's part is written with spirit. In
the same year was published in Philadelphia in an
octavo volume, Memoirs of Eminent Persons, with
Portraits and Fac-Similes, written and in part
selected by the Editor of the Port Folio. In con-
sequence of his declining health the Port Folio
was discontinued in 1827. Ho died June 11,
1829. His brother, Harrison Hall, publisher of
the Port Folio, is the author of a work on Dis-
tilling, first published in 1815, which has received
the commendation of Dr. Hare and other scien-
tific men of the day.
Dr. Thomas Mifflin nail, a younger brother,
contributed poetry and some scientific articles to
the Port Folio. In 1828 he embarked on board
of a South American ship of war to which he was
appointed surgeon. The vessel was never heard
of after.
And what is solitude ? Is it the shade
Where nameless terrors brood — ■
The lonely dell, or haunted ^lade,
By gloomy phantasy arrayed \
This is not solitude.
For I have dared alone to tread,
In boyhood'a truant mood,
148
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Among the mansions of the dead
By night, when others all had fled —
Yet felt not solitude.
And I have travelled far and wide,
And dared by field and flood ;
Have slept upon the mountain side,
Or slumbered on the ocean tide,
And known no solitude.
O'er prairies where the wild flowers bloom,
Or through the silent wood,
Where weeds o'ershade the traveller's tomb,
It oft lias been my fate to roam —
Yet not in solitude.
For hope was mine, and friends sincere,
The kindred of my blood ;
And I could think of objects dear,
And tender images would cheer
The gloom of solitude.
But when the friends of youth are gone,
And the strong tics of blood
And sympathy, are riven one by one,
The heart, bewildered and alone,
Desponds in solitude.
Though crowds may smile, and pleasures gleam,
To chase its gloomy mood,
To that lone heart the world doth seem,
An idle and a frightful dream
Of hopeless solitude.
Do any feci for it? They have the will
To do a seeming good :
But strangers' kindness hath no skill
To touch the deeply seated ill
Of the heart's solitude.
PIERRE, TIIF. FRENCH BARBER'S INDIAN ADVENTURE — FROM
THE DARK MAID OF ILLINOIS.*
[Pierre, who is the ovffl of the village, and is anxious to see
thev:onders o/thewilderness,marriesan Indian bride and
proposes a stroll.]
When our inclinations prompt us strongly to a
particular line of conduct, it is easy to find reasons
enough to turn the scale. Indeed, it is most usual
to adopt a theory first, and then to seek out argu-
ments to support it. Pierre could now find a host
of reasons urging him to instant wedlock with the
Illinois maiden. And not the least were the advan-
tages which would accrue to Father Francis, to the
church, and to the cause of civilization. When lie
should become a prince, he could take the venerable
priest under Ids patronage, encourage the spread of
the true faith, cause his subjects to be civilized, and
induce them to dress like Christians and feed like
rational beings. He longed, with all the zeal of a
reformer, to see them powder their hair, and abstain
from the savage practice of eating roasted puppies.
So he determined to marry the lady ; and, having
thus definitely settled the question, thought it would
be proper to take the advice of his spiritual guide.
Father Francis was shocked at the bare mention of the
affair. He admonished Pierre of the sin of marry-
ing a heathen, and of the wickedness of breaking
his plighted faith; and assured him, iu advance,
that such misconduct would bring down upon him
the severe displeasure of the church. Pierre thanked
him with the most humble appearance of conviction,
and forthwith proceeded to gratify his own inclina-
tion— believing that, in the affair of wedlock, he
knew what was for his own good quite as well as a
holy monk, who, to the best of his judgment, could
know very little about the matter.
* Published in the collection, The Wilderness and the War-
rath.
On the following morning the marriage took place,
with no other ceremony than the delivery of the
bride into the hands of her future husband. Pierre
was as happy as bridegrooms usually are — for his
companion was a slender, pretty girl, with a mild
black eye and an agreeable countenance. They
were conducted to a wigwam, and installed at once
into the offices of husband and wife, and into the
possession of their future mansion. The females of
the village assembled, and practised a good many
jokes at the expense of the young couple: and
Pierre, as well to get rid of these as to improve the
earliest opportunity of examining into the mineral
treasures of the country, endeavored, by signs, to
invite his partner to a stroll — intimating, at the
same time, that he would be infinitely obliged to
her if she would have the politeness to show him a
gold mine or two. The girl signified her acquies-
cence, and presently stole away through the forest,
followed b}" the enamored hair-dresser.
As soon as they were out of sight of the village,
Pierre offered her his arm, but the arch girl darted
away, laughing, and shaking her black tresses,
which streamed in the air behind her, as she leaped
over the logs and glided through the thickets.
Pierre liked her none the less for this evidence of
coquetry, but gaily pursued Ins beautiful bride, for
whom lie began to feci the highest admiration. Her
figure was exquisitely moulded, and the exercise in
which she was now engaged displayed its graceful-
ness to the greatest advantage. There was a novelty,
too, in the adventure, which pleased the gay-hearted
Frenchman ; and away they ran, mutually amused
and mutually satisfied with each other.
Pierre was an active youi g fellow, and, for a
while, followed the beautiful savage with a credita-
ble degree of speed ; but, unaccustomed to the ob-
stacles which impeded the way, he soon became fa-
tigued. His companion slackened her pace when
she found him lingering behind; and, when the
thicket was more than usually intricate, kindly
guided him through the most practicable places, —
always, however, keeping out of his reach ; and
whenever lie mended his pace, or showed an inclina-
tion to overtake her, she would dart away, looking
back over her shoulder, laughing, and coquetting,
and inviting him to follow. For a time this was
amusing euough, and quite to the taste of the merry
barber ; but the afternoon was hot, the perspiration
flowed copiously, and he began to doubt the expe-
diency of having to catch a wife, or win even a gold
mine, by the sweat of his brow — especially iu a new
country. Adventurers to newly discovei ed regions
expect to get things easily ; the fruits of labor may
be found at home.
On they went in this manner, until Pierre, wearied
out, was about to give up the pursuit of his light-
heeled bride, when they reached a spot where the
ground gradually ascended, until, all at once, they
stood upon the edge of an elevated and extensive
plain. Our traveller had heretofore obtained par-
tial glimpses of the prairies, but now saw one of
these vast plains, for the first time, in its breadth
and grandeur. Its surface was gently uneven ; and,
as he happened to be placed on one of the highest
swells, he looked over a boundless expanse, where
not a singletree intercepted the prospect, or relieved
the monotony. He strained his vision forward, but
the plain was boundless — marking the curved line
of its profile on the far distant horizon. The effect
was rendered more striking by the appearance of
the setting sun, which had sunk to the level of the
farthest edge of the prairie, and seemed like a globe
of fire resting upon the ground. Pierre looked
around him with admiration. The vast expanse—
JAMES HALL,
149
destitute of trees, covered with tell grass, now dried
by the summer's heat, and extending, as it seemed
to him, to the western verge of the continent — ex-
cited Ids special wonder. Little versed in geogra-
phy, he persuaded himself that he ha 1 reached the
western boundary of the world, and beheld the very
spot where the sun passed over the edge of the great
terrestrial plane. There was no mistake. He had
achieved an adventure worthy the greatest captain
of the age. Hia form dilated, and his eye kindled,
with a consciousness of his own importance. Co-
lumbus had discovered a continent, but he had tra-
velled to the extreme verge of the earth's surface,
beyond which nothing remained to be discovered.
" Yes," he solemnly exclaimed, " there is the end of
the world ! How fortunate am I to have approached
it by daylight, and with a guide ; otherwise, I might
have stepped over in the dark, and have fallen — I
know not where!"
The Indian girl had seated herself on the grass,
and was composedly waiting his pleasure, when he
discovered large masses of smoke rolling upward in
the west: He pointed towards this new phenome-
non, and endeavored to obtain some explanation of
its meaning; but the bride, if she understood his
enquiry, had no means of reply. There is a language
of looks which is sufficient for the purposes of love.
The glance of approving affection beams expressively
from the eye, and finds its way in silent eloquence
to the heart. No doubt that the pair, whose bridal
day we have described, had already learned, from
each other's looks, the confession which they had no
other common language to convey ; but the inter-
course of signs can go no further. It is perfectly
inadequate to the interpretation of natural pheno-
mena: and the Indian maid was unable to explain
that singular appearance which so puzzled her lover.
But discovering, from the direction to winch he point-
ed, that his curiosity was strongly excited, the oblig-
ing girl rose and led the way towards the west.
They walked for more than an hour. Pierre insen-
sibly became grave and silent, and Ids sympathizing
companion unconsciously fell into the same mood.
He had taken her hand, which she now yielded with-
out reluctance, and they moved slowly, side by side,
over the plain — she with a submissive and demure
air, and he alternately admiring his beautiful bride,
and throwing suspicious glances at the novel scene
around him. The sun had gone down, the breeze
had subsided, and the stillness of death was hanging
over the prairie. Pierre beg in to have awful sensa-
tions. Though bold and volatile, a something like
fear crept over him, and he would have turned back ;
but the pride of a French gentleman, and a marquis
in anticipation, prevented him. He felt mean — for
no man of spirit ever becomes seriously alarmed
without feeling a sense of degradation. There is
something so unmanly in fear, that, although no
bosom is entirely proof against it, we feel ashamed
to acknowledge its influence even to ourselves. Our
hero looked forward in terror, yet was too proud to
turn back. Superstition was beginning to throw its
misty visions about his fancy. He had taken a step
contrary to the advice of his father confessor, and
was in open rebellion against the church ; and he
began to fear that some evil spirit, under the guise
of an Indian maid, was seducing him away to de-
struction. At all events, he determined not to go
much further.
The shades of night had begun to close, when they
again ascended one of those elevations which swells
so gradually that the traveller scarcely remarks
them until he reaches the summit, and beholds, from
a commanding eminence, a boundless landscape
spread before him. The veil of night, w ithout con-
cealing the scene, rendered it indistinct J theundula-
tions of the surface were no longer perceptible; and
the prairie seemed a perfect plain. One phenomenon
astonished and perplexed him : before him the
prairie was lighted up with a dim but supernatural
brilliancy, like that of a distant fire, while behind
was the blackness of darkness. An air of solitude
reigned over that wild plain, and not a sound re-
lieved the desolation of the scene. A chill crept
over him as lie gazed around, and not. an object met
his eye but that dark maid, wdio stood in mute pa-
tience by his side, as waiting his pleasure; but on
whose features, as displayed by the uncertain light
that glimmered on them, a smile of triumph seemed
to play. He looked again, and the horizon gleamed
brighter and brighter, until a fiery redness rose
above its dark outline, while heavy, slow moving
masses of cloud curled upward above it. It was
evidently the intense reflection, and the voluminous
smoke, of a vast fire. In another moment the blaze
itself appeared, first shooting up at one spot, and
then at another, and advancing, until the whole line
of horizon was clothed in flames, that rolled around,
and curled, and dashed upward, like the angry
waves of a burning ocean. The simple Frenchman
had never heard of the fires that sweep over, our
wide prairies in the autumn, nor did it enter into his
head that a natural cause could produce an effect so
terrific. The whole western horizon was clad in
fire, and, as far as the eye could see, to the right and
left, was one vast conflagration, having the appear-
ance of angry billows of a fiery liquid, dashing
against each other, and foaming, and throwing flakes
of burning spray into the air. There was a roaring
sound like that caused by the conflict of waves. A
more terrific sight could scarcely be conceived ; nor
was it singular that an unpractised eye should be-
hold in that scene a wide sea of flame, lashed into
fury by some internal commotion.
Pierre could gaze no longer. A sudden horror
thrilled his soul. His worse fears were realized in
the tremendous landscape. He saw before him the
lake of fire prepared for the devil and his angels.
The existence of such a place of punishment he had
never doubted ; but, heretofore, it had been a mere
dogma of faith, while now it appeared before him in
its terrible reality. He thought he could plainly
distinguish gigantic black forms dancing in the
flames, throwing up their long misshapen arms, and
writhing their bodies into fantastic shapes. Utter-
ing a piercing shriek, he turned and fled with the
swiftness of an arrow. Fear gave new vigor to the
muscles which had before been relaxed with fatigue,
and his feet, so lately heavy, now touched the
ground with the light and springy tread of the an-
telope. Yet, to himself, his steps seemed to linger,
as if his heels were lead.
The Indian girl clapped her hands and laughed
aloud as she pursued him. That laugh, which, at
an earlier hour of this eventful day, had enlivened
his heart by its joyous tones, now filled him with
terror. It seemed the yell of a demon — the trium-
phant scream of hellish delight over the downfall
of his soul. The dark maid of Illinois, so lately an
object of love, became, to his distempered fancy, a
minister of vengeance — a fallen angel sent to tempt
him to destruction. A supernatural strength and
swiftness gave wings to his flight, as he bounded
away with the speed of the ostrich of the desert ;
but lie seemed, to himself, to crawl sluggishly, and,
whenever he east a glance behind, that, mysterious
girl of the prairie was laughing at his heels. He
tried to invoke the saints, but, alas! in the confusion
of his mind, he could not recollect the names of
more than half a dozen, nor determine which was
150
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
the most suitable one to be called upon in such an
anomalous ease. Arrived at the forest, lie dashed
headlong through its tangled thickets. Neither the
darkness, nor any obstacle, checked Ins career ; but
scrambli. g over fallen timber, tearing through copse
and briar, he held his way, bruised and bleeding,
through the forest. At last he reached the village,
staggered into a lodge which happened to be unoc-
cupied, and sunk down insensible.
The sun was just rising above the eastern horizon
■when Pierre awoke. The Indian maid was bending
over him with looks of tender solicitude. She had
nursed him through the silent watches of the night,
had pillowed his head upon the soft plumage of the
swan, a:.d covered him with lobes of the finest fur.
She had watched his dreamy^ sleep through the long
horn's, when all others were sleeping, and no eye
witnessed her assiduous care — had bathed his throb-
bing temples with water from the spring, and passed
her slender ringers through his ringlets, with the
fondness of a young and growing affection, until she
had soothed the unconscious object of her tenderness
into a calm repose. It was her first love, and she
had given her heart up to its influences with all the
strength, and all the weakness, of female passion.
Under other circumstances it might long have re-
mained concealed in her own bosom, and have gra-
dually become disclosed by the attentions of her
lover, as the flower opens slowly to the sun. But
she had been suddenly called to the diseha- go of the
duties of a wife; and woman, when appealed to by
the charities of life, gives full play to her affections,
pouring out the treasures of her love in liberal pro-1
fusion.
But her tenderness was thrown away upon the
slumbering biidcgroom, whose unusual excitement,
both of body and mind, had been succeeded by a
profound lethargy. No sooner did he open his eyes,
than the dreadful images of the night became again
pictured upon his imagination. Lven that anxious
girl, who had hung over liiin with sleepless solicitude
throughout the night, and still watched, dejected, by
his side, seemed to wear a malignant aspect, and to
triumph in his anguish. He shrunk from the glance
of her eye, as if its mild lustre would have withered
him. She laid her hand upon his brow, and he
writhed as if a serpent had crawled over his visage.
The hope of escape suddenly presented itself to his
mind. He rose, and rushed wildly to the shore.
The boats were just leaving the bank ; his compa-
nions had been grieved at his marriage, and were
alarmed when they found he had left the village;
but Father Francis, a rigid moralist, and a stern man,
determined not to wait for him a moment, and the
little barks were already shoved into the stream,
when the haggard barber appeared, and plunged
into the water. As he climbed the side of the near-
est boat, he conjured his comrades, in tones of agony,
to fly. Imagining he had discovered some treachery
in their new allies, they obeyed ; the oars were plied
with vigor, and the vessels of the white strangers
rapidly disappeared from the eyes of the astonished
Illini, who were as much peYplexed by the abrupt
departure, as they had been by the unexpected visit
of their eccentric guests.
Pierre took to his bed, and remained an invalid
during the rest of the voyage. Nor did he set his
foot on shore again in the new world. One glance
at the lake of fire was enough for him, and he did
not, like Orpheus, look back at the infernal regions
from which he had escaped. The party descended
the Mississippi to the gulf of Mexico, where, finding
a sh'ip destined for France, he took leave of his com-
panions, from whom he had carefully concealed the
true cause of his alarm. During the passage across
the Atlantic he recovered his health, and, in some
measure, his spirits ; but he never regained his thirst
for adventure, his ambition to be a marquis, or his
desire to seek for gold. The fountain of rejuvenes-
cence itself had no charms to allure him back to the
dangerous wildernesses of the far west. On all these
subjects he remained silent as the grave. One would
have supposed that he had escaped the dominions
of Satan under a pledge of seeresy.
WILLIAM L. STONE.
■William Leete Stone was born at Esopus, in
New York, in 1798, and was the son of the Rev.
WilKam Stone, a clergyman of the Presbyterian
church. When quite young he removed to the
western part of that state, where he assisted his
father in the care of a farm, acquiring a fondness
for agricultural pursuits which he always re-
tained.
At the age of seventeen lie left home ; placed
himself with Colonel Prentiss, the proprietor of
the " Cooperstown Freeman's Journal, "to learn
the printing business ; and from, this time began
to write newspaper paragraphs. In 1813 he be-
came the editor of the "Herkimer American."
He next edited a political newspaper at Hudson,
then one at Albany, and then again one at Hart-
ford in Connecticut. He at length, in the spring
of 1821, succeeded Mr. Zachariah Lewis in the
editorship of the " New York Commercial Adver-
tiser," becoming at the same time one of its pro-
prietors. He continued in charge of this till his
death, which took place at Saratoga Springs, Au-
gust 15, 1844.
Though an acknowledged political leader, Mr.
Stone's attention, during his career as an editor,
was very far from having been absorbed by the
party contentions of the day. While residing at
Hudson, besides the political journal, he edited a
literary periodical styled the "Lounger," which
was distinguished for sprightliness and frequent
sallies of wit. Subsequently, he furnished a
number of tales to the Annuals, some of which,
HENRY EOWE SCHOOLCRAFT.
151
with additions, he republished in 1831, under the
title of Tale? and Sketches. Many of the charac-
ters and incidents in these are historical, being
founded on traditions respecting the revolutionary
or colonial history of the United States.
In 1832, he published his Letters on Masonry
and Anti-Masonry ; then followed Maihias and
his Impostures, a curious picture of an instance
of gross but remarkable religious delusions,
which occurred in the state of New York ; and in
1836, a volume entitled Ups and Downs in the Lfe
of a Gentleman, intended as a satire on the fol-
lies of the day, although the main facts stated
actually occurred in the life of an individual weli
known to the author.
It has been stated that the parents of Mr. Stonv
during his early childhood, removed to western
New York. This section of country was at that
time in fact, though not in name, an Indian Mis-
sion Station — <o that in hi 4 very boyhood their
son became well acquainted with the Indians of
our forests, and his kindness of manner and off-
hand generosity won his way to their favor. To
this it may be owing, that at an early period of
his life he formed the purpose of gathering up
and preserving what remained concerning the
traits aril character of the " Red Men" of America,
intending to connect with an ace Hint of these,
an authentic history of the life and times of the
prominent individuals who figured immediately
before the Revolution, more especially of Sir
"William Johnson.
The amount of labor thus bestowed, and the
success with which he found his way to dusty
MSS. or gained knowledge of the invaluable con-
tents of old chests and rickety trunks stowed
away as lumber in garrets, and almost forgjtten
by their owners, wis remarkable. Still more
noteworthy was the happy facility with which he
would gain access to the hearts of hoary-headed
and tottering old men, and bring them to live
over again their early days of trial anil hardships
— gleaning quickly and pleasantly, desirable infor-
mation from those who alone could communicate
what he wished to hear. The result was an
amount and variety of material which could
scarcely be estimated, for he had the habit of sys-
tematizing the retentiveness of a powerful memo-
ry by a time-saving process entirely his own,
and the very arrangement of his MS.S. and books
assisted this process, so that his library served
him a double purpose.
In the course of these investigations he obtained
an intimate acquaintance with the early annals
of the country, and became a repository of facts
in American and Revolutionary history.
His predilections in this particular department
were douhtless cultivated by his father, who when
a mere boy left college hall and classics to shoul-
der his musket, and fight the battles of his coun-
try.
While following out his main design, the mate-
rials collected enabled him to give to the public
several works on the general subject with which
they were connected. These were the Memoirs
of Joseph Brant, in 1838; a Memoir of Red
Jacket, hi 18+1 ; the Life of Uncus, and the
History of Wyoming. He had completed the
collection and arrangement of the materials for
his more extended work, the history of Sir Wil-
liam Johnson, was ready to devote himself to its
execution, and had already advanced to three hun-
dred and fifty pages and upwards, when he was
called to give up his earthly labor.
When it is remembered that the investigations
just referred to, and the volumes which resulted,
were accomplished at the same time with the
editorship of a leading daily paper in our com-
mercial metropolis, and that he acted up to his
own exalted views of the power, influence, and
responsibility of the press, as an organ of good or
evil, it may be safely asserted that his industry
was untiring.
The character of Mr. Stone could not be fully
presented without mentioning his sympathy with
those who were struggling in life, and how readily
a word of kindness was written or spoken, or his
purse opened for their assistance. The ingenuous-
ness, transparency, and freshness of character,
which he always retained, often shone forth with
great beauty amid scenes and in circumstances
little likely to elicit them.
From his early youth Mr. Stone's motives of ac-
tion were elevated. He was a firm, decided, and
consistent Christian. The religious enterprises
and benevolent associations of the day com-
manded his earnest efforts in their behalf. The
Colonization Society, from first to last, found in
him a steadfast supporter. The cause of Educa-
tion lay near bis heart, and to it he gave his ener-
gies, and spared not even his decajdng strength.
HENRY EOWE SCHOOLCPwAFT
Is the descendant of a family identified with tne
early border life of America. His first ancestor in
the country, James Calcraft, for so the name was
written then, came from England fresh from the
campaigns of Marlborough. He settled in Albany
County, New York ; was a land surveyor and
schoolmaster, which latter vocation led to the
popular change of his name. He died at the age
ofone-hundred-and-twoin the Otter Creek region,
in the present state of Vermont. His children
were variously distributed in Canada, on the Sus-
quehannah, and in the state of New York. One
of them, John, was a soldier under the command
of Sir William Johnson. His son Lawrence was
in Fort Stanwix during the siege, and was the
first volunteer to go forth to the relief of the brave
Herkimer. He served through both wars with
England, and died in 1840 at the age of eighty-
four, with a high reputation for worth and inte-
grity. His son, Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, was
born in Albany county, 28th March, 171)3. He
received there, in the town of Guilderland, a good
education from the schoolmasters of the region,
but appears mainly ^to have instructed himself,
his tastes leading him in his youth to a know-
ledge of poetry and languages, with which he
connected the -tudy of mineralogy. At fifteen he
began writing for the newspapers. His first work
was a treatise on Vitreology, published in Utica
in 1817, a subject to which he was led by his fa-
ther's superintendence of the glass manufacture.
The next year he travelled to the Mississippi and
made a mineralogical survey of the Lead Mines of
Missouri, of which he published a report in 1819.
His narrative or journal of this tour, published in
1820 in Van Wiiikle's Belles Leltres Repository
152
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
fS1&r*J J£ ^cC^K^v -Cal^JL'.
at New York, is marked by a vein of unaffected
simplicity and enthusiasm which has always been
characteristic of the author. It was republished
in London in Sir Richard Phillips's collection of
Voyages and Travels ; and has been lately reissued
by the author in an enlarged form with the title,
Scenes and Adventures in the Semi-Alpine Region
of the Ozark Mountains of Missouri and Arkan-
sas, lohich were first traversed by DeSoto wi.1541.
His next tour was in 1820, under the auspices of
Monroe's administration, accompanying General
Cass in his survey of the copper regions, and ex-
ploration of the Upper Mississippi. He published
an account of this in a Narrative Journal of Tra-
vels from Detroit to the Source of the Mississippi
River. In 1821 he journeyed to Chicago, exa-
mining the Wabash and Illinois Rivers, and pub-
lished as the result liis Travels in the Central
Portions of the Mksissinpi Valley. In 1822 he
Elmwood.
received the appointment of Agent for Indian Af-
fairs on the North-west Frontiers, taking up his
residence at Michilimackinack, where he conti-
nued to reside for nearly twenty years, occupying
himself diligently with studying the Indian lan-
guages and history, and improving the condition
of the tribes. He was a member of the Territo-
rial Legislature from 1828 to 1832. He procured
the incorporation of the Michigan Historical So-
ciety in 1828, and in 1832 founded the Algic
Society at Detroit. The titles of his publications
at this time will show Ins zeal in the promotion
of his favorite topics, urged both in prose and
verse.* He made a grammar of the Algonquin
language. Mr. Du Ponceau translated two of his
lectures before the Algic Society on the gram-
matical structure of the Indian langu lge into
French, for the National Institute of France.
In 1832 he was chosen by the Indian and War
Department to conduct a second expedition into
the region of the Upper Mississippi. This he ac-
complished successfully, establishing his lasting
geographical reputation by the discovery of the
head waters of the river in Itasca Lake. His ac-
count of the journey was published in an octavo
volume by the Harpers in 1834 ; Narrative of an
Expedition to Itasca Lake, the actual source of
the Mississippi River. In 1839 his Algic Re-
searches appeared in New York, a collection of
Indian tales and legends, mythologic and allegoric.
It is the working of one of the finest veins of the
author's numerous aboriginal studies. The le-
gends preserved in this and other of Mr. School-
craft's writings show the Indians to. have possessed
an unwritten literature of no little value in both a
poetical and humorous aspect. There is much
delicacy in the conception of many of these tales
of the spirits of earth and air, with a genuine
quaintne^s showing an affinity with the fairy sto-
ries of the northern races of Europe.
In bringing these curious traditions to light,
valuable as an historical index to the character of
the tribes, as well as for their invention, Mr. School-
craft is entitled to grateful recollection for his
pioneer labors. He was the first to challenge at-
tention to this department of national literature;
and without his poetical interest in the subject
very much of the material he has preserved would
probably have perished. Mr. S., too, is a poet in
his own right, the list of his writings numbering
several productions in verse, chiefly relating to
the Indians or the scenery of the west.
In 1841 Mr. Schoolcraft removed his residence
to New York and took part in the proceedings of
the Ethnological Society. The next year he vi-
sited England and the continent, and was present
at the meeting of the British Association at Man-
chester. On his return he was employed by the le-
gislature of New York, in 1845, to take a census of
the Six Nations, the results of which investigation
were published in his Notes on the Iroquois, an
enlarged edition of which appeared in 1847. In
1845 Mr. S. commenced the publication of a col-
lection of Indian literary material with the title,
Oncota, or Characteristics of the Red Race of
America; reissued in 1848 with the title, The
Indian in his Wigwam.
* The Rise of the West, or a Prospect of the Mississippi
Valley. A Poem. 1837. Detroit : 6. L. Whitney ; pp. 20.—
Indian Melodies. New York: Elam Bliss, 1680; pp. 52, 8vo.—
A Discourse before the Michigan Historical Society in 1881.
Detroit. Whitney, pp. 59. — Outline of the Natural History of
Michigan, a lecture delivered before the Detroit Lyceum in
1831. Detroit.— The Influence of Ardent Spirits on the Con-
dition of North American Indians. lb. — An Address before
the Algic Society. lb. — The Man of Bronze, or Portraitures
of Indian Character, delivered before the Algic Society at its
annual meeting in 1834. — Iosco, or the Vale of Norma. De-
troit : 1838. — Report on Indian affairs in 1840. lb.
HENRY RO WE SCHOOLCRAFT.
153
One of the most interesting of the author's pub-
lications (in Philadelphia, 1851) is his Personal
Memoirs of a Residence of Thirty Years with the
Indian Tribes on the American Frontiers ; with
brief notices of passing events, facts, and opinions,
1812 to 1842* This book is written in the form
of a diary, and has the flavor of the time, with its
motley incident on the frontier, with Indian
chiefs, trappers, government employes, chance
travellers, rising legislators, farmers, ministers of
the gospel, all standing out with more or less of
individuality in the formative period of the coun-
try. No man was, then and there, so humble or
so insignificant as not to be of importance. With
an instinct for the poetry of the past, and a vigi-
lant eye for the present and the future, Mr.
Schoolcraft has employed his pen in writing down
legend, noting anecdotes of manners, chronicling
personalities, recording adventure, and describing
nature — the result of which is a picture which
will grow more distinct and valuable with time,
when the lineaments of this transition age — the
closing period of the red man, the opening one of
the white — will survive only in this and similar
records.
The latest literary employment of Mr. School-
craft is his preparation, under a resolution of the
government, of the series of five quarto volumes,
printed in a style of great luxury, and illustrated
by the pencil of Lieutenant Eastman, entitled
Ethnologieal Researches respecting the Red Man
of America. Information respecting the History,
Condition, and Prospects of the Indian Tribes of
the United States. The comprehensive plan of
this work covers a wide range of subjects in the
general history of the race ; their traditions and
associations with the whites; their special anti-
quities in the several departments of archaeology in
relation to the arts ; their government, manners,
and customs ; their physiological and ethnological
peculiarities as individuals and nations ; their in-
tellectual and moral cultivation ; their statistics
of population; their geographical position, past
and present. The work, gigantic as it is, is
mostly from the pen of Mr. Schoolcraft; but it
also contains numerous important communica-
tions from government officials and others relating
to the topics in haud.t
Mr. Schoolcraft has been twice married ; in
1823 to a daughter of Mr. John Johnston, an Irish
gentleman, who married the daughter of Wabo-
*To this is prefixed "Sketches of the Life of Henry E.
Schoolcraft :" a careful narrative, from which the facts of this
notice have been derived.
+ In addition to the works we have mentioned. Mr. School-
craft has published Cyclopaedia Indiaensis, a specimen number.
New York : Piatt & Peters, 1842.— Alhaila, the Lord of Talla-
dega, lb. Wiley & Putnam. 1843. pp. 116.— Report on
Aboriginal Names, and the Geographical Terminology of New
York. lb. Van Norden. 1845, pp. 43.— An Address at Au-
rora, Cayuga County, New York, before an association of
young men for investigating the Iroquois history. Auburn,
1846. pp. 35. — Historical Considerations on the Siege of Fort
Stanwix in 1777, delivered before the New York Historical So-
ciety. New York: Van Norden. 1-40, pp.2!>. Pian for in-
vestigating American Ethnology. It>. Jenkins. 1S4G, pp. 13. —
An Address before the New York Historical Society on the In-
centives to the study of the early period of American History.
lb. Van Norden. 1847. pp. 38.— Notices of Antique Earthen
Vessels from Florida lb. 1847, pp. 15.— Literature of the In-
dian Languages. Washington : C. Alexander. 1849, pp. 28. Mr.
6. has also been a contributor to most of the periodicals of the
country, including Silliman's Jourriil. the North American Re-
view, the Democratic Review. Heiderbersia: or the apothe-
osis of the Heroes of the Anti-Rent War — a poem. Albany, N Y
Ififip, ftvo nn PA ir J)
1855. 8vo. pp. 54.
jeeg, an Indian chief. This lady, with whom he
passed the whole of his frontier residence in Mi-
chigan, died in 1842. In 184:7 he married Miss
Mary Howard of Beaufort, South Carolina. Be-
ing deprived by a partial paralysis of the ready
use of his hand, his wife acts as his amanu-
ensis. Beyond his confinement to his room this
difficulty has not affected his health, while it has
concentrated his attention, never relaxed, still
more on his literary pursuits. It is satisfactory to
see a pioneer in a branch of science and investi-
gation not usually very highly rewarded by the
public, thus pursuing — under the auspices and
with the resources of Government — the studies
commenced nearly half a century before.
TnE WIITTE STOXE CANOE — FROM THE TALES OF A WIGWAM.
There was once a very beautiful young girl, who
died suddenly on the day she was to have been mar-
ried to a handsome young man. He was also brave,
but his heart wras not proof against this hiss. From
the hour she was buried, there was no more joy or
peace for him. He went often to visit the spot where
the women had buried her, and sat musing there,
wdien, it wTas thought, by some of his friends, he
w'ould have done better to try to amuse himself in
the chase, or by diverting his thoughts in the war-
path. But war and hunting had both lost their
charms for him. His heart was already dead within
him. He pushed aside both his war-club and his
bow and arrows.
He had heard the old people say. that there was a
path that led to the laud of souls, and he deter-
mined to follow it. He accordingly set out, one
morning, after having completed his preparations for
the journey. At first he hardly knew which way to
go. He was only guided by the tradition that he
must go south. For a while, he could see no change
in the face of the country. Forests, and hills, and
valleys, and streams had the same looks, which they
wore in his native place. There was snow on the
ground, wdien he set out, and it was sometimes seen
to be piled and matted on the thick trees and bushes.
At length, it began to diminish, and finally disap-
peared. The forest assumed a more cheerful appear-
ance, the leaves put forth their buds, and before he
was aware of the completeness of the change, he
found himself surrounded by spring. He had left
behind him the land of snow and ice. The air be-
came mild, the dark clouds of winter had rolled
away from the sky ; a pure field of blue was above
him, and as he went he saw flowers beside his path,
and heard the songs of birds. By these signs he
knew that he was going the right way, for they
agreed with the traditions of his tribe. At length
he spied a path. It led him through a grove, then
up a long and elevated ridge, on the very top of
which he came to a lodge. At the door stood an old
man, with white hair, whose eyes, though deeply
sunk, had a fiery brilliancy. He had a long robe of
skins thrown loosely around his shoulders, and a staff
in his hands.
The young Chippewayan began to tell his story;
but the venerable chief arrested him, before lie had
proceeded to speak ten words. " I have expected you,"
he replied, " and hail just risen to bid you welcome to
my abode. She, whom you seek, passed here but a
few days since, and being fatigued with her journey,
rested herself here. Enter my lodge and be seated,
and I will then satisfy your enquiries, and give you
directions for your journey from this point." Having
done this, they both issued forth to the lodge door.
" You see yonder gulf," said he, "and the widestretch-
ing blue plains bej'ond. It is the land of souls. You
154
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
stand upon its borders, and my lodge is the gate of
entrance. But you cannot take your body along.
Leave it here with your bow and arrows, your bun-
dle and your dog. You will find them safe on your
return." So saying, he re-entered the lodge, and the
freed traveller bounded forward, as if his feet had
suddenly been endowed with the power of wings.
But all things retained their natural colours and
shapes. The woods and leaves, and streams and
lakes, were only more bright and comely than he had
ever witnessed. Animals bounded across his path,
with a freedom and a confidence which seemed to
tell him, there was no blood shed here. Birds of
beautiful plumage inhabited the groves, and sported
in the waters. There was but one thing, in which
he saw a very unusual effect. He noticed that his
passage was not stopped by trees or other objects.
He appeared to walk directly through them. They
were, in fact, but the souls or shadows of material
trees. He became sensible that he was in a land of
shadows. When he had travelled half a day's jour-
ney, through a country which was continually be-
coming more attractive, he came to the banks of a
broad lake, in the centre of which was a large and
beautiful island. He found a canoe of shining white
stone, tied to the shore. He was now sure that he
had come the right path, for the aged man had told
him of this. There were also shinh.g paddles. He
immediately entered the canoe, and took the paddles
in his hands, when to his J03' and surprise, on turn-
ing round, he beheld the object of his search in ano-
ther canoe, exactly its counterpart in every thing.
She had exactly imitated his motions, and they were
6ide by side. They at once pushed out from shore
and began to cross the lake. Its waves seemed to
be rising and at a distance looked ready to swallow
them up ; but just as they entered the whitened edge
of them they seemed to melt away, as if they were
but the images of waves. But i.o sooner was one
wreath of foam passed, than another, more threaten-
ing still, rose up. Thus they were in perpetual fear;
and what added to it, was the clearness of the water,
through which they could see heaps of beings who
had perished before, and whose bones lay strewed
on the bottom of the lake. The Master of Life had,
however, decreed to let them pass, for the actions of
neither of them had been bad. But they saw many
others struggling and sinking in the waves. Old men
and young men, males and females of all ages and
ranks were there ; some passed, and some sank. It
was only the little children whose canoes seemed to
meet no waves. At length, every difficulty was
gone, as in a moment, and they botli leapt out on the
happy island. They felt that the very air was food.
It strengthened and nourished them. They wan-
dered together over the blissful fields, where every-
thing was formed to please the eye and the ear.
There were no tempests — there was no ice, no chilly
winds — no one shivered for the want of warm
clothes: no one suffered for hunger — no one mourned
for the dead. They saw no graves. They heard of
no wars. There was no hunting of animals; for the
air itself was their food. Gladly would the young
■warrior have remained there for ever, but he was
obliged to go back for his body. He did not see the
Master of Life, but he heard his voice in a soft
breeze: " Go back," said this voice, "to the hind from
whence you came. Your time has not yet come.
The duties for which I made you, and which you are
to perform, are not yet finished. Return to your
people, ami accomplish the duties of a good man.
You will be the ruler of your tribe for many days.
The rules you must observe, will be told you by my
messenger, who keeps the gate. When he surren-
ders back your body, he will tell you what to do.
Listen to him, and you shall afterwards rejoin the
spirit, which you must now leave behind. She is
accepted and will be ever here, as young and as
happy as she was when I first called her from the
land of snows." When this voice ceased, the narrator
awoke. It was the fancy work of a dream, and he
was still in the bitter land of snows, and hunger,
and tears.
■WILLIAMS COLLEGE
Owes its name and original foundation to a sol-
dier of the old French War, Colonel Ephraim
Williams, once a valiant defender of the region
in which it is situated. He was a native of the
state, born in 1715 at Newton, and in early life
was a sailor, making several voyages to Europe,
and engrafting a knowledge of the world on his
naturally vigorous powers of mind. He visited
England, Spain, and Holland. In the war with
France from 1740 to 1748 his attention was
turned to military life, and he served as a captain
in a New England company raided for the service
against Canada. On the conclusion of peace he
received from the General Court of Massachusetts
a grant of two hundred acres of land in the town
of Hoosac, with the command of the Forts Hoo-
sac and Massachusetts, frontier posts, which then
afforded protection from the Indians to the set-
tlers of the fertile districts around and below.
On the breaking out of the war anew in 1755
he had command of a regiment for the general
defence, "which was ordered to join the forces
then raising in New York by General Johnson
against the French. On his way to the army
he made, on the 22d July, 1755, his will at Al-
bany, by which he bequeathed his property in
Massachusetts as a foundation " for the support
of a free-school in a township west of Fort Mas-
sachusetts; provided the said township fall with-
in Massachusetts, after running the line between
Massachusetts and New York, and provided tho
said township, when incorporated, be called Wil-
liamstown."
Proceeding with a large body of soldiers in the
following autumn, September 8, 1755, to attack
the advanced guard of Dieskau's invading force,
the party was entrapped in an ambuscade in the
neighborhood of Lake George, wdien Colonel Wil-
liams fell, mortally wounded by a musket ball in
the head.
His bequest for the pur] o^es of education seems
to have grown out both of his respect for learning
and his affection for the settlers, among whom
his military life was passed. He was of a warm,
generous disposition, with a winning ea^e and
politeness ; and though he was not much indebted
to schools for his education, is said to have had a
taste for books, and cultivated the society of men
of letters*
By the will of Colonel Williams his executors
were directed to sell his lands, at their discre-
tion, within five years after an established peace,
and apply the interest of the proceeds, with
that of certain bonds and notes, to the purposes
of the free-school. The lands were sold, the
money loaned, and the interest again invested till
1785, when an act of the legislature was pro-
cured incorporating a body of trustees " of the
* Mass. Ilist. Coll., First Series, viii. 47.
WILLIAMS COLLEGE.
155
donation of Ephraim ■William", for maintaining a
frtfe-school in Williamstown." William Williams
was elected president, and the Rev. Seth Swift,
treasurer.* Additional funds were solicited, and
in 1788 a committee was appointed to erect a
school-house, which, completed in 1790, is now
the "West college" building of the institution. A
good choice was made of a preceptor in the Rev.
Ebenezer Fitch. This scholar and divine, who
was to bear a prominent part in the establish-
ment of the college, wa; barn at Canterbury,
Connecticut, September 26, 1756. Tie received
his degree at Yale in 1777, and passed two years
at New Haven as a resident graduate. He then
was school teacher for a year in New Jersey, and
from 1780 till 1783 was tutor in Yale College.
An interval of mercantile business followed, in
the course of which he visited London, again re-
turning to Yale, as tutor, from 1786 to 1791, the
year of his engagement at Williamstown. With
this preparation he opened the free-school in
October, with John Lester as a isistant. Two de-
partments were organized — :i grammar-school or
academy, with a college course of instruction, and
an English free-school. In 1793 the school, by
an act of the legislature, became Williams Col-
lege, with a grant from the state treasury of four
thousand dollars for the purchase of books and
philosophical apparatus. To the old trustees were
added the Rev. Dr. Stephen West, Henry Van
Sohaack, the Hon. Elijah Williams, Gen. Philip
Schuyler, the Hon. Stephen Van Rensselaer, and
the Rev. Job Swift, the charter allowing to the
board seventeen members, including the college
president. A grammar-school was at once pro-
vided for in connexion with the college, and the
terms of admission to the latter required that the
applicant "be able to accurately read, parse, and
construe, to the satisfaction of the president and
tutor, Virgil's /Eneid, Tully's Orations, and the
Evangelists in Greek ; or, if he prefer to become
acquainted with French, he must be able to read
and pronounce, with a tolerable degree of accu-
racy and fluency, Hudson's French Scholar's
Guide, Teleinachus, or some other approved
French author."
Mr. Fitcli was unanimously elected president,
and the first Commencement was held, a class of
four, in 1795. The numbers rapidly increased
with the resources of the college, which were
augmented by a new grant of land from the state
in 1796. Dr. Fitch held the presidency for twen-
ty-one years, retiring from the office in 1815, after
which he became pastor of a church in West
Bloomfield, New York, where he died at the age
of seventy-six in 1833.
The Rev. Zephaniah Swift Moore, then Profes-
sor of Languages at Dartmouth, was the succes-or
of Dr. Fitch in the college presidency, and held
the office from 1815 to 1821. The question was
at this time discussed of the removal of the col-
lege to the banks of the Connecticut, an agitation
which did not repair its fortunes. Dr. Moore,
on his resignation, was chosen president of the
collegiate institution at Amherst, which he had
* William Williams. Theodore Sedsrwick, Woodbridgc Lit-
tle. John Bacon. Thompson J. Skinner, Israel Jones, David
Noble, the Uev. Seth Swift, and the Rev, Daniel Collins, were
the first body of trustees named in the act.
greatly favored, and which drew off many of the
students from Williamstown.*
The Rev. Dr. Edward Dorr Griffin was then
chosen president. He brought with him the pres-
tige of an inlluential career in the ministry at
Newark, New Jersey, and in the Park Street
Church at Boston. He had also been professor
of pulpit eloquenc3 in the Theological Sjuiinary
at Amlover. He was inaugurated president and
professor of divinity at Williams College, Novem- -
ber 14, 1821. His reputation and influence re-
vived the college interests, which had become
much depressed, and it was enabled to bear up
successfully against the rivalry of Amherst. Va-
rious advantages of gifts and bequests, which gave
the means of improvement and increase of the
college library, apparatus, and buildings, were
secured during Dr. Griffin's efficient presidency,
which he was compelled to resign from ill health
in 1836. lie died at Newark, New Jersey, No-
vember 8 of the year following, at the age of
sixty-eight.
The Rev. Dr. Mark Hopkins was inaugurated
president of the college on the 15th of September,
1836. Dr. Hopkins is a native of Berkshire, Mass.
He was born at Stockbridge, February 4, 1802 ;
was educated at the college- of which he is pre-
sident; studied medicine, and received a medical
degree in 1828. In 1830 ho was elected professor
of moral philosophy and rhetoric in Williams Col-
lege, a position which lie held at the time of his
election to the presidency.
The college during his administration has in-
creased steadily in its resources and the number
of its students. It is due to his efficient exertions
that astronomical and niagneticnl observatories
have been erected and well supplied with scien-
tific apparatus.
Dr. Hopkins has also rendered services to gene-
ral literature by the publication of his Lowell Lec-
tures on the Eeidenees of Christianity in 1846,
and by the collection of his Miscellaneous Essays
and Discourses the year following.
Among the papers preserved in the latter is the
author's Inaugural Discourse at Williams Col-
lege. Its review of the subject of education is
sound in philosophy and practical in its sugges-
tions. In a wise spirit he speaks of the principle
now settled among all thinking men, that we are
to regard the mind —
not as a piece of iron to be laid upon the anvil and
hammered into any shape, nor as.a block of marble
in which we are to find the statue by removing the
rubbish, nor as a receptacle into which knowledge
may be poured ; but as a flame that is to be fed, as
* Amherst College grew out of the academy at that place
which was incorporated in 1?12, and of which Noah Webster
w:is one of the chief promoters. Further provision was re-
quired for the education of young men for the ministry. _ A
! college was resolved upon, and the question of union with
Williams College agitated, in view of the removal of the latter.
Dr. Moore was chosen the first president in 1821. He died
two years after, when the Kev. Heman Humphrey was elected.
A charter was obtained in 1825. Dr. Humphrey held the
presidency till 1845. when he was succeeded by the Rev. Ed-
ward Hitchcock, who occupied the post till 1854, when the
j Kev. William A. Stearns was chosen in his place. The insti-
tution has preserved its distinct religions character in con-
nexion with the Presbyterian Church. Its number of gradu-
ates, up to 1854. was over < ne thousand. It has a large chari-
table fund, from which the expenses of a numerous body of
j students preparing for the ministry are annually paid. — Uol-
| kind's JIutort/ o/ Western Mansachmttte, i. 5*8-512.
156
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
"Williams College.
an active being tliat must be strengthened to think
and to feel — to dare, to do, and to suffer. It is as a
germ, expanding under the influence certainly of
air and sunlight and moisture, but yet only through
the agency of au internal force ; and external agency
is of no value except as it elicits, and controls, and
perfects the action of that force. He only who can
rightly appreciate the force of this principle, and
carry it out i:.to all its consequences, in the spirit of
the maxim, that nature is to be conquered only by
obeying her laws, will do all that belongs to the
office of a teacher.
"With the same good sense he remarks : —
There is a strange slowness in assenting practi-
cally to that great law of nature, that the faculties
are strengthened only by exercise. It is so with the
body, and it is so with the mind. If a man would
strengthen his intellectual faculties, he must exercise
tiiem ; if he would improve his taste, he must em-
ploy it on the objects of taste ; if he would improve
his moral nature and make progress in goodnes3, he
must perform acts of goodness. Nor will he im-
prove his faculties by thinking about them and stu-
dying into their nature, unless by so doing he is
enabled and induced to put them into more skilful
and efficient action.
This practical mode of philosophizing, seeing
moral and intellectual truth in connexion with its
individual adaptations, is a marked habit of the
author's mind, and admirably adapts him for the
chair of the professor or the government of a
college.
By the triennial catalogue of "Williams College
of 1853, it appears that there have been one
thousand four hundred and forty-four alumni to
that date : of whom four hundred and forty have
followed the profession of divinity ; three hundred
and eighty-one the law ; one hundred and seven
medicine ; and ninety-eight have become teachers.
Besides the usual branches of instruction, the
physical sciences receive particular attention.
Careful magnetic observations are made by the
students; and the mineralogical and geological
cabinets, prepared by Professor Ebenezer Em-
mons, eminent for his state geological surveys,
afford full materials for stud}'. The museum has
also two colossal bas-reliefs from Nineveh, pre-
sented by Mr. Layard.
The bold and picturesque location of the col-
lege seems to invite to the study of natural phe-
nomena. Seated at the foot of Saddleback, the
grandest mountain elevation in the state, in a fair
valley watered by the Hoosac, and at the north-
ern termination of Berkshire, a county remarka-
ble for its grandeur and beauty, the site is worthy
to be associated with the choicest academic re-
finements of science and literature.*
EDWAED HITCHCOCK.
Edward Hitchcock was born at Deerfield. Mas-
sachusetts, May 24, 1793. In consequence of ill
health, he was compelled to leave College before
taking his degree. He commenced a literary ca-
reer bv the preparation of an almanac for four
years, from 1815 to 1818; andby the publication
of a tragedy extending to one hundred and eight
pages, The 'Downfall of Buonaparte, in 1815. In
1816, he became principal of the Academy in Deer-
field, where he remained for three years, when he
was ordained miuister of the Congregational
church at Conway, Mass. He resigned this post
in 1S25 to accept an appointment to the Profes-
sorship of Chemistry and Natural History in Am-
herst College, an institution which had been
* Sketches of Williams Collie, Wil!iam«tn-n-n. Mass., 1R4T.
An interesting contribution to the history of the region, by D.
A. Wells and S. H. Davis.
HENRY C. CAREY.
157
founded four years before. He continued his con-
nexion with the college, having been appointed
to the presidency, with the professorship of Na-
tural Theology and Geology, in 1844, until bis
resignation in 1854.
In 1823, he published Geology of the Connecticut
Valley, and in 1 829 a Catalogue, of Plants with in
Twenty Miles of Amherst. These works, with
other scientific investigations, gave him such re-
pute that, in 1830, he was appointed by the legis-
lature to make a geological survey of the state of
Massachusetts. He was re-appointed to the same
service in 1837; and in 1850, commissioner to
visit the Agricultural schools of Europe. In ful-
filment of these trusts he published in 1833 a
First Report on the Economic Geology of Massa-
chusetts ; in 1833, Report on the Geology, Zoology,
and Botany of Massachusetts ; in 1838, Report on
a Re-examination of the Geology of Massachusetts;
and in 1841, Final Report on the Geology of
Massachusetts ; and in 1851, Report on the Agri-
cultural Schools of Europe.
He lias also published Elementary Geology,
1840; Fossil Footmarks in the United States,
1848; and an Outline of the Geology of the
Globe, in 1853.
In addition to these purely scientific volumes,
President Hitchcock is the author of The Religion
of Geology and its Connected Sciences, in 1851,
and of Religious Lectures on the Peculiar Pheno-
mena of the Four Seasons; works in which he
has shown the harmony of science with the re-
cords of the Bible, and its religious uses in the
increase of reverence for the Almighty consequent
on the devout study of the wonders of creation,
and its adaptation to the wants of man. These
works have been largely cireidated in this coun-
try and in England.
Dr. Hitchcock has also been a prominent writer
on Dietetics. In 1830, he published in this con-
nexion Dyspepsia Forestalled and Resisted, and
An Argument for Early Temperance.
His other separate publications have been, A
Wreath for the Tomb, 1839, and Memoir of Mary
Lyon. He has contributed about forty scien-
tific papers to Silliman's Journal ; three elabo-
rate articles on the connexion between Religion
and Geology to the Biblical Repository, from 1835
to 1838. He is also the author of two Addresses
delivered before the Mount Holyoke Female Se-
nvnary in 1843 and 1849 ; two before the Hamp-
shire Hampden and Franklin Agricultural Society
in 1827 and 1846 ; one on his inauguration as
president in 1845; one before the Association of
American Geologists and Naturalists (now the
American Scientific Association) in 1841 ; one
before the Mechanical Society of Andover in
1830 ; and one before the Porter Rhetorical So-
ciety in Andover in 1852— all of which were
published.
He is also the author of several sermons, of four
tracts — Argument against the Manufacture and
Sale of Ardent Spirits, Cars Ready, The Blind
Slave in the Mines, Murderers of Fathers and
Murderers of Mothers — which have been issued
by the American Tract Society, and of numerous
contributions to the press.
The utilitarian writings of Dr. Hitchcock, and
his peculiarly scientific labors, executed under
onditions of the deepest public trust and confi-
dence, speak for themselves. In his discussion of
the relation of science with scripture he has shown
a liberal appreciation of the necessities of the
former, in a philosophical view, without derogat-
ing from the claims of the latter. As a writer on
natural philosophy his works are not only stored
with original research, but his observations are
presented in a pleasing, animated style.
HEJTET C. CARET.
IIexry 0. Carey, one of the prominent writers
on Political Economy of the day, is the son
of Mathew Carey, and was born in Philadel-
phia in 1793. He was brought up in the busi-
ness of his father, and succeeded him on his
retirement in 1821. He conducted, with his
partner Mr. Lea, one of the most extensive pub-
lishing houses in the United States, until 1838,
when he retired, and devoted his leisure to the
prosecution of authorship, a career he had com-
menced in 1835, by the publication of an Essay
on the Rate of Wages. This was followed, in
1837-8-10, by three octavo volumes on the Prin-
ciples of Political Economy ; in 1838, The Credit
System in France, England, and the United
States appeared; and in 1848, The Past, the
Present, and the Future, a further refutation of
the statements of the ordinary school of political
economists.
We may indicate the spirit of these volumes
by two or three of their prominent theorems,
which are in most marked contrast with the
dogmas prevailing in Europe.
First, in time, was the demonstration that the
progress of social wealth is in the normal order
concomitant with and more rapid than that of
population.
This proposition was connected with one even
more adverse to the faith in the fixed dunarka-
tion of rank, class, and privilege, which the tra-
ditions of a social life founded on and adapted to
military activity have sanctioned for so many
ages, that it has grown into credence as a provi-
dential law. The doctrine to which we allude
may be termed the law of Distribution, of a dis-
tribution, however, not mechanical, but organic,
and as inseparable from growth as the distribu-
tion of sap in the branches, leaves, and buds, is
from the life of a tree. It is, that in the natural
growth of population and wealth, the share of
the laborer in each successive increment increases,
both relatively and absolutely, in proportion as
well as in amount; while that of the capitalist,
though increasing in amount, diminishes in
proportion. In other words, there is in the
growth of capital — the machinery by which man
subordinates to his service the gratuitous powers
and agencies of nature — a constant accelerating
force, which, steadily increasing the productive-
ness of any given amount of toil, and therefore
cheapening the result, or wdiat in the converse is
precisely equivalent, enhancing the value of labor,
158
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
secures a product enlarged to the degree that a
diminished proportion thereof gives a greater
quantity than the capitalist formerly obtained
from his large proportion of a smaller product.
The enlarged proportion of an increased product
provides the laborer an enhanced quantity, and
not in spite, but in virtue, of increased cheapness
to the consumer. This may be translated from
the abstract into the concrete facts, patent upon
the smallest examination of history, that com-
modities of all kinds are constantly falling in
price while wages are rising, and that the rate of
interest declines, while the mass of capital con-
stantly receives iarger accretions.
Mr. Carey has reached these vital conclusions
while yet admitting the plausible hypothesis of
Ricardo, that in the occupation and culture of
the soil men pass from those of superior to those
of progressively deteriorating fertility. If this
hypothesis were well founded, there would be a
diminishing product for the agricultural toil of
each successive generation, and consequently an
increasing proportion of laborers required to
devote their energies for an ever declining re-
muneration. Mr. Carey has shown the existence
of a power, in the growth of capital other than
land, more than compensating the tendency to
retrogression i'rom the supposed decreasing pro-
ductiveness of the soil. In 1848, however, he
was led by the direct observation of facts to the
discovery, that the course of individuals and com-
munities in the occupation and culture of the soil,
is diametrically opposite to that imagined by Ri-
cardo ; that men always, from the necessity of
their unfurnished condition, subject the inferior
lands to culture first, and constantly proceed as
they acquire the power to those of superior fer-
tility. In his Past, Present, and Future, he de-
monstrated the fact, historically, by the contrast
of the same nation in its different stages, and
geographically by the contrast of contemporary
communities which now stand at the different
grades of social progress. The question is treated
in precisely the same method as any other ques-
tion of natural history in respect to the habits and
habitats of a plant or an animal would be treated.
And herein is the first example of the distinctive
method of his school, which, abandoning as fruit-
less the metaphysical idea of introspection into
laws of human nature to find what man would
do, aims at discovering the relations between
man and physical nature, and the modes by which
the former is to derive the greatest advantage
from the latter — the field and problem of Politi-
cal Economy — by studying the external world to
learn what man can do, and following the same
methods of investigation which have given cer-
tainty and the power of prediction in the positive
sciences. The result of this discovery was to
confirm and explain the law of Distribution, by
absorbing it into a more general and comprehen-
sive one. It is palpable, that the widest di-
vergence must exist in the consequences flowing
from this theory and that of Ricardo. The latter
necessitates an increasing inequality of physical
condition, — therefore of intellectual and moral
culture, and of political privilege, between the
classes of landowners, capitalists, and laborers.
It is the firmest support of the hoary abuses of
despotism ; for it traces them to an imagined law
of the all-beneficent Creator. The American
S3"stem, on the contrary, shows them to be the
result of tyrannous human interference with the
divine economy. "We leave the reader to seek in
Mr. Carey's volumes the exposition of the differ-
ences on the minor questions of Political Eco-
nomy, which must attend so profound a con-
tradiction in the premises, methods, and main
conclusions of the European and American sys-
tems.
Mr. Carey has also published several pamphlets
on literary property, in which he takes a view
of the subject opposed to the passage of an Inter-
national Copyright Law.
HENEY COGSWELL KNIGHT
Was born at Newbury port, about the year 1788.
He was early left with his brother an orphan,
and found a home with his maternal grandfather,
Dr. Nathaniel Cogswell, at the family seat in
Rowley, Massachusetts, the beauties of which he
has celebrated in one of his poems. Entering
Brown University, he took his degree there in
1812, and prepared himself for the ministry of
the Protestant Episcopal Church, in which he
took orders. He began to preach, and published
two volumes of sermons, but was never settled
over a congregation. He was much occupied in
literature. A collection of his youthful poems
appeared in 1809. It is headed by The Cypriad,
in two cantos, a celebration of the tender pas-
sion, which he subsequently worked over in his
poem, The Troph es of Love. In 1815, he pub-
lished at Philadelphia a volume of poems, with
the title The Broken Harp, containing " Earl
Kandorf and Rosabelle, a Harper's Tale," a num-
ber of grave and light pieces, and translations
from the classical and modern Latin poets. A
third collection of his poems, in two neat vo-
lumes, appeared from the press of Wells and
Lilly, at Boston, in 1821.
We are not aware of any published account of
Henry Knight's life. From the recently issued
Memorial of his brother Frederick, to be noticed
presently, it appears that he died early in life,
and that he left behind him an Autobiographical
Sketch, full of humor and character, which,
judging from the specimens given, deserves to be
published at length.
Mr. Knight's poems, if not always highly
finished, are at least eh gant and scholarlike per-
formances. Be took for his subjects, when he
was not writing cantos on love, topics involving
thought and reflection, though he handled them
in a light vein. His " Crusade" has an elaborate
" argument," setting forth the subtleties of theo-
logy. It is a playful satirical poem, on a serious
theme. Another, " The Grave," is emulous of
the didactic fervors of Cowper. In his " Sciences
in Masquerade," an amusing illustration of the
old theme of Sir Thomas More's " Praise of Folly,"
he sports gaily in a light rhyming measure. In
his classical tastes he was fond of Horace, Ovid,
the Epigrammatists, and such modern Latinists as
Bonefonius. His muse was equally ready for the
grave or gay — a sonnet or an epitaph.
THE COUNTHT OVEN.
I sing the Oven — glowing, fruitful theme.
Happy for me, that mad Achilles found,
HENRY COGSWELL KNIGHT.
159
And weak Ulysses erst, a Bervile bard,
That deigned theii' puny feats, else lost, to sing.
And happy that ^Eneas, feeble man 1
Fell into hands of less emprise than mine ;
Too mean the subject for a bard so high.
Not Dante, Ariosto, Tasso, dared
Sport their gross minds in such grand element.
Nor he, dame nature's master-journeyman,
Who nimbly wrought a eomie tragedy,
As poet woos a muse, one Shakespeare called !
Nor Milton, who embattled Devils sung;
Nor bold Sir Blackmore, who an Epic built,
Quick as can mason rear a chimney-stack;
Nor later these, Klopstock and Wieland famed,
Who sung, this King of Elves, that King of Kings ;
Dared the prolific Oven blaze in song.
Expect not now of Furnaces to hear,
Where iEolus dilates the liquid glass;
Nor where the three, testing their God could save,
Walked barefoot thro' the lambent heat, unseared ;
Nor where the Hollanders, in nests of tow,
With mimic nature, incubate their eggs ;
For the Domestic Oven claims my powers.
Come then, from kilns of flame, and tropic suns,
Each salamander Muse, and warm my brain.
Need I describe ? — Who hath a kitchen seen,
And not an arched concavity called Oven?
Grand farinaceous nourisher of life !
See hungry gapes its broad mouth for its food,
And hear the faggots crackling in its jaws,
Its palate glowing red with burning breath.
Do not approach too near ; the ingulphing draught
Will drink your respiration ere you list.
Glance now the fire-jambs round, and there ob-
serve
Utensils formed for culinary use.
Shovel and tongs, like ancient man and wife,
He, with his arms akimbo, she in hoops.
There, dangling sausages in chains hang down ;
As Sciences and Arts, distinct, allied;
Or, as in Union bound, our sister States.
Here, flayed eels, strung pendent by the waist ;
So swing aloof victims in heathen climes ;
O Algier hearts ! to mock at writhing pain.
And, high in smoke-wreaths, ponderous ham to cure;
So may each traitor to his country hang !
And, thick on nails, the housewife's herbs to dry ;
Coltsfoot for pipe, and spearmint for a tea.
Upon the hearth, the shrill-lunged cricket chirps
Her serenade, not waiting to be prest,
And Sue, poking the cinders, smiles to point,
As fond associations cross the mind,
A gallant, ring, or ticket, fashioned there.
And purring puss, her pied-coat licked sleek.
Sits mousing for the crumbs, beside black Jack.
He, curious drone, with eyes and teeth of white,
And natural curl, who twenty Falls has seen,
And cannot yet count four ! — -nor ever can,
Tho' tasked to learn, until his nose be sharp.
Tis marvel, if he thinks, but when he speaks;
Else, to himself, why mutter loud and strange,
And scold, and laugh, as half a score were by ?
In shape, and parts, a seed of Caliban!
He now is roasting earth-nuts by the coals,
And hissing clams, like martyrs mocking pain ;
Anil sizzing apples, air-lanced with a pin;
While in the embers hops the parching corn,
Crack ! crack ! disploding with the heat, like
bombs.
Crauncliiug, he squats, and grins, and gulps his
mug,
And shows his pompion-shell, with eyes and mouth,
And candle fitted; for the tail of kite,
To scare the lasses in their evening walk —
For, next day, and Thanksgiving-Eve will come.
Now turn we to the teeming Oven ; while,
A skilful midwife, comes the aged Dame ;
Her apron clean, and nice white cap of lawn.
With long lean arm, she lifts the griding slice,
And inward slides it, drawing slowly out,
In semi-globes, and frustums of the cone,
Tanned brown with heat, come, smoking, broad high
loaves ;
And drop-cakes, ranged like cocks round stack of
hay;
Circles and segments, pies and turn-overs,
For children's children, who stand teasing round,
Scorching their mouths, and dance like jugglers
apes,
Wishing the pie more cool, or they less keen.
Next, brown and wrinkled, like the good dame's
brow,
Come russet-eoated sweetings, pulp for milk ;
A luscious dish — would one were brought me now !
And kisses, made by Sue for suitor's pun.
And when the morrow greets each smiling face,
And from the church, where grateful hearts have
poured,
Led by the Man of God, their thanks and prayers,
To Him, who fills their granaries with good,
They hurry home, snuffing the spicy steams ;
The pious matron, with full heart, draws forth
The spare-rib crisp — more savory from the spit !
Tall pots of pease and beans — vile, flatulent ;
And puddings, smoking to the raftered walls;
And sweet cup-custards, part of the dessert.
These all, concreted some, some subtilized,
And by the generative heart matured,
A goodly birth, the welcome time brings forth.
Illustrious Oven ! warmest, heartiest friend !
Destroy but thee, and where were festive smiles?
We, cannibals, might torrify and seethe;
Or dry blood-reeking flesh in the cold sun ;
Or, like the Arab, on his racing horse,
Beneath the saddle swelter it for food.
And yet, ere thou give us, we must give thee.
Thus many an Oven barren is for life.
O poverty! how oft thy wishful eye
Rests on thine Oven, hungry as thyself!
Would I might load each Oven of the Poor,
With what each palate craves — a fruitless wish !
Yet seldom hear we Industry complain ;
And no one should complain, who hath two eyes,
Two hands, and mind and body, sound and free.
And such, their powers to worthy ends applied,
Be pleased, indulgent Patroness, to feed.
Frederick Kxight, the younger brother of the
preceding, and who for some time survived him,
was born in Hampton, N. H., October 9, 1791.
He shared with his brother the influences of the
refined rural home of Rowley, and acquired a
taste for the poetical beauties of nature, which
became the solace of his disappointed career.
He studied for a while at Harvard, but did not
concentrate his attention sufficiently to pursue
any settled plan of life. He was afterwards at
the law school of Judges Reeve and Gould, at
Litchfield, Conn. Subsequently he taught school
for a while in the then partially settled region
of the Penobscot, and pursued for a time the
same vocation at Marblehead. His tastes and
habits of retirement, however, constantly brought
him back to the country-seat at Rowley, where
he enjoyed a home with his amiable grandfather,
Dr. Cogswell, an estimable physician, who retired
from practice to the pleasures and pursuits of his
farm. On the death of that relative, he was
160
CYCLOPJ2DIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
offered a situation with his uncle, Mr. Nathaniel
Cogswell, an eminent merchant, who resided at
one of the Canary Islands. Thither he went;
hut a passion for the beauties of the spot pre-
vailed over the demands of business, and he failed
in the objects of the journey. He returned to
his beloved Rowley, where, upon the death of his
grandmother and brother Henry, being left with-
out resources, he accepted the offer of a home with
Mrs. Sawyer, an aged widow of the neighbor-
hood, ' who promised him the reversion of her
cottage on her death. There, in a frugal mode of
living, he passed the remainder of his days, culti-
vating his gentle tastes — for he was without vices
—and penning numerous occasional poems ad-
dressed to his friends, or dedicated to his religious
emotions. He died at Rowley, November 20,
1849, leaving his venerable friend in the cottage,
his survivor, at the age of ninety-five. A me-
morial of this simple life has been lately pub-
lished with the title, " Thorn Cottage, or the
Poet's Home."* It contains numerous anecdotes
of the simple-minded, sensitive man, who only
lacked energy to have borne a more prominent
part in the world, with many pleasing specimens
of his poetical powers. One of these is a descrip-
tion of the furniture of the humble cottage.
Four windows — two in front to face the sun,
And in the south and western end, but one ;
The fourth, o'ershadowed by a shed too near,
Lets in no golden beams to warm and cheer ;
"With crimson wainscots, dull and faded grown,
And time-worn curtains, deeply tinged with brown —
Thence to the ceiling, all the space between,
A hanging, traced with flowers and berries green.
Not quite like vernal bloom or autumn we,
A 6ort of ice-plant and a snow-bah tree.
A cherry dish — a kind of cottage shop,
With cups and mugs, and candlesticks on top;
A looking-glass ; a dumb old-fashioned clock,
Like pale-faced nun, dres't in her vesper frock:
Two ancient pictures, clouded by the smoke,
One, lifting Joseph, for the word lie spoke,
From out the pit intended for his grave,
Whom God designed hi6 chosen tribes to save :
The after-Joseph and his wondrous wife,
Between them leading the young Lord of Life ;
Two smaller portraits, looking younger rather,
Good Flavel one — and one, good Cotton Mather.
Another is a touching expression of the reli-
gious feeling which cheered his broken fortunes.
Have faith — and thou shalt know its use ;
Have faith — and thou wilt feel
'Tis this that fills the widow's cruse,
And multiplies her meal.
Have faith — and breaking from thy bound,
With eagles thou wilt rise,
And find thy cottage on the ground
A castle in the skies.
Have faith — and thou shalt hear the tread
Of horses in the air,
And see the chariot overhead
That's waiting for thee there.
* Thorn Cottage, or the Poet's Tfome. a Memorial of Fre-
deric!; Knight, Esq., of Rowleys Mass. Boston: Press of
Crocker and 'Brewster. 18S5. 12mo. pp. IDS.
Have faith — the earth will bloom beneath,
The sea divide before thee,
The air with odors round thee breathe,
And heaven wide open o'er thee.
Have faith — that purifies the heart;
And with thy flag unfurled,
Go forth without a spear or dart;
Thou'lt overcome the world.
Have faith — be on thy way :
Arise and trim thy light,
And shine, if not the orb of day,
Yet as a star of night.
Have faith — though threading lone and far
Through Pontine's deepest swamp,
When night lias neither moon nor star,
Thou'lt need no staff nor lamp.
Have faith — go, roam with savage men,
And sleep with beasts of prey —
Go, sit with lions in their den,
And with the leopards play.
Have faith — on ocean's heaving breast
Securely thou may'st tread,
And make the billowy mountain's crest
Thy cradle and thy bed.
Have faith — around let thunders roar,
Let earth beneath thee rend —
The lightnings play, and deluge pour —
Thy pass-word is — a friend.
Have faith — in famine's sorest need,
When naked lie the fields,
Go forth and weeping sow the seed,
Then reap the sheaves it yields.
Have faith — in earth's most troubled scene,
In time's most trying hour,
Thy breast and brow shall be serene —
So soothing is its power.
Have faith — and say to yonder tree,
And mountain where it stands,
Be ye both buried in the sea —
They sink beneath its sands !
Have faith — upon the battle-field,
When facing foe to foe,
The shaft rebounding from thy shield,
Shall lay the archer low.
i
Have faith — the finest thing that flies,
On wings of golden ore,
That* shines and melts along the skies,
Was but a worm before.
HEW AINSLIE.
Hew Ainslie was born on the fifth day of April,
1792, at Baugeny Mains, in the parish of Daily,
Carrick District, Ayrshire, Scotland, on the estate
of Sir Hew Dalrymple Hamilton, in whose service
his father, George Ainslie, had been employed for
many years. Hew received a good education,
commenced under the care of a private tutor,
who was supported by three or four families in
the neighborhood, and continued at schools at
Ballantrae and Ayr, until the age of twelve,
when, in consequence of fears being entertained
respecting his health, he was sent back to his
native hills to recruit. Here he found Sir Hew,
the landlord, engaged in an extensive plan for the
improvement of his estate, under the direction of
the celebrated landscape gardener White, and a
number of young men from the South as assist-
ants. Hew joined this company, and as the
planters were all respectably educated, and, like
JOHN NEAL.
161
the mechanioals of Athens, sometimes " enacted
plays," this new association aided him in the
cultivation of literature as well as of mother
earth.
In his seventeenth year, Ainslie was sent to
Glasgow to study law in the office of a relation
of his mother, but the pursuit proved uncon-
genial, and he soon rejoined his family, who had,
in the meantime, removed to Roslin. He after-
wards obtained a situation in the Register House,
Edinburgh, which he retained until 1822, a por-
tion of the time being passed at Kinniel House,
as the amanuensis of Dugald Stewart, whose last
work he copied for the press.
Ainslie married in 1S12, and after his father's
death in 1817, determined to remove to America,
but was not able to put his plan in execution
until 1822, when he crossed the ocean, landed at
New York on the twenty-sixth of July, and pur-
chased a small farm in Hoosick, Rensselaer
county, New York.
In 1825 he removed to the West, tried Owen's
settlement at New Harmony for a year, found it
a failure, and settled down for a time as a brewer
at Shippingport, Kentucky. In 1829, he built a
brewery in Louisville, which was ruined by an
inundation of the Ohio in 1832. He constructed
a similar establishment the same year in New
Albany, Indiana, which was destroyed by fire in
1834. Satisfied with these experiments, he has
since employed himself in superintending the
erection of breweries, mill*, and distilleries,
throughout the West, on account of others. He
is at present a resident of Jersey City.
On the eve of his departure from Scotland,
Ainslie published A Pilgrimage to the Laud of
Burns, a volume of notes interspersed with nu-
merous songs and ballads, suggested by a visit to
his early home in Ayrshire. He has recently
collected these with his other Songs, Ballads, and
Poems, published originally in various magazines,
in a volume.*
Several of Ainslie's songs will be found in
" Whistle-Binkie" and other collections of the
lyric poetry of Scotland, and well deserve the
popular reputation they have secured.
THE ABSENT FATITER.
The friendly greeting of our kind,
Or gentler woman's smiling,
May soothe the weary wanderer's mind,
His lonely hours beguiling ;
May charm the restless spirit still,
The pang of grief allaying ;
But ah ! the soul it cannot fill,
Or keep the heart from straying.
O, how the fancy, when unbound.
On wings of rapture swelling,
"Will hurry to the holy ground,
Where loves and friends are dwelling!
My lonely and my widowed wife,
How oft to thee I wander !
Re-living those sweet hours o' life,
When mutual love was tender.
And here with sickness lowly laid,
All scenes to sadness turning,
* Scottish Sonfis, Ballads, and Poems.
Redfleld, New York. 1565.
VOL. II. — 11
By How Ainslie.
Where will I find a hrenst like thine.
To laj' this brow that 's burning ?
And how are all my pretty ones ?
How have the cherubs thriven,
Who cheered my leisure with their love,
And made my home a heaven I
Does yet the rose array your cheek,
As when in grief I blessed you ?
0, are your cherry lips as sweet.
As when in tears I kissed you ?
Can your young broken prattle tell —
Can your young memories gather
A thought of him who loves you well —
Your weary wandering father ?
0, I've had wants and wishes too,
This world have checked and chilled;
But bless me but again with you,
And half my prayer's fulfilled.
THE INGLE SIDE.
It's rare to see the morning bleeze,
Like a bonfire frae the sea ;
It's fair to see the burnie kiss
The lip o' the flowery lea ;
An' fine it is on green hill side,
When hums the hinny bee ;
But rarer, fairer, finer fair,
Is the ingle side to me.
Glens may he gilt wi' gowans rare,
The birds may fill the tree,
An' haughs hae a' the scented ware,
That simmer's growth can gi'e ;
But the cantie hearth where cronies meet,
An' the darling o' our e'e ;
That makes to us a warld complete,
0, the ingle side's for me !
JOHN NEAL.
John Neal, as we learn from his own account of
himself in Blackwood's Magazine,* is a native of
Portland, Maine. He was born about 1794, and
was of a Quaker family, hut does not appear to
have inherited any Quaker placidity of mind. In
his boyhood he was " read out" of the drab fra-
ternity for " knocking a man, who insulted him,
head over heels ; for paying a militia fine ; for
making a tragedy, and for desiring to be turned
out, whether or no." He was brought up as a
shop-boy, and when he became a man, became
also a wholesale dry-goods dealer, in partnership
with Pierpont, afterwards the poet, The concern
failed, and Neal commenced the study of law, and
with it the profession of literature, by an article
on the poetry of Lord Byron, who had then just
published the third canto of Child© Harold.
Neal read through, and reviewed everything the
poet had thus far written, in four days, producing
an article long enough to make a" small book,
which appeared from month to month, until
completed, in the Portico, a magazine published
in Baltimore. He continued to write for this peri-
odical "from the second up to the end of the fifth
volume, being a large part of the whole, until he
knocked it on the head, it is thought, by an arti-
cle on Free Agency," — no bad material, it must
be admitted, for a literary shmg-shot.
Next came Keep Cool, his first novel. " It
was written chiefly for the discouragement of '
* No. i-Tii. p. 190, Feb. 1'23.
1G2
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
duelling — about which, as I was eternally in hot
water, I began to entertain certain very tender,
seasonable, talkative scruples of conscience. The
hero is insulted, he fights under what anybody
would call a justification — kills the insulter — and
is never happy for an hour afterwards." The
book was published in 1817. In Feb. 1825 it is
thus summarily disposed of in the article from
which our extracts have been taken. '-' Keep
Cool is forgotten ; or where it is known at all is
looked upon as a disgrace to her literature."
The Battle of Niagara, with other Poems, by
Jehu 0' Cataract, was published in 1818. This
portentous nom de plume was a nickname given
the author in a club to which he belonged, and
intended to characterize his impetuosity. He
had the good sense to drop it in a second
edition of the poems, which appeared in 1819.
Otho, a five act tragedy, was written about the
same time. " Works," says Mr. Neal, " abound-
ing throughout in absurdity, intemperance, affec-
tation, extravagance — with continual but involun-
tary imitation : yet, nevertheless, containing alto-
gether more sincere poetry, more exalted, origi-
nal, pure poetry, than all the works of all the
other authors that have ever appeared in Ame-
rica."
These poems possess vigor, spirit, and ease in
versification. They consist of the " Battle of Ni-
agara," which contains some fine passages of
description of the scenes and conflict which sup-
ply its title; -'Goldau, or the Maniac Harper," a
narrative poem, suggested 'in part by the cele-
brated slide of the Romberg, Switzerland, in
1806; an Ode delivered before the Delphians, a
literary society of Baltimore, and a few brief
miscellaneous pieces.
By way of a change of occupation after the
composition of these poems, and probably as a
somewhat safer means of gaining a little cash, he
prepared an Index for Niles to his Register, which
Niles was so much pleased with that, mirabile
dicta for a publisher, or for anybody else, he
gave nearly three times as much as he had pro-
mised for it.
He also wrote abont a quarter of a History of
the American Revolution, " by Paul Allen,"
who was a veritable flesh and blood man, but so
inordinately lazy, that after announcing and re-
ceiving subscriptions for the work, it finally ap-
peared from the pen of his friends Neal and
Watkins, the preface only being by the nominal
author.
Four novels followed these works in quick
succession. Their chronology is thus given by
their author :
" Logan — begun ended November 1 7, 182 1 .
"Randolph — begun 26th November, 1821; 1st
vol. finished 21st December, 1821; second, 8th
January, 1822, with the interval of about a
week between the two, when I wrote nothing —
four English volumes in thirty-six days.
"Ep.p.ata — begun (time uncertain) after the 8th
of January, 1822; finished 16th February, 1822,
four English volumes in less than thirty-nine
days.
"Seventy-Six — begun after February 16, 1822;
finished 19th March, 1822, (with 4 days off, dur-
ing which I did not see the MS.) — three English
volumes in twenty-seven days /"
Meanwhile the author had studied law ; been
admitted, and was practising as energetically as
he was writing.
" Logan," he goes on to say, " is a piece of de-
clamation ; Seventy-Six, of narrative; Ran-
dolph, epistolary ; Eeeata, colloquial.'''1
Logan is a picture of Indian life, vigorous, pic-
turesque, and in some of the set speeches at least,
as the author confesses, declamatory.
Seventy-Six lias the spirit and movement of the
revolutionary era, when the youth of the country
hurried to the field with the sufficient protection
of the household musket and the paternal bene-
diction. It is a lively presentation of the era.
In Randolph, a story of its own date, Neal
introduces personal and critical sketches of the
leading authors and public men of the day, includ-
ing, as usual in his enumerations of this kind,
himself. The remarks on William Pinckney ex-
cited the anger of his son, who challenged Neal
as the presumed author, and on his refusal to
fight posted him as a "craven." A history of
the affair, in which just ground is taken on the
subject of critical comment and the practice of
duelling, appears in a letter signed by Neal, as a
" postscript" to his next publication, Errata.
In Errata, also a story of modern times, his
object was to show " that deformity of person
does not of necessity imply deformity of heart ;
and that a dwarf in stature may be a giant in
blood ;" and to delineate the female character
more in conformity with human nature than with
the usual conventional type of the novelist. He
has carried out this design in a tale of high dra-
matic interest. The preface to this work is in
the author's happiest manner.
I have written this tale for the purpose of show-
ing how people talk, when they are not talking for
display ; when they are telling a story of themselves
familiarly; seated about their own fireside ; with a
plenty of apples and eider, in the depth of winter,
with all their family, and one or two pleasant
strangers lolling about, and the great house-dog
with his nose in the ashes; or out under the green
trees on a fine summer night, with all the faces that
they love, coining and going like shadows, under the
beautiful dim trees, and the red sky shining through
them.
Reader — have you ever stood, with your hat in
your hand, to look at a little dreamy light made by
the moonshine, where it fell through the green
leaves, and "fermented" in the wet turf? — or the
starlight and water bubbles dancing together, under
the willow trees? If you have, then you may form
some notion of what I mean, by my love of Nature.
Men go by her blossoming places, every hour, and
never see them ; her singing places, while there is a
wedding in the grass, and trample upon them, with-
out one thought of their beauty; and just so with
the delicate beauties of conversation. They see no-
thing, hear nothing, until their attention be called
to it But they go out, where it is the fashion to be
sentimental, and persuade themselves that their arti-
JOHN NEAL.
163
fieial rapture is the natural offspring of a warm
heart and a pure taste. Pshaw I — people that do
not love fine conversation and fine reading, be-
yond fine speaking and fine singing, have neither
understanding nor taste.
The favorable reception of a portion of these
novels in England, on their republication, in-
duced their author to try his literary fortunes
in that country. With his characteristic promp-
titude he closed up his business affairs, transferred
his clients to a professional brother, borrowed
cash, and was off in three weeks. He arrived in
England in January, 1824, and remained three
years, writing for Blackwood (where in 1824 and
1825 he published a series of articles on Ameri-
can writers, not forgetting, as we have already
seen, himself) and other periodicals; He became
acquainted with Jeremy Bentham, who asked him
to dinner, and liked him so well, that he next in-
vited him to reside in his house. He accepted
the invitation, and passed the remainder of his
time in London there, " with a glorious library
at my elbow, a fine large comfortable study
warmed by a steam-engine, exercise under ground,
society, and retirement, all within my reach."*
In 1827, after a short tour in France, Keal re-
turned to P irtland, and commenced a weekly
newspaper, The Yankee. He removed with it
to Boston, but change of air not improving its
vitality, at the end of a year it was merged in
" The New England Galaxy," and its late editor
returned to Portland.
In 1828 he published Rachel Dyer, a story, in
a single volume, the subject of which is " Salem
Witchcraft." It is much more subdued in style
than his earlier novels, and is a carefully prepared
and historically correct picture of the period it
presents. It was originally written for Black-
wood's Magazine, as the first of a series of North
American stories. It was accepted, paid for, and
in type, when a misunderstanding occurring be-
tween the author and publisher, the former paid,
back the sum he had received, and withdrew the
story, which he subsequently enlarged to its pre-
sent form.
Tins was followed in 1830 by Authorship, hy a
New Eaglander over the Sen. It is a rambling
narrative, whose interest is dependent on the
mystery in which the reader is kept until near its
close, respecting the character of the chief per-
sonages. The Down Enters and Ruth Elder,
which have since appeared, close the series of Mr.
Neat's novels.
There is a great deal of merit in the works we
have mentioned ; they are full of dramatic power
and incident; but these virtues are well nigh
overbalanced by their extravagance, and the
jerking, out-of-breath style in which they are often
written. " I do not pretend," he says, in the " un-
published preface to the North American, Stories,'"
prefixed to " Rachel Dyer," " to write English ;
that is, I do not pretend to write what the English
themselves call English — I do not, and I hope to
God — I say this reverently, although one of their
reviewers may be again puzzled to determine
' whether I am swearing or praying,' when I say
so — that I never shall write what is now worship-
* Passage from the bimrraptoy prefixed to the translation of
the Principles of Legislation, from the French of Dumont.
pod under the name of classical English. It is no
natural language — it never was — it never will be
spoken alive on this earth, and therefore ought ne-
ver to be written. We have dead languages enough
now, but the deadest language I ever met with or
heard of, was that in use among the writers of
Queen Anne's day."
The vigor of the man, however, pervades
everything he has produced. He sees and thinks
as well as writes, after his own fashion, and nei-
ther fears nor follows criticism. It is to be re-
gretted that he has not more full}7 elaborated his
prose productions, as that process would probably
have given them a firmer hold on public favor
than they appear to have secured. There is
much strong vigorous sense, independence in
speaking of men and things ; good, close thought;
analysis of character, and clear description, which
the public should not lose, in these pages.
Mr. Neal has written much for the periodicals,
and some of his finest poems have appeared in
this manner since the publication of his early
volume. He announced, a few years since, that
he was engaged upon a History of American Li-
terature.
A WAR BONG OF THE REVOLUTION.
Men of the North ! look up !
There's a tumult in your sky;
A troubled glory surging out,
Great shadows hurrying by.
Your strength — where is it now ?
Your quivers — are they spent?
Your arrows in the rust of death,
Your fathers' bows unbent.
Men of the North! awake!
Ye 're called to from the deep;
Trumpets in every breeze-
Yet there ye lie asleep.
A stir in every tree ;
A shout from every wave;
A challenging on every side;
A moan from every grave :
A battle in the sky ;
Slaps thundering through the air —
Jehovah on the march —
Men of the North, to prayer !
Now, now — in all your strength ;
There's that before your way,
Above, about you, and below, \
Like armies in array.
Lift up your eyes, and 6ee
The changes overhead ;
Now hold your breath, and hear
The mustering of the dead.
See how the midnight air
With bright commotion burns,
Thronging with giant shape,
Banner and spear by turns.
The sea-fog driving in,
Solemnly and swift,
The moon afraid — stars dropping out: —
The very skies adrift :
The Everlasting God:
Our Father — Lord of Love —
With cherubim and seraphim
All gathering above.
16i
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMEEIQAK LITERATURE.
Their stormy plumage lighted up
As forth to war they go ;
The shadow of the Universe,
Upon our haughty foe I
THE BIRTH OF A POET.
On a blue summer night,
While the stars were asleep,
Like gems of the deep,
In their own drowsy light ;
While the newly mown hay
On the green earth lay,
And all that came near it went scented away.
From a lone woody place
There looked out a face,
With large blue eyes,
Like the wet warm skies,
Brimful of water and light;
A profusion of hair
Flashing out on the air,
And a forehead alarmingly bright:
'Twas the head of a poet ! He grew
As the sweet strange flowers of the wilder-
ness grow,
In the dropping of natural dew,
Unheeded — alone —
Till his heart had blown —
As the sweet strange flowers of the wilder-
ness blow ;
Till every thought wore a changeable stain,
Like flower-leaves wet with the sunset rain.
A proud and passionate boy was he,
Like all the children of Poesy ;
With a haughty look and a haughty tread,
And something awful about his head;
With wonderful eyes
Full of woe and surprise,
Like the eyes of them that can see the dead.
Looking about,
For a moment or two he stood
On the shore of the mighty wood ;
Then ventured out,
With a bounding step and a joyful shout,
The brave sky bending o'er him!
The broad sea all before him !
OEVILLE DEWEY.
TnE Rev. Orville Dewey is the son of a fanner,
of Sheffield, Berkshire, Massachusetts where he
was born in the year 1794. He took his degree
with distinction at Williams College in 1814, and
afterwards passed some months in teaching
school in his native village, and as a clerk in a
dry-goods store in New York. In 1816 he en-
tered Andover Theological Seminary. He com-
pleted his course of study in 1819, was ordained,
and preached with success as a Presbyterian
clergyman, but within a year connected himself
with the Unitarian denomination. During the
absence of Dr. Channing in Europe, Mr. Dewey
was invited to supply his place. He was after-
wards settled at New Bedford for ten years. He
then in consequence of ill health went to Europe,
remaining abroad for two years. On his return,
in 1835, he published a volume of Discourses on
Various Subjects, and about the same time be-
came the pastor of the Unitarian Church of the
Messiah in the city of New York. In 1836, he
published The Old World and. the JSfew ; a Jour-
nal of Observations and Deflections made on a
visit to Europe in 1833 and 1834.
Dr. Dewey speedily became widely known as
a pnlpit orator, for his eloquent discussion of
moral themes, and his adaptation of the religious
essay to the pastoral wants and pursuits of the
public. His church in Mercer-street having
been destroyed by fire, was replaced by an
edifice in Broadway of far greater value and
architectural merit.
In 1838, Dr. Dewey followed out the spirit of a
great portion of his professional labors by the
publication of Moral Views of Commerce, Society,
and Politics, in twelve Discourses. These were
followed in 1841 by Discourses on Human Life,
and in 1846 by Discourses and Beviews on Ques-
tions relating to Controversial Theology and
Practical Religion. He has also published,
separately, a number of sermons and addresses.
In 1844, all of the author's works which had
then appeared were issued in London, in a closely
printed octavo volume of about nine hundred
pages.
In 1849, Dr. Dewey resigned his charge of the
Church of the Messiah on account of ill health,
and after a period of some months of relaxation,
passed mostly in travel, accepted a call to Wash-
ington City. He has of late resided at his
farm in Sheffield, in his native Berkshire.
As a preacher Dr. Dewey is grave and weighty;
his manner conveying the idea of the man of
thought, who draws his reflections from the
depths of his own nature. He is ingenious and
speculative, and impresses his audience as a
philosophic teacher, whether from the pulpit or
in the lecture hall.
STDTJY — FEOM A Pnl BETA KAPPA ADDRESS AT CAMBRIDGE I>"
1880.
The favorite idea of a genius among us, is of one
who never studies, or who studies, nobody can tell
when — at midnight, or at odd times and intervals —
and now and then strikes out, at a heat, as the
phrase is, some wonderful production. This is- a
character that has figured largely in the history of
our literature, in the person of our Fieldings, our
Savages, and our Steeles — " loose fellows about
town," or loungers in the country, who slept in ale-
houses and wrote in bar-rooms, who took up the pen
as a magician's wand to supply their wants, and
when the pressure of necessity was relieved, re-
sorted again to their carousals. Your real genius is
an idle, irregular, vagabond sort of personage, who
muses in the fields or dreams by the fire-side ; whose
strong impulses — that is the cant of it — must needs
hurry him into wild irregularities or foolish eccen-
tricity ; who abhors order, and can bear no restraint,
and eschews all labor : such an one, for instance, as
Newton or Milton! What! they must have been
irregular, else they were no geniuses.
" The young man," it is often said, " has genius
enough, if he would only study." Now the truth
is, as I shall take the liberty to state it, that genius
will studv, it is that in the mind which does study ;
that is the very nature of it. I care not to say that
it will always use books. All study is not reading,
any more than all reading is study. By study I
mean — but let one of the noblest geniuses and
hardest students of any age define it for me.
" Studium," says Cicero, " est animi assidua et
vehemens ad aliquam rem applicata magna cum
voluntate occupatio, ut philosophise, poetics, geome-
triae, literarum." * Such study, such intense mental
* De Inventione, Lib. L c. 25.
JARED SPARKS.
165
action, and nothing else, is genius. And so far as
there is any native predisposition about this envi-
able eharaeter of mind, it is a predisposition to that
action. That is the only test of the original bias ;
and he who does not come to that point, though he
may have shrewdness, and readiness, and parts,
never had a genius. No need to waste regrets upon
him, as that he never could be induced to give his
attention or study to anything; lie never had that
which he is supposed to have lost. For attention it
is, though other qualities belong to this transcendent
power, — attention it is, that is the very soul of
genius: not the fixed eye, not the poring over a
book, but the fixed thought. It is, in fact, an action
of the mind which is steadily concentrated upon
one idea or one series of ideas, — which collects in
one point the rays of the soul till they search, pene-
trate, and fire the whole train of its thoughts. And
while the fire burns within, the outward man may
indeed be cold, indifferent, negligent, — absent in ap-
pearance; he may be au idler, or a wanderer,
apparently without aim or intent : but still the fire
burns within. And what though " it bursts forth"
at length, as has been said, " like volcanic fires, with
spontaneous, original, native force ?" It only shows
the intenser action of the elements beneath. What
though it breaks like lightning from the cloud ?
The electric fire had been collecting in the firma-
ment through many a silent, calm, and clear day.
What though the might of genius appears in one
decisive blow, struck in some moment of high
debate, or at the crisis of a nation's peril ? That
mighty energy, though it may have heaved in the
breast of a Demosthenes, was once a feeble infant's
thought. A mother's eye watched over its dawn-
ing. A father's care guarded its early growth. It
soon trod with youthful steps the halls of learning,
and found other fathers to wake and to watch for
it, — jvea as it finds them here. It went on : but
silence was upon its path, and the deep strugglings
of the inward soul marked its progress, and the
cherishing powers of nature silently ministered to
it. The elements around breathed upon it and
" touched it to finer issues." The golden ray of
heaven fell upon it, and ripened its expanding facul-
ties. The slow revolutions of years slowly added
to its collected treasures and energies ; till in its
hour of glory, it stood forth embodied in the form
of living, commanding, irresistible elocpienee ! The
world wonders at the manifestation, and says,
"Strange, strange, that it should come thus un-
sought, unpremeditated, unprepared !" But the
truth is, there is no more a miracle in it, than there
is in the towering of the preeminent forest tree, or
in the flowing of the mighty and irresistible river,
or in the wealth and the waving of the boundless
harvest.
JAEED SPAEKS.
Jaeed Spaeks, whose numerous literary labors are
so honorably connected with American history and
biography, was born at Willington, in the state of
Connecticut, about 1704. In his youth he worked
on a farm, and in the intervals of occupation in a
grist and saw-mill which lie tended, became inter-
ested in a copy of Guthrie's Geography, which, in
its way, encouraged his natural love of learning.
He was a good student in such schools as a
country town then afforded. He became ap-
prenticed to a carpenter, with whom he remained
some two years, when his employer, in deference
to his love of stud}-, relinquished his legal hold
upon his time. Sparks became at once a village
schoolmaster in the district of the town of Tol-
land, teaching in the winter, and returning for a
livelihood to his trade in the summer. He at-
tracted the attention of the clergyman of Willing-
ton, the Rev. Hnbbel Loomis, who taught him
mathematics and induced him to study Latin.
In return for this instruction and residence in his
friend's house, he turned his carpenter's know-
j ledge to account, and shingled the minister's
barn. The Rev. Abiel Abbot, lately of Peter-
borough, New Hampshire, extended the patron-
age which his brother clergyman had commenced.
By his intlueiice Sparks was secured a scholarship
at the Phillips Exeter Academy, on a charitable
foundation, which provided education and a homo
free of cost. He travelled to Mr. Abbot at
Coventry, and thence on foot to Exeter. In 1809
lie thus found himself at the celebrated institution
then and long after under the care of Dr. Ben-
jamin Abbot. He remained there two years,
teaching a school one winter at Rochester in
New Hampshire, He entered Harvard in 1811,
and was assisted by his warm friend President
Kirkland to a scholarship, the resources of which
he eked out by district-school-keeping a portion
of the year in New England, and an engagement
in the first two years of his undergraduate course
at a private school, as far off as Havre de Grace,
in Maryland, to which he was recommended by
President Dwight of Yale. While in this latter
place it was invaded by the British troops in
1813. Before the a-sault he served in the militia,
and remained to witness the conflagration of the
town. He returned to Harvard to be a graduate
with the class of 1815. He then taught a classical
school at Lancaster, Massachusetts, and came
back to Harvard to study divinity under Dr.
Ware. The college, in 1S17, appointed him a
tutor in mathematics and natural philosophy, the
duties of which he discharged for two years while
he prosecuted his theological studies. He was
one of the associates to whom Mr. Tudor assigned
The North American Review at this time, and
became its working editor. Two years after-
wards, in May, 1810, he was ordained pastor of a
new Unitarian Church at Baltimore, Maryland,
Dr. Charming preaching on the occasion. It was
the controversial period of Unitarianism, and
Sparks took part in the discussion, publishing, in
1820, a volume of Letters on the Ministry, Ritual,
and Doctrines of the Protestant Episcopal
Church, in reply to a sermon levelled at his doc-
trines by the Rev. Dr. William E. Wyatt. In
1821, a proof of his position and standing, he
was elected chaplain to the House of Representa-
tives. The same year he commenced a monthly
periodical, in duodecimo, entitled The Unitarian
Miscellany and Christian Monitor. It was con-
tinued by him for two years during his stay at
Baltimore. He wrote in it a series of letters to
the Rev. Dr. Miller of Princeton, on the Com-
parative Moral Tendency of Trinitarian and
Unitarian Doctrines, which he afterwards en-
larged and published at Boston, in a volume, in
1823. He also commenced at Baltimore the
publication of a Collection of Essays ami Tracts
in Tlieology, from Various Authors, with Bio-
graphical and Critical Notices, which was com-
pleted at Boston in 1826, in six duodecimo volumes.
The plan was suggested by Bishop Watson's
Collection of Tracts. It took a comprehensive
166
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
range within the limits of practical Christianity
and liberal inquiry, including such authors as
Jeremy Taylor, Locke, Watts, William Penn,
Bishop Hoadly, John Hales, and others of the
English Church. It contained some translations
from the French.
After four years of laborious ministerial duty
at Baltimore, he retired from the position, and
travelled in the western states for his health.
Returning to Boston, lie purchased The North
American Review of its proprietors, and became
its sole editor. In 1828, he published a Life of
John, Ledyard, the American Traveller, which
passed through several editions, was translated
into German by Dr. Michaelis, and published at
Leipsic, and has since been included, in the
author's series of American Biography.
lie had already undertaken an important work
in his literary career, the collection for publica-
tion of the Writings of Washington. In pur-
suance of this work, in 1826, he had examined
personally the revolutionary papers in the public
offices of all the thirteen original States and' the
department at Washington, and afterwards, by
arrangement with Judge Washington and Chief-
justice Marshall, secured the possession of all the
Washington papers at Mount Vernon. He fur-
ther, in 1828, made a voyage to Europe for the
purpose of transcribing documents in the state
archives at London and Paris — which were now
for the first time opened, for historical purposes,
to his investigation, by the aid of Sir James
Mackintosh, the Marquis of Lansdowne, and Lord
Holland in England, and La Fayette and the
Marquis de Marbois in France. At the end of a
year he returned with a valuable stock of mate-
rials to America. After nine years of prepara-
tion the work appeared in successive volumes,
from 1834 to 1837, bearing the title, The Writings
of George Washington , being his Correspondence,
Addresses, Messages, and other Papers, official
and private, selected and published from the ori-
ginal manuscripts, with a Life of the Author,
Notes, and Illustrations, The first volume was
occupied with a TJfe of Washington, which has
also been published separately. .The whole was
received with great favor at home and abroad,
Mr. Everett reviewing the work in the North
American, and Guizot, in France, editing a selec-
tion from the Correspondence, and prefixing to it
his highly prized Introductory Discourse on the
Character, Influence,, and Public Career of Wash-
ington; while the German historian, Von Raumer,
prepared an edition at Leipsic. During this
period also, Mr. Sparks prepared, and with the
aid of Congress published in 182!'-30, a series of
twelve octavo volumes of the DipAomatic Cor-
respondence of the American Revolution, includ-
ing, with occasional notes and comments, letters
of Franklin, Adams, Jay, Deane, Lee, Dana, and
other agents abroad, as well as of the French
ministers, to Congress, during -the period of the
Revolution. These were derived from the Ameri-
can State Department, with omissions supplied
from the editor's European and other collections.
In 1830, Mr. Sparks also originated what has
formed one of the most valuable publications of
the times, The American Almanac and Reposi-
tory of Useful Knowledge. The first volume was
edited by him. In 1832, he published another
work of similar importance, The Life of Cover-
■neur Morris, with Selections from his Correspon-
dence and Miscellaneous Rapiers, detailing Events
in the French Revolution and the Political
History of the United States. This also secured
notice abroad, and was translated into French, in
its chief portions, by M. Augustin Gandais, and
published in two volumes at Paris. Another
literary undertaking in which Mr. Sparks was not
merely himself a pioneer, but the leader of a band
of writers of influence, was his Library of Ameri-
can Biography, of which two series were pub-
lished, the first of ten volumes from 1834 to
1838, the second of fifteen from 1844 to 1848.
Of the sixty lives in this collection, eight were
from the pen of Sparks, who contributed bio-
graphies of Ethan Allen, Benedict Arnold, Father
Marquette, De la Salle, Count Pulaski, John Ri-
bault, Charles Lee, and a reprint of the Ledyard
volume. To these numerous and extended under-
takings another, of parallel interest with the
Washington Papers, was added in 1840, the ten
volumes occupied with The Woris of Benjamin
Franklin ; containing several Political and His-
torical Tracts not included in any former edition,
and many Letters, Official and Private, not
hitherto published ; with Notes and a Life of the
Author. The Life was a careful and elaborate
supplement to the Autobiography, and the work
was further enriched with many valuable facts
and comments. As proof of the author's industry,
two hundred and fifty-three of Franklin's Letters
were there printed for the first time, and one
hundred and fifty-four first brought together from
scattered publications. The work also included
numerous letters to Franklin, from his distin-
guished foreign correspondents.
A companion to the Washington Correspon-
dence appeared at the beginning of 1854, The
Correspondence of the American Revolution, being
EDWARD ROBINSON.
16T
Le'icrs of Eminent Men to George Washington,
from the time of his taking Command of the
Army to the End of his Presidency. It was
edited from the original MSS., which had heenin
Mr. Sparks's possession.
Besides these literary occupations, which have
brought the libraries of the country an accession
of no less than sixty-six volumes of national in-
terest, Mr. Sparks has performed, at Harvard, the
duties of the McLean Professorship of Ancient
and Modern History, from 1839 to 1849 ; while
from 1849 to 1852 he held the arduous office of
President of that Institution, which he was com-
pelled to relinquish from ill health. He has since
resided at his home at Cambridge, still engaged
upon the illustration of the history of his country,
and with the preparation, it is currently reported,
of a History of the American Revolution.
In his personal relations, the amiability of Mr.
Sparks and the attachment of his friends are no
less worthy of record than the hold which he has
firmly secured upon the public gratitude by his
numerous patriotic, carefully penned, and well
directed literary labors.*
EDWAED ROBINSON.
Dn. Edward Robinson, the eminent philologist
and learned traveller and geographer of the Holy
Land, was born April 10, 1794, in Southington,
Conn., where his father, the Rev. William Ro-
binson, was for fort\*-one years pastor of the Con-
gregational church. The family are descended,
through the Rev. John Robinson of Duxbury,
Mass., from William Robinson of Dorchester. He
was there in 1636; but there is no evidence that
he was connected with John Robinson of Leyden.
As the father's salary was small, less than $400
a year, he cultivated a farm ; and the son was
sent to the district-school in winter, and employed
on the farm during summer. He had an early
taste for reading, especially books of travels; for
which his father's library, and a subscription li-
brary in the village, hardly afforded sufficient
materials. In his fourteenth year he was placed,
with several other boys, in the family and under
the tuition of the Rev. I. B. Woodward of Wol-
cott, an adjacent town. Here he continued till
early in 1810, having for a part of the time the
poet Percival as a fellow-pupil. His studies were
merely English with the elements of Latin ; his
father not purposing to send him to college, on
account of his feeble constitution and infirm health.
In March and April, 1810, he taught a district-
school in East Haven, Conn., where a large por-
tion of his pupils were older than himself. In
the following May he was employed in the cen-
tral district-school in Farmington, where he con-
tinued a year. The ensuing season, until May,
1812, he spent in a country store in Southington;
in which it was his father's plan that he should
become a partner. This, however, was not to his
own taste ; and in June, 1812, he went to Clinton,
Oneida county, New York, where one maternal
uncle, the Rev. A. S. Norton, D.D., was pastor
of the village church ; and another, Seth Norton,
* We are indebted for the enumeration of facts in this notice
to the new edition of 1S54 of the American Portrait Gallery,
which contains a clearly written and authentic summary of I
Mr. Sparks's literary career.
after having been for many years principal of the
academy, had been appointed professor of lan-
guages in Hamilton College, then just chartered.
Young Robinson joined that autumn the first
Freshman class in the college, and graduated in
1816 with the highest honors. In college his in-
clination turned, perhaps, rather to mathematical
than to philological pursuits. He enjoyed the
confidence of the professors and of the president,
Dr. Azel Backus, who died in the December after
Mr. Robinson left. In February, 1817, Mr. Ro-
binspn entered the office of the late James Strong
of Hudson, New York, afterwards •member of
Congress ; but in October of that year was called
as tutor to Hamilton College, where he remained
a year, teaching mathematics and the Greek lan-
guage. In the autumn of 1818 he married the
youngest daughter of the Rev. Samuel Kirkland,
former missionary to the Indians, sister of the
late President Kirkland. She died in July of the
following year ; and Mr. Robinson continued to
reside in Clinton, pursuing his studies, until Sep-
tember, 1821, when he returned for a short time
to his father's house.
In December, 1821, he went to Andover, Mass.,
in order to print a work he had prepared for col-
lege instruction, containing the first books of the
Hind, with Latin notes, selected chiefly from
Heyne. Here his attention was directed to the-
ology, and he commenced the study of Hebrew ;
but without connecting himself with the semi-
nary. A year afterwards, at the request of Pro-
fessor Stuart, he was employed to correct the
proofs of the second edition of bis Hebrew Gram-
mar (Andover, 1823), and soon became associated
with him in the preparation of the work itself.
The same year (1823) Professor Stuart having
gone on a foot-journey for his health, Mr. Robin-
son was employed to take charge of his class in the
seminary. The same autumn he was appointed
assistant instructor, and continued as such until
the spring of 1826. In the meantime he trans-
lated from the German, in connexion witli Pro-
fessor Stuart, Winer's Grammar of the New Tes-
tament; and also by himself, from the Latin,
Wahl's Claris Novi festamenti (Andover^ 1825).
168
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
In June, 1826, Mr. Robinson sailed for Em-ope,
and passed by way of Paris to the Rhine and Got-
tingen. Here be stayed some weeks ; and then
repaired to Halle, to profit by the instructions of
Gesenius, Tholuek, Rodiger, and others. The
winter was spent in hard labor, with the recrea-
tion of constant intercourse with the savants of
the place and their families. In the summer of I
1827 he travelled extensively, first in Northern i
Germany, Denmark, and Sweden ; and after-
wards in Southern German}', through the Tyrol,
and as far as to Vienna. The next winter was i
passed in Berlin in study, and in frequent inter-
course with Neander, Hengstenberg, 0. von Ger-
lach, and others. In August, 1828, Mr. Robin- j
son married the youngest daughter of Professor
Ludwig von Jakob of Halle. After making the
tour of Switzerland, they spent the winter in Pa-
ris, and travelled in the spring of 182(1 through
Italy, as far as Naples. Returning to Halle, Mr.
Robinson spent the next winter there in study, at
the same time preparing a translation of Butt-
mann's Greek Grammar, which was afterwards
published at Andover, 1838.
After his return home in 18.30, Dr. Robinson
was appointed professor extraordinary of sacred
literature in the seminary at Andover. The de-
partment of Hebrew instruction fell mainly to him.
Many circumstances combined to render this the
palmiest period of the Andover Seminary, and
classes numbering from sixty to eighty members
were entered for several successive years. With
the year 1831 Dr. Robinson commenced the pub-
lication of the Biblical Repository, of which he
was the editor and principal contributor for four
years. In 1833, his health having failed, he re-
moved to Boston, where he spent the next three
years in the preparation of a new Lexicon of the
Greek Testament ; carrying on at the same time
his translation of the Hebrew Lexicon of Gesenius.
Both these works were published at Boston in
the autumn of 1836.
Early in 1837 Dr. Robinson was appointed pro-
fessor of biblical literature in the Union Theolo-
gical Seminary in the city of New York, the sta-
tion which lie still holds. He accepted it on con-
dition of being permitted to visit Europe and
Palestine, and thus carry out the plan he had
laid five years before with the Rev. Eli Smith.
Leaving his family in Germany, he proceeded to
Egypt, where he was joined by Mr. Smith in
February, 1838. They left Beyrout together in
July of the same year, and after visiting Smyrna
and Constantinople, returned by way of the Da-
nube to Vienna; Mr. Smith having been com-
missioned to visit Leipzig in order to superintend
the constructs in of new founts of Arabic type. At
Vienna they were detained several weeks by the
dangerous illness of Dr. Robinson, which brought
him to the borders of the grave. After his reco-
very he fixed himself at Berlin, and devoted him-
self to the preparation of his Biblical Researches in
Palestine. Here, in the unrestrained use of public
and private libraries, with the constant counsel
and aid of Ritter and Neander, as also occasion-
ally of Humboldt, von Buch, and many others, two
years fled rapidly away before his labors were com-
pleted. Dr. Robinson returned to New York in
the autumn of 1840 ; and the work was published
in three volumes in July, 1841, in Boston and
London, as also in German at Halle, the same
year. In reference to this work, the Royal Geo-
graphical Society of London awarded to the au-
thor one of their gold medals ; and the theologi-
cal faculty of the University of Halle conferred on
him the honorary degree of doctor in theology.
These volumes have become a standard authority
in matters of biblical geography.
Notwithstanding the demands of his official
duties upon his time and attention, Dr. Robinson
established the Bibliotheca Sacra, of which one
volume (1843) was issued under his supei vision
in New York. The work was then transferred
to Andover. He also published in 1845 A Har-
mony of the Four Gosjjels in Greek, which was
revised and stereotyped in 1851. An English
Harmony was published by him first in 1846 : it
lias been reprinted in London, and in French at
Brussels. His principal labor, however, was con-
nected with a new edition of the Lexicon of the
Greek Testament, which appeared in 1850. The
translation of Buttmann's Greek Grammar, revised
from the latest edition of the original, was pub-
lished in 1851. There have also issued from the
press four later editions of the Hebrew Lexicon,
the last one, finally completed from the Thesaurus,
in 1854*
In June, 1851, Dr. Robinson went with his
family to Germany, and leaving them there, re-
turned by way of Holland, England, and Scot-
land, in October. The directors of the Union
Theological Seminary having kindly proffered him
leave of absence in order to revisit Palestine, he
went abroad again in December, and accomplished
the journey in 1852, after an interval of fourteen
years from his former visit, and mostly with the
same companion, Dr. Eli Smith. This last jour-
ney was limited chiefly to Jerusalem and the
country north. He returned home in October,
1852, and has since been occupied in preparing
his new materials for the press. It is understood
that the work is now nearly completed.
To no American scholar have the honors of
learning been more generally, awarded at home
and abroad than to Dr. Robinson. The fidelity
of his exact de<hictions in the topography of the
Holy Land, based upon personal investigations,
united with his studies of the original biblical
literature, have given his works an authority not
lightly to be disputed ; while his labors in philo-
logy and the duties of his professor's chair have
extended his influence in other walks of learning.
His connexion with the Historical Society of New
York, with the American Ethnological Society,
and with the American Oriental Society, has add-
ed greatly to the honor and public usefulness of
those bodies.
Tiieeese Albep.tina Louise vox Jakob, the wife
of the Rev. Dr. Robinson, is the daughter of Lud-
wig von Jakob, professor of political economy at
Halle, where she was born January 26, 1797. In
1806, after the suppression of the University of
* Of the Hebrew Lexicon about 10,(HI0 copies have been dis-
posed of altogether, chiefly in this country ; and 9,(H:0 copies
of the Greek Lexicon of the New Testament have been soid
here, besides three rival editions in England and Scotland.
The Biblical Researches have been six or seven years out of
print here, and much longer in England; of this -work 5l00
copies were printed in all.
EDWARD EVERETT.
169
Halle, her father removed to Charkow in South-
ern Russia, where lie had been appointed profes-
sor, and afterwards to St. Petersburg, as member
of the commission for revising the laws of the
Eussian Empire. In these removals his family
accompanied him. His daughter, an earnest stu-
dent even at that early age, made herself exten-
sively acquainted with the Russu-Slavic langua-
ges and literature. In 1816 she returned with
her father to Halle, where she acquired a know-
ledg • of Latin. She published a number of tales,
several of which were issued in 1825, in a vo-
lume entitled Psyche. These and her later works
were put forth under the signature of Talei, an
anagram of the initials of her name. At this
tinie the publication of the remarkable Servian
popular songs by Wuk Stephanowitch led her to
learn the Servian language ; and encouraged by
Wuk and Kopitar, she translated and published
a large portion of them under the title of Ser-
bische Lieder, "Servian Songs," in two volumes,
Halle, 1826. A new edition, revised and enlarged,
was issued by Broekhaus of Leipzig in 1853.
This was a new field. The work was issued un-
der the auspices of Goethe, and secured to the
translator the friendship and correspondence of
J. Grimm, Humboldt, Savigny, C. Bitter, Kopitar,
and others.
In 1828 she married. Professor Robinson, and
accompanied him to America in 1830. Soon after
her arrival she became interested in the study of
the languages of the aborigines, and in 1834 pub-
lished at Leipzig a German translation of Mr.
Pickering's well known article on the Indian
Languages. In the same year she prepared
for the Biblical Repository, then edited by her
hu-b.md, a scries of articles on the Slavic Lan-
guages and Literature. These were enlarged, and
i-sued in a volnme, under the same title, in 1850.
During her visit to Europe in 1838 she published
a work in German on the Popular Songs of the
Nations of the Teutonic Pace, with remarks on
those of other nations and races; and in 1840 a
snail work against the authenticity of the poems
of Ossian. Of the first of these two works speci-
mens had already appeared in various articles in
the North American Review. In 1847 she pub-
lished in German at Leipzig a History of the Co-
lonization of New England, of which a very de-
fective translation into English appeared in Lon-
don in 1851.
Mrs. Robinson has likewise given to the public
the novels of Reloise, or the Uhrevealed Secret;
Life's Discipline ; and The Exiles. These were
published in both the English and German Ian- 1
guages, at New York and Leipzig. The two for-
mer are romantic tales of the Eastern nations of
Europe, with local historical accessories, though
the psychological interest in the development of
character and passion predominates. In the Exiles
we have a picture of some of the prevalent influ-
ences and types of civilization visible in the set- i
tlement of America. Each of these books exhi-
bits refined feeling, or original thought and acute
observation, where these qualities are called for.
The style of Mrs. Robinson is simple and unex-
aggerated, well adapted to aid her learned accom-
plishments in the presentation of such a theme of ]
literary history as her sketch of the Slavic poetry. |
There too she has the advantage of poetic culture, I
in the rendering of the original ballads into Gre-
man or English verse at will.
EDWAED EVERETT.
Edward Everett was born in Dorchester, Mass.,
April 1 1, 17'J4. He was the son of Oliver Everett,
a clergyman of Boston, who was afterwards
Judge of the Court of Common Pleas for Nor
folk. The family had furnished farmers and me-
chanics to the town of Dedham for two hundred
years from the first settlement of the country.
Everett received his early education in the free
schools of Dorchester and Boston. He also at-
tended a private school in the latter city kept by
Ezekiel Webster, the brother of Daniel, and was
at the public Latin school of Master Bigelow and
at Dr. Abbott's Exeter Academy. He then en-
tered harvard about the age of thirteen in 1807,
and took his degree in course. His Commence-
ment speech had for its topic "Literary Evils;"
and his Master of Arts oration " The Restoration
of Greece."
In 1812 he was appointed tutor at Harvard,
and the same year delivered the Phi Beta Kappa
poem, taking for his topic " American Poets,"
whose opportunities and prospects he handled in
the vein of mingled sentiment and humor which
has grown habitual for such occasions. The
points were neatly made, and it is upon the whole
a pleasing poem. He notes the unpropitious toils
of the first settlers, the comparative absence of
wealth and of patronage or support, the want
of association ; — all well known and often pleaded
discouragements of the American muse. Of the
difficulties presented by American geography he
says:
When the warm bard bis country's worth would
tell,
To Mas-sa-ehu-setts' length bis lines must swell.
Would be the gallant tales of war rehearse,
Tis graceful Bunker fills the polished verse.
Sings lie, dear land, those lakes and streams of thine,
Some mild Memphremagog murmurs in bis line,
Some Anieriseoggin dashes by bis way,
Or smooth Connecticut softens in his lay.
Would he one verse of easy movement frame,
The map will meet him with a hopeless name ;
Nor can bis pencil sketch one perfect act,
But vulgar history mocks him witli a fact.
His presentation of the other side of the pic-
ture is warm and animated.
But yet in soberer mood, the time shall rise,
When bards will spring beneath our native skies:
Where the full chorus of creation swells,
And each glad spirit, but the poet, dwells,
Where whispering forests murmur notes of praise,
And headlong streams their voice in concert raise:
Where sounds each anthem, but the human tongue,
And nature blooms unrivalled, but unsung.
0 yes! in future days, our western lyres.
Turned to new themes, shall glow with purer fires,
Clothed with the charms, to grace their later rhyme,
Of every former age and foreign clime.
Then Homer's arms shall ring in Bunker's shock,
And Virgil's wanderer land on Plymouth rock.
Then Dante's knights before Quebec shall fall,
And Charles's trump on trainband chieftains call.
Our mobs shall wear the wreaths of Tasso's Moors,
And Barbary's coast shall yield to Baltimore's.
Here our own bays some native Pope shall grace,
170
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
And lovelier beauties fill Belinda's place.
Here future hands shall Goldsmith's village rear,
And his tired traveller rest his wanderings here.
Hodeirah's son shall search our western plain,
And our own Gertrude visit us again.
Then Branksonie's towers o'er Hudson's streams be
built,
And Marmiun's blood on Monmouth's field be spilt.
Fitz-James's horn Niagara's echoes wake,
And Katrine's lad}' skim o'er Erie's lake.
Haste happy times, when through these wide do-
mains,
Shall sound the concert of harmonious strains:
Through all the clime the softening notes be spread,
Sung iii eacli grove and in each hamlet read.
Fair maids shall sigh, and youthful heroes glow,
At songs of valor and at tales of woe ;
"While the rapt poet strikes, along his lyre,
The virgin's beauty and the warrior's fire.
Thus each successive age surpass the old,
With happier bards to hail it, than foretold ;
While poesy's star shall, like the circling sun,
Its orbit finish, where it first begun.
There is also a tribute to the Buckminsters,
then recently deceased.
Everett was tutor at Harvard till 1814. It was
Lis intention at first to have pursued the study
of the law ; but by the influence of his noble-
minded Mend Buckminster, he turned his atten-
tion to divinity while tutor, and on the death of
that fine scholar and divine in 1S13, succeeded to
his ministry in the Brattle Street Church. This
was at the early age of twenty. A memorial of
his youthful divinity studies is preserved in the
learned argument of his Defence of Christianity
against the work of George B. English* entitled
the Grounds of Christianity examined by com-
paring the New Testament with the Old, which
he published in Boston in 1814.
The same year having been invited to the new
professorship of Greek literature in Harvard, with
the privilege of further qualifying himself for its du-
ties by a visit to Europe, he accepted the appoint-
* The career of English deserves a note of admiration and
warning. He was a native of Boston, a graduate of Harvard
of 18U7, where lie was distinguished for his quickness and love
of learning. He then studied law, became a theoretical re-
former and disputant, and -neglected its practice. From law lie
turned to theology, and while exhausting the Hebrew learning
of Cambridge, contracted doubts of the Chris ian dispensation,
and published his work attacking the New Testament while
he supported the Old. This was the book answered by Eve-
rett. Before the reply reached him he was in Egypt, having
in the meantime edited a country Western newspaper, then
sought employment in the United States Marine Corps, and
reaching Egypt in that capacity attached himself to the govern-
ment of Ibrahim Pacha. He replied to Everett's book. He
had an old taste for nii!ita-yarF;uis,aiid his new sovereign being
then at war with the Abyssinians lie projected a system of
artillery service. He revived, in an experiment, the ancient
scythe war chariot; but it was destroyed in an encounter with
a stone wall in Cairo. His employment of camels in drag-
ging cannon succeeded better, and lie appears to have acquitted
himself with success as General of Artillery in the War. He
was cheated, however, out of his promised reward, and next
became a kind of attache of the American Government in the
Levant. In 1S27 lie returned home and sought favor at Wash-
ington, which he did not live long to prosecute, dying the fol-
lowing year in that city. Samuel L. Knapp, who" was his I
friend, has written of him with kindness, and composed an |
ingenious epitaph recounting the incidents of his life. His i
skill in languages was remarkable. An anecdote is told
of his deceiving a Turkish ambassador at Marseilles, who
doubled whether any foreigner could acquire his language,
into the belief that he was a Turk. At Washington he once
surprised a Cherokee delegation by remonstrating with them
in their language against some harshness they had expressed in
their own tongue. He had one of those minds which is
wounded by its own sharpness. Knapp has a long article on
him in his American Biography.
ment and embarked for England — proceeding, on
his arrival, to the University of Gottingen, where
he passed more than two years chiefly engaged in
study of the modern German and ancient classi-
cal literature. In the winter of 1817—18 he was
in Paris, where he acquired a knowledge of the
modern Greek language. In the spring he visited
London, Cambridge, and Oxford, and became ac-
quainted with many of the leading men of the
country, enjoying the friendship of Scott, Byron,
Jeffrey, Campbell, Mackintosh, Eomilly, and Davy.
Returning to the continent he divided the winter
between Florence, Rome, and Naples, and made
an extended journey to the East, in company
with his friend Gen. Lyman,* the following
season, visiting Athens and Constantinople ; cross-
ing the Balkan, he travelled through Wallachia
and Hungary to Vienna. Returning to America
in 1819, he at once engaged in the duties of his
Professorship, to which he added the charge of
the North American Review, which he conducted
till 1824. A distinguishing feature of his editor-
ship was his earnest defence of American man-
ners and institutions, against the attacks or anim-
adversions of British travellers. His reviews of
Miss Martineau, of Faux, of Schmidt and Gale,
at this time, and afterwards his spirited article in
the number for January, 1833, on Prince Puckler
MusTr.au and Mrs. Trollope, attracted general at-
tention. Sluggish readers who like the irritation
of abuse and the excitement of a good stirring
reply to warm their faculties, were stimulated.
The national humor was gratified, while in the
quiet walks of scholarship there was abundant
provision for learned tastes in the editor's frequent
articles on classical, scientific, and foreign conti-
nental topics. Mr. Everett, while editor, fre-
quently wrote several articles for the same num-
ber of the review. t
In August, 1824, Everett acquired great repu-
tation in a field of oratory and literature in which
he has since been a leader, by the delivery of his
* Theodore Lyman (1792— 1S49) was a native of Boston. Ho
was a man of education, and of political influence, having been
elected to the state legislature and the mayoralty of Boston.
He was active as a philanthropist. He published several
works— -Political State of Italy," 1620; "Three Weeks in
Paris," after a visit to that city ; an account of the Hartford
Convention, favorable to that body, in 1S23; the " Diplomacy
of the United States with Foreign Nations." 2 vols., 8vo.
1S26. Loring's Boston Orators, pp. 891-2.
T.The following among others were his contributions at this
time : —
VVol. 10.
Prof. Be Rossi, Jan.
Cunova and his "Works, April,
Walsh's Appeal, "
German Emigration to America, July, 182:1
Tudor's Letters on the Eastern States, " lt ^-Vol. 11.
Hope's Anastatius, Oct. " )
English Universities, Jan. 1821 ]
History of Grecian Art, " " I
Italy, " « V Vol. 12.
Hartz Mountains, " " 1
South America, 4i " J •
England and America, July, " fv . 1Q
Symmes' Voyage to the Internal "World, " " j-VOI-ld-
Percival, Jan. 1822 1
u [ Vol. 14.
Miss Martineau,
Aristophanes and Socrates,
Herculaneum MSS.
Simonds' Switzerland,
Alex. Humboldt's Works,
Lord Bacon,
Niobuhr's Rome,
Schmidt and Gale on America,
Zodiac of Dendornh,
Sav's Pol. Econ. ^ *» «. a
Life of Ali Pacha. Jan. 1824 Vol. 18.
Faax's Memorable Days in America, July, " Vol. 19.
April,
July, 1822 Vol.15.
Jan. 1823 1
April, " I Vol. 16.
July, " i
Oct. " l Vol. IT.
EDWARD EVERETT.
171
(L^7&sv-i4s-r'0£- Ce/*^e>^v-
Phi Beta Kappa address on " The Circumstances
Favorable to the Progress of Literature in Ame-
rica." These he found in the political organiza-
tion of the country ; the extent and uniformity
of one great language ; the rapid increase of popu-
lation with the correspondent development of
civilization. This combination of the philosophy
of history with social and political statistics is a
favorite method with Mr. Everett, who under
various forms and at different times has often pur-
sued the outlines of this his first mixed political
and academic discourse. The oration closed with
an eloquent address to Lafayette, who was present
on the occasion. Ten years later, in 1834, at the
request of the young men of Boston he delivered
his admirable eulogy in memory of the departed
hero, tracing his distinguished career with a pa-
triotic fondness.
The occasional orations and addresses of Eve-
rett have become the permanent memorials of
numerous important occasions of public interest
from 1824 to the present time. There are histo-
rical orations pronounced at Plymouth, Concord,
Charlestown, Lexington, and sites of colonial and
revolutionary fame ; eulogies of Washington' Ad-
ams, Jefferson, John Quincy Adams; anniver-
sary discourses on the settlements of towns; ad-
dresses at agricultural gatherings and before me-
chanics' associations, and on social and philanthro-
pic occasions, in all these the particular topic is
handled at once with ease and dignity ; there are
similar traces of the scholar and the traveller; of
tlie patriot and philosopher; with those personal
reminiscences, original anecdotes, or " points " of
observation interspersed, which relieve the atten-
tion of the audience, and coupled with the orator's
skilful and polished delivery add so greatly to the
pleasure of the hour.
In 1825 Mr. Everett took his seat in Congress
as representative from Middlesex. For ten years
he sat in the House of Representatives, bearing a
prominent part in the debates, and for four suc-
cessive years, from 1835 to 1839, was chosen
Governor of Massachusetts. In the election for
1840 he lost the office by a single vote. He visit-
ed Europe again that year, and in 1841 was ap-
pointed Minister to England. Entering upon this
new sphere of duty he was engaged in several
international negotiations of delicacy and impor-
tance, as the arrangement of the North-Eastern
Boundary, the affairs of McLeod and the Creole —
which he conducted with signal ability. During
this residence in England he delivered a number
of occasional addresses at agricultural and other
celebrations, which are preserved in the collection
of his orations. The honorary degree of Doctor
of Civil Law was conferred upon him by the Uni-
versities of Oxford and Cambridge.
In 1846, after his return to America, he was
elected President of Harvard College, a position
which he held till 1840. In November, 1852, he
again entered public life, succeeding Daniel Web-
ster as Secretary of State on the appointment of
President Fillmore. He was chosen Senator in
1853, but was compelled by ill health to resign
the following year.
Mr. Everett now passes his time in retirement,
in the enjoyment of his ample friendships among
the authors of his extensive library and the living
actors of the times. He is an efficient member
of the historical and other literary societies of the
country, and his pen is ready for the service of
every liberal interest. He is said to he employed
in the composition of a Treatise on the Law of
Nations: One of the topics which of late years
specially engaged his attention was the introduc-
tory memoir prefixed to the edition of the works
of Webster, of whom he is one of the literary exe-
cutors.
In 1822 Mr. Everett married Charlotte Gray, a
daughter of the Hon. Peter C. Brooks, an elabo-
rate memoir of whom, written by his son-in-law,
has recently appeared.*
BENEFITS TO AMERICA OF ONE NATIONAL LITEKATtlRE.t
This necessary connexion between the extent of a
country and its intellectual progress, was, it is true,
of more importance in antiquity than it is at the
present day, because, at that period of the world,
owing to political causes, on which we have not
time to dwell, there was, upon the whole, but one
civilized and cultivated people, at a time, upon the
stage ; and the mind of one nation found no sympa-
thy, and derived no aid from the mind of another.
Art and refinement followed in the train of political
ascendency, from the East to Greece, and from Greece
to Rome, declining in one region as they rose in
another. In the modern world, a combination of
political, intellectual, and even mechanical causes
(for the art of printing is among the most powerful
of them), has produced an extension of the highest
civilization over a large family of states, existing
; contemporaneously in Europe and America. This
' circumstance might seem to mould the civilized por-
tion of mankind into one republic of letters, and
make it, comparatively, a matter of indifference to
any individual mind, whether its lot was east in a
small or a large, a weak or a powerful, state. It
must be freely admitted, that tins is, to some extent,
the case; and it is one of the great advantages of
» Art. on Everett by Felton, N. A. Kcv. Isxi. Loring's
Hundred Boston Orators. Men of the Time.
t From the Phi Beta Kappa Address on American Litera-
ture.
172
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
the modern over the ancient civilization. And yet
a singular fatality immediately presents itself, to
neutralize, in a great degree, the beneficial effects of
this enlarged and diffused civilization on tlie progress
of letters in any single state. It is true, that, instead
of one sole country, as in antiquity, where the arts
and refinements find a home, there are, in modern
Europe, seven or eight, equally entitled to the gene-
ral name of cultivated nations, and in each of which
some minds of the first order have appeared. And
yet, by the multiplication of languages, the powerful
effect of international sympathy on the progress of
letters has been greatly impaired. The muses of
Shakespeare and Milton, of Camoens, of Lope de
Vega and Calderon, of Corneille and Racine, of
Dante and Tasso, of Goethe and Schiller; are com-
parative strangers to each other. Certainly it is not
intended that these illustrious minds are unknown
beyond the limits of the lands in which they were
trained, and to which they spoke. But who is igno-
rant that not one of them finds a full and hearty
response from any other people but his own, and
that their writings must be, to some extent, a scaled
book, except to those who read them in the mother
tongue? There are other languages besides those
alluded to, in which the works of a great writer
would be still more effectually locked up. How
few, even of well-educated foreigners, know an}--
thing of the literature of the Hungarian, Sclavonian,
or Scandinavian races! to say nothing of the lan-
guages of the East.
This evil is so great and obvious, that for nearly
two centuries after the revival of letters, the Latin
language was adopted, as a matter of course, hy the
scholars of Europe, in works intended for general
circulation. We see men like Luther, Calvin, Eras-
mus, Bacon, Grotius, and Leibnitz, who could scarce
have written a line without exciting the admiration
of their countrymen, driven to the use of a tongue
which none but the learned could understand. For
the sake of addressing the scholars of other coun-
tries, these great men, and others like them, in many
of their writings, were willing to cut themselves off
from all sympathy with the mass of those whom, as
patriots, they must have wished most to instruct.
In works of pure science and learned criticism, this
is of the less consequence; for, being independent
of sentiment, it matters less how remote from real
life the symbols by which their ideas are con-
veyed. But, when we see a writer, like Milton,
who, as much as any other that ever lived, was a
master of the music of his native tongue ; who, be-
sides all the beauty of conception and imagery, knew
better than most other men how to breathe forth his
thoughts and images,
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting~all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony ;
when we see a master of English eloquence, thus
gifted, choosing a dead language, — the dialect of the
closet, a tongue without an echo from the hearts of
the people, — as the vehicle of his defence of that
people's rights; asserting the cause of Englishmen
in the language, as it may be truly called, of Cicero ;
we can only measure the incongruity, by reflecting
what Cicero would himself have thought and felt,
if compelled to defend the cause of Roman freedom,
not in the language of the Roman citizen, but in that
of the Grecian rhetorician, or the Punic merchant.
And yet, Milton could not choose but employ this
language; for he felt that in this, and this" alone, lie
could speak the word " with which all Europe rang
from side to side."
There is little doubt that the prevalence of the
Latin language among modern scholars, was a great
cause, not only of the slow progress of letters among,
the people at large, but of the stiffness and constraint
of the vernacular style of most scholars themselves,
in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.. That
the reformation in religion advanced with such ra-
pidity is, in no small degree, to be attributed to the
translations of the Scriptures and the use of litur-
gies in the modern tongues. The preservation, in
legal acts, in England, of a foreign language, — I will
not offend the majesty of Rome by calling it Latin,
— down to so late a period as 1730, may be one rea-
son why reform in the law did not keep pace with
the progress of reform in some other departments.
With the establishment of popular institutions under
Cromwell, among various other legal improvements,*
many of which were speedily adopted by our plain-
dealing forefathers, the records of the law were or-
1 dered to be kept in English ; " a novelty," says the
learned commentator on the English laws, " which,
at the restoration, was no longer continued, practi-
sers having found it very difficult to express them-
selves so concisety or significantly in any other lan-
guage but Latin. "f
Nor are the other remedies for the evil of a mul-
tiplicity of tongues more efficacious. Something, of
course, is done by translations, and something by
the study of foreign languages. But that no effec-
tual transfusion of the higher literature of a country
can take place in the way of translation, need not
be urged ; and it is a remark of one of the few who
could have courage to make such a remark, Madame
de Stael, that it is impossible fully to comprehend
the literature of a foreign tongue. The general pre-
ference, given till lately, to Young's Night Thoughts
and Ossian, over all the other English poets, in many
parts of the continent of Europe, confirms the justice
of this observation. It is unnecessary, however, to
repeat, that it is not intended to apply to works of
exact science, or merely popular information.
There is, indeed, an influence of exalted genius,
coextensive witli the earth. Something of its power
will be felt, in spite of the obstacles of different lan-
1 guages, remote regions, and other times. The minds
of Dante and of Shakespeare have, no doubt, by in-
l direct influence, affected thousands who never read
a line of either. But the true empire of genius, its
sovereign sway, must be at home, and over the
hearts of kindred men. A charm, which nothing
can borrow, and for which there is no substitute,
dwells in the simple sound of our mother tongue.
Not analysed, nor reasoned upon, it unites the sim-
plest recollections of early life with the maturest
conceptions of the understanding. The heart is
willing to open all its avenues to the language in
which its infantile caprices were soothed ; and, by
the curious efficacy of the principle of association,
it is this echo from the faint dawn of intelligence,
which gives to eloquence much of its manly power,
and to poetry much of its divine charm;
What a noble prospect presents itself, in this way,
for the circulation of thought and sentiment in our
country ! Instead of that multiplicity of dialect,
by which mental communication and sympathy be-
tween different nations are restrained in the Old
World, a continually7 expanding realm is opened to
American intellect by the extension of one language
over so large a portion of the Continent. The en-
ginery of the press is here, for the first time, brought
to bear with all its mighty power on the minds and
hearts of men, in exchanging intelligence, and circu-
* See a number of th'em in Lord SomerS's Tracts, vol. i.
t Blackstones Commentaries, iii. 422.
THE WARES.
173
lating opinions, unchecked by diversity of language,
over an empire more extensive than the whole of
Europe.
And this community of language, all important
as it is, is but a part of the manifold brotherhood,
which already unites the growing millions of Ame-
rica, with a most powerful influence on literary cul-
ture. In Europe, the work of international aliena-
tion, which begins in diversity of language, is con-
summated bv diversity of race, institutions, and na-
tional prejudices. In crossing the principal rivers,
channels, and mountains, in that quarter of the
world, you are met., not only by new tongues, but
by new forms of government, new associations of
ancestry, new, and often hostile objects of national
pride and attachment. While, on the other hand,
throughout the vast regions included within the
li nits of our republic, not only the same language
but the same national government, the same laws
and manners, and common ancestral associations pre-
vail. Mankind will here exist and net in a kindred
mass, such as was scarcely ever before congregated
on the earth's surface. What would be the effect on
the intellectual state of Europe, at the present day,
were all her' nations and tribes amalgamated into
one vast empire, speaking the same tongue, united
into one political system, and that a free one, and
opening one broad, unobstructed pathway, for the
interchange of thought and feeling, from Lisbon to
Archangel? If effe.-ts must bear a constant propor-
tion to their causes; if the energy of thouglit is to
be commensurate with the masses which prompt it,
and the masses it must penetrate ; if eloquence is to '
grow in fervor with the weight of the interests it is
to plead, and the grandeur of the assemblies it ad-
dr jsses ; in a word, if the faculties of the human
mind a. e capable of tension and achievement alto-
gether indefinite ;
Nit actum reputans, dum quid superesset agendum ;
then it is not too much to say, that a new era will
open on the intellectual world, in the fulfilment of
our country's prospects.
TIIE MEN" AND DEEDS OF THE REVOLUTION.*
Often as it has been repeated, it will bear another
repetition ; it never ought to be omitted in the his-
torj' of constitutional liberty ; it ought especially to
be repeated this day ; — the various addresses, peti-
tions, and appeals, the correspondence, the resolu-
tions, the legislative and popular debates, from 17(14
to the declaration of independence, present a matu-
rity of political wisdom, a strength of argument, a
gravity of style, a manly eloquence, and a moral
courage, of which unquestionably the modern world
affords no other example. This meed of praise, sub-
stantially accorded at the time by Lord Chatham
in the British Parliament, may well be repeated by
us. For most of the venerated men to whom it is '
paid, it is but a pious tribute to departed worth.
The Lees and the Henrys, Otis, Quincy, Warren, and
Samuel Adams, the men who spoke those words of
thrilling power, which raised and directed the storm
of resistance, and rang like the voice of fate across
the Atlantic, are beyond the reach of our praise.
To most of them it was granted to witness some of
the fruits of their labors — such fruits as revolu-
tions do not often bear. Others departed at an un-
timely hour, or nobly fell in the onset ; too soon
for this country, too "soon for every thing but
their own undying fame. But all are not gone ;
some still survive among us, to hail the jubi-
*From the Principles of the American Constitution, deli-
rered at Cambridge, July 4, 1S26.
lee of the independence they declared. Go back,
fellow-citizens, to that day, when Jefferson ami Ad-
ams composed the sub-committee who reported the
Declaration of Independence. Think of the min-
gled sensations of that proud but anxious day, com-
pared to the joy of this. What reward, what crown,
what treasure, could the world and all its kingdoms
afford, compared with the honor and happiness of
having been united in that commission, and living to
see its most wavering hopes turned into glorious
reality ! Venerable men, you have outlived the
dark days which followed your more than heroic
deed ; you have outlived your own strenuous con-
tention, who should stand first among the people
whose liberty you had vindicated! You have lived
to bear to each other the respect which the nation
bears to you both ; and each has been so happy as
to exchange the honorable name of the leader of a
party, for. that more honorable one, the Father of
his Country. While this our tribute of respect, on
the jubilee of our independence, is paid to the grey
hairs of the venerable survivor in our neighborhood
(Adams), let it not less heartily be sped to him (Jef-
ferson), whose hand traced the lines of that sacred
charter, which, to the end of time, has made this
day illustrious. Ami is an empty profession of re-
spect all that we owe to the man who can show the
original draught of the Declaration of the Indepen-
dence of the United States of America, in his own
handwriting? Ought not a title-deed like this to
become the acquisition of the nation? Ought it not
to be laid up in the public archives ? Ought not the
price at which it is bought to be a provision for the
ease and comfort of the old age of him who drew it ?
Ought not he who, at the age of thirty, declared the
independence of his country, at the age of eighty,
to be secured by his country in the enjoyment of his
own ?
Nor would we, on the return of this eventful day,
forget the men who, when the conflict of council was
over, stood forward in that of arms. Yet let me
not, by faintly endeavoring to sketch, do deep injus-
tice to the story of their exploits. The efforts of a
life would scarce suffice to draw this picture, in all
its astonishing incidents, in all its mingled colors of
sublimity and woe, of agony and triumph. But the
age of commemoration is at hand. The voice of our
fathers' blood begins to cry to us from beneath the
6oil which it moistened. Time is bringing forward,
in their proper relief, the men and the deeds of that
high-souled day. The generation of contemporary
worthies is gone ; the crowd of the unsignalized
great and good disappears ; and the leaders in war,
as well as the cabinet, are seen, in fancy's eye, to
take their stations on the mount of remembrance.
They come from the embattled cliffs of Abraham ;
they start from the heaving sods of Bunker's Hill :
they gather from the blazing lines of Saratoga and
Yorktown, from the blood-dyed waters of the Bran-
dywine, from the dreary snows of Valley Forge, and
all the hard-fought fields of the war! With all
their wounds and all their honors, they rise and
plead with us for their brethren who survive; and
command us, if indeed we cherish the memory of
those who bled in our cause, to show our gratitude,
not by sounding words, but by stretching out the
strong arm of the country's prosperity, to help the
veteran survivors gently down to their graves !
IIENEY WARE— HENRY WAKE Jr.— JOHN WARE
—WILLIAM WAEE.
Henry Ware, the descendant in the fourth genera-
tion from Robert Ware, one of the early settlers of
the town of Dedhara in 1644, and the son of John
Ware, a farmer, was born at Sherburne, Massa-
m
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERK&HST LITERATURE
chusetts, April 1, 1764. lie was the youngest
but one of a family of ten children, three of whom
served in the Revolutionary war. He received a
few weeks' schooling in the winter months, and
was afterwards prepared for Harvard College by
the village clergyman, the Rev. Elijah Brown,
his elder brothers combining their means for his
support during his studies. After completing his
course in 1785, he took charge of the town school
of Cambridge, in 1787 was ordained a clergyman,
and in the same year received and accepted a call
to the charge of the Congregational church of
Hingham. He remained in this place, attaining
high eminence as a preacher, for eighteen years,
when he received the appointment of Hollis Pro-
fessor of Divinity at Harvard. His election was
a triumph of the Unitarian over the orthodox
portion of the Congregationalists, and conse-
quently excited much opposition from the latter.
Dr. Ware took no part in the controversy which
arose in this matter until the year 1820, when he
published Letters to Trinitarians and Cahinists,
occasioned by Dr. Woods' Letters to Unitarians.
This was replied to by Dr. Woods in '1821. Dr.
"Ware put forth a second publication on the subject
in 1822, and a Postscript in the year following.
He continued in the discharge of his pro-
fessorship, largely extending its scope and effi-
ciency, until 1840, when, in consequence of im-
paired sight, he resigned, and devoted himself
entirely to the Divinity School founded in con-
nexion with his professorship in 1826. An un-
suc c ?s<ful operation on his eyes soon after deprived
him almost entirely of sight. He employed two
years in carrying through the press a selection
from one of his courses of lectures published in
1842 with the title of An Inquiry into the Foun-
dation, Evidences, and Truths of Religion. The
labor connected with this work impaired his pre-
viously enfeebled health, and the remaining years
of bis life were passed in retirement, fie died
July 12, 1845.
Dr. Ware married in 1780, and had a numerous
family, his descendants (including the husbands
and wives of his children) assembling on the
twentieth of August, 1835, at his residence to
the number of fifty.
Henry Wake, Jr., the fifth child and eldest son of
the Rev. Henry Ware, was born at Hinghai n, April
21, 1794. He was educated under the charge of
his cousin Ashur Ware, and passed the year pre-
vious to his admission to Harvard at the Phillips
Academy, Andover. He employed a portion of
one of the winters of his four years of college life
in teaching school, as a discipline in his own edu-
cation. At the close of his course in 1812 he be-
came an assistant in the Academy at Exeter,
where he passed two years. He entered the pro-
fession of divinity, and became pastor of the Se-
cond Church in Boston in 1816. He remained in
this place for thirteen years with well deserved
success as a preacher, when he was compelled to
offer his resignation in consequence of ill health.
In place of its acceptance a colleague was chosen
to assist in the discharge of his duties, ne about
the same time accepted the Parkman Professor-
ship of Pulpit Eloquence in the Divinity School
of Harvard University. Before entering upon
the duties of his office he passed seventeen months
in Europe. On his return he resigned his pas-
toral charge and devoted himself entirely to his
professorship, until forced, in 1842, by ill health
to resign its duties. During this period he pub-
lished in 1832 The Life of the Saviour, as the first
volume of the Sunday Library, a series projected
by him with the design of affording attractive and
appropriate reading for young persons on that
day. Three other volumes by different writers
subsequently appeared, when the series was dis-
continued. In 1834 he prepared a Memoir of the
Rev. Dr. Parker, of Portsmouth, to accompany a
volume of sermons from the pen of that divine,
who had recently died ; and in 1835 a selection
from the writings of Dr. Priestley, with a notice
of his iife ^nd character. He also prepared a
number of lectures and addresses delivered on va-
rious occasions, and numerous poems and essays
for periodicals connected with his denomination.
He died September 22, 1843. A selection from
his writings by his friend and successor in his pas-
toral charge, the Rev. Chandler Bobbins, was pub-
lished in four volumes 12mo. in 1846. The first
of these contains The Recollections of Jotham
Anderson, Minister of the Gospel, a tale drawn in
part from his personal experiences, with a few
descriptive sketches, a number of poems prepared
for recitation before the Phi Beta Kappa and other
societies; The Feast of Tabernacles, a poem for
music, prepared for an Oratorio; with several
hymns and occasional verses suggested by the
associations of travel or the incidents of life.
The second volume contains -his Biographical
Essays, a few addresses and controversial publica-
tions. The two remaining volumes are occupied
by sermons.
These varied compositions are all well sus-
tained in their appropriate spheres. Dr. Ware
thought and wrote with energy, tempered by the
care and reserve of the scholar. We select from
the poetical portion of these volumes a sonnet.
60NNT.T ON TIIE COSTPLETTON OF NOTES'S TRANSLATION OF
the PEOPnErs. November, 1S37.
In rural life, by Jordan's fertile bed,
The holy prophets learned of yore to sing ;
The sacred ointment bathed a ploughman's head,
The shepherd boy became the minstrel king.
And he who to uur later ears would bring
The deep, rich fervors of their ancient lays,
Should dwell apart from man's too public ways,
And quaff pure thoughts from Nature's quiet
spring.
Thus hath he chose his lot, whom city pride
And college hall might well desire to claim ;
With sainted seers communing side by side,
And freshly honoring their illustrious name.
He hears them in the field at eventide.
And what their spirit speaks his lucid words pro-
claim.
A Memoir of the Life of Henry Ware. Jr., by
his brother, John Wap.e. M.D., appeared in 1846
in two duodecimo volumes. It contains a selec-
tion from his letters, and presents a pleasant and
satisfactory view of his life. Dr. Ware, the author
of this work, has published a valuable series of
medical lectures, and is also the author of a poem
delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of
Harvard University, August 28, 1817. The topic
was Novel-writing. lie comments first on the
Lydia Languish passion of young ladies for the
THE WARES.
175
perusal of romance, and on the absurdities of the
fashionable life and Radcliffian schools of fiction
then in vogue, and from thence passes to the
proper scope and importance of fiction, maintain-
ing throughout a lively and animated strain. The
poem was printed in the North American Review
for November, 1817.
Mary L. Ware, the wife of Henry Ware, Jr.,
survived her husband a few years, dying in April,
1849. She was a woman of great elevation of
mind and active benevolence, qualities which
have been commemorated in an admirable Bio-
graphy by Edward B. Hall. This gentleman
married a sister of Henry Ware, Jr., and holds a
leading position among the Unitarian clergy.
William, the brother of Henry Ware, Jr., was
born at Hingham, August 3, 1797. He was fitted
for college by Ashur AVare, the Rev. Dr. Allyne
of Duxbury, and his father, and was graduated
rK fytyu_
from Harvard in 1816. The following year was
passed as an assistant teacher in the school of his
native town. He next devoted three years to the
study of theology at Cambridge. He commenced
preaching at Northborough, Massachusetts, and
was afterwards settled in Brooklyn, Connecticut;
Burlington, Vermont; and in the city of New
York, where he commenced his labors December
18, 1821. In 1823 he married Mary, daughter of
Dr. Benjamin Waterhouse of Cambridge.
In March, 1836, he published in the Knicker-
bocker Magazine the first of the Letters f rum Pal-
myra. These letters, the style of which has the J
air of a literal rendering, purport to be written by
a young nobleman of Rome, who visits Palmyra
during the latter portion of the reign of Zenobia. j
They are among the most successful efforts to re- I
store to the modern reader the every-day life of
the Roman Empire, and place the author in the
foremost rank as a classical scholar and .classic
author.
In the October following, ho removed to
Brookline, Massachusetts, where he took charge
of a congregation during the winter, and prepared
the letters which had appeared in the Magazine,
with others, for publication. The work appeared
in July, 1837. In June of the same year he re-
moved to Waltham, and again removed in the
following April to Jamaica Plain, where, although
holding no parochial charge, he occasionally
preached. In June, 1838, he published a sequel
to his former work entitled Probus, in which we
are introduced into the Imperial city during the
last persecution of the Christians which preceded
the accession of Constantine. The scenes of trial
and martyrdom are depicted with energy and
feeling, while the work shares in its classical keep-
ing and vein of reflection, combined with vivid
description, the merits of its predecessor. The
Letters from Palmyra is now known as Zenobia,
and Prolms as Aurelian, changes of titles which
the author adopted from the English reprints.
He became about the same time the editor and
proprietor of the Christian Examiner, a position
he retained until 184+. In July, 1839, he removed
to Cambridge, and in 1841 published Julian, or
Scenes in Jiulea. In this he has depicted many
of the scenes of our Saviour's life, the work
closing with the Crucifixion.
In 1844 lie accepted a call to a church in
West Cambridge, where he remained until com-
pelled, in July, 1845, to resign bis charge in con-
sequence of ill health. He then returned to Cam-
bridge, where he occasionally preached, and re-
sided until April, 1848, when he sailed for Eu-
rope. He remained a little over a year abroad,
passing most of the time in Italy, and on his re-
turn prepared, from letters written during bis tour,
a course of lectures on the cities he had visited,
which were delivered in Boston, New York, and
other places, and in 1851 published in a volume
with the title, Sketches of European Capitals.
They abound in choice reflection, criticism, and
description. He next commenced the preparation
of a course of lectures on the Works and Genius
of Washington Allston, and after their completion
was about making arrangements for their de-
livery, when he was seized by a third attack of
epilepsy, a disease to which he had long been
subject. He died, after lying a few days in an
unconscious state, on the nineteenth of February,
1852.
The Lectures on Allston were soon after pub-
lished. Mr. AVare claims in these the highest
rank for Allston. He compares his landscapes
with Salvator's, his female heads with Titian's, his
Jeremiah with Michael Angelo's Prophets. It is,
however, as the portrayer of ideal female beauty
that he considers him to have worked most in
harmony with his tastes, and to have achieved
his most successful works. Among these he gives
the preference to The Valentine (in the possession
of Mr. George Ticknor of Boston). All of Mr.
AUston's works are, however, passed in review,
and full, yet discriminating, meed of praise dealt
to each. One of the five lectures is principally
devoted to the Bclshazzar.
T DEATH OF PEOBUS — FROM AUSELIAK.
The long peal of trumpets, and the shouts of the
people without, gave note of the approach and en-
trance of the Emperor. In a moment more, with Ins
swift step, he entered the amphitheatre, and strode
to the place set apart for him, the whole multitude
176
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
rising and saluting him with a burst of welcome that
might have been heard beyond the walls of Rome.
The Emperor acknowledged the salutation by rising
from his seat and lifting the crown from his head.
He was instantly seated again, and at a sign from
him the herald made proclamation of the entertain-
ments which were to follow. He who was named as
the first to suffer was Probus.
When I heard his name pronounced, with the
punishment which awaited him, my resolution to
remain forsook me, and I turned to rush from the
theatre. But my recollection of Probus's earnest
entreaties that I would be there, restrained me, and
I returned to my seat I considered, that as I would
attend the dying bed of a friend, so I was clearly
bound to remain where I was, and wait for the last
moments of this my more than Christian friend ; and
the circumstance that his death was to be shocking
and harrowing to the friendly heart, was not enough
to absolve me from the heavy obligation. I there-
fore kept my place, and awaited with patience the
event.
I had waited not long when, from beneath that
extremity of the theatre where I was sitting, Probus
was led forth and conducted to the centre of the arena,
where was a short pillar to which it was customary
to bind the sufferers. Probus, as he entered, seemed
rather like one who came to witness what was there,
than to be himself the victim, so free was his step, so
erect his form. In his face there might indeed be
seen an expression, that could only dwell on the
countenance of one whose spirit was already gone
beyond the earth, and holding converse with things
unseen. There is always much of this in the serene,
uplifted face of this remarkable man ; but it was
now there written in lines so bold and deep, that
there could have been few in that vast assembly but
must have been impressed by it as never before by
aught human. It must have been this which brought
so deep a silence upon that great multitude — not the
mere fact that an individual was about to be torn by
lions — that is an almost daily pastime. For it was
so, that when he first made his appearance, and, as
he moved towards the centre, turned and looked
round upon the crowded seats rising to the heavens,
the people neither moved nor spoke, but kept their
eyes fastened upon him as by some spell which they
could not break.
When he had reached the pillar, and he who had
conducted him was about to bind him to it, it was
plain, by what at that distance we could observe,
that Probus was entreating him to desist and leave
him at liberty ; in which he at length succeeded, for
that person returned, leaving him alone and unbound.
O sight of misery I he who for the humblest there
present would have performed any office of love, by
which the least good should redound to them, left
alone and defenceless, they looking on and scarcely
pitying his cruel fate!
"When now lie had stood there not many minutes,
one of the doors of the vivaria was suddenly thrown
back, and bounding forth with a roar that seemed to
shake the walls of the theatre, a lion of huge dimen-
sions leaped upon the arena. Majesty and power
were inscribed upon his lordly limbs; and as he
Etood there where he had first sprung, and looked
round upon the multitude, how did his gentle eye
and noble carriage, with which no one for a moment
could associate meanness, or cruelty, or revenge,
cast shame upon the human monsters assembled to
behold a solitary, unarmed man torn limb from
limb! When he had in this way looked upon that
cloud of faces, he then turned and moved round the
arena through its whole circumference, still looking
upwards upon those who filled the seats — not till he
had come again to the point from which he started,
so much as noticing him who stood, his victim, in
the midst. Then, as if apparently for the first time
becoming conscious of his presence, he caught the
form of Probus ; and moving slowly towards him,
looked steadfast^ upon him, receiving in return the
settled gaze of the Christian. Standing there, still,
awhile — each looking upon the other — he then
walked round him, then approached nearer, making
suddenly and for a moment those motions which
indicate the roused appetite ; but as it were in the
spirit of self-rebuke, he immediately retreated a few
paces and lay down in the sand, stretching out his
head towards Probus, and closing his eyes as if for
sleep.
The people, who had watched in silence, and with
the interest of those who wait for their entertain-
ment, were both amazed and vexed at what now
appeared to be the dulness and stupidity of the
beast. When, however, he moved not from his
pl*ace, but seemed as if he were indeed about to fall
into a quiet sleep, those who occupied the lower
seats began both to cry out to him and shake at him
their caps, and toss about their arms in the hope to
rouse him. But it was all in vain ; and at the com-
mand of the Emperor he was driven back to his
den.
Again a door of the vivaria was thrown open, and
another of equal size, but of a more alert and rapid
step, broke forth, and, as if delighted with his sudden
liberty and the ample range, coursed round and
round the arena, wholly regardless both of the peo-
ple and of Probus, intent only as it seemed upon his
own amusement. And when at length he discovered
Probus standing in his place, it was but to bound
towards him as in frolic, and then wheel away in
pursuit of a pleasure he esteemed more highly than
the satisf3'ing of his hunger.
At this, the people were not a little astonished,
and many who were near me hesitated not to say,
"that there might be some design of the gods in
this." Others said plainly, but not with raised
voices, "An omen! an omen ! " At the same time
Isaac turned and looked at me with an expression
of countenance which I could not interpret. Aurelian
meanwhile exhibited many signs of impatience ; and
when it was evident the animal could not be wrought
up, either by the cries of the people, or of the keep-
ers, to any act of violence, he too was taken away.
But when a third had been let loose, and with no
better effect, nay, with less— for he, when he had at
length approached Probus, fawned upon him, and
laid himself at his feet — the people, superstitious as
you know beyond any others, now cried out aloud,
"An omen! an omen! " and made the sign that Pro-
bus should be spared and removed.
Aurelian himself seemed almost of the same mind,
and I can hardly doubt would have ordered him to
be released, but that Fronto at that moment ap-
proached him, and by a few of those words, which,
coming from him, are received by Aurelian as mes-
sages from Heaven, put within him a new and dif-.
ferent mind ; for rising quickly from his seat he
ordered the keeper of the vivaria to be brought be-
fore him. When he appeared below upon the sands,
Aurelian cried out to him,
" Why, knave, dost thou weary out our patience
thus — letting forth beasts already over-fed? Do
thus again, and thou thyself shalt be thrown to
them. Art thou too a Christian? "
. " Great Emperor," replied the keeper, " than those
I have now let loose, there are not larger nor fiercer
in the imperial dens, and since the sixth hour of yes-
terday they have tasted nor food nor drink. Why
they have thus put off their nature 'tis hard to guess,
THE "WARES.
177
unless the general cry be taken for the truth, ' that
the gods have touched them.' "
Aureliau was again seen to waver, when a voice
from the benches cried out,
" It is, O Emperor, but another Christian device!
Forget not the voice from the temple ! The Chris-
tians, who claim powers over demons, bidding them
go and come at pleasure, may well be thought capa-
ble to change, by the magic imputed to them, the
nature of a beast."
" I doubt not," said the Emperor, " but it is so.
Slave ! throw open now the doors of all thy vaults,
and let us see whether both lions and tigers be not
too much for this new necromancy. If it be the
gods who interpose, they can shut the mouths of
thousands as of one."
At those cruel words, the doors of the vivaria
were at once flung open, and an hundred of their
fierce tenants, maddened both by hunger and the
goads that had been applied, rushed forth, and in the
fury witli which in a single mass they fell upon Pro-
bus — then kneeling upon the sands — and burying
him beneath them, no one could behold his fate, nor,
when that dark troop separated and ran howling
about the arena in search of other victims, could the
eye discover the least vestige of that holy man. I
then fled from the theatre as one who flies from
that which is worse than death.
Felix was next offered up, as I have learned, and
after him more than fourscore of the Christians of
Rome.
ZENODIA, FAU8TA, AND PISO — FROM ZENOBIA.
A night scene on Hid Walls of Palmyra. Piso the narrator.
As Fausta said these words, we became conscious
of the presence of a person at no great distance from
us, leaning against the parapet of the wall, the
upper part of the form just discernible.
" Who stands yonder?" said Fausta. "It has not
the form of a sentinel — besides, the sentinel paces
by us to and fro without pausing. It may be Cal-
purnius. His legion is in this quarter. Let us
move towards him."
" No. He moves himself and comes towards us.
How dark the night. I can make nothing of the
form."
The figure passed us, and unchallenged by the
sentinel whom it met. After a brief absence it
returned, and stopping as it came before us —
" Fausta ?" said a voice — once heard, not to be
mistaken.
"Zenobia!" said Fausta, and forgetting dignity,
embraced her as a friend.
" What makes you here ?" inquired Fausta — " are
there none in Palmyra to do your bidding, but you
must be abroad at such an hour and such a place?"
"'Tis not so fearful quite," replied theQueen, " as
a battle field, and there you trust me."
" Never, willingly."
"Then }'ou do not love my honor?" said the
Queen, taking Fausta's hand as she spoke.
" I love your safety better — no — no — what have I
said — not better than your honor — and yet to what
end is honor, if we lose the life in which it resides.
I sometimes think we purchase human glory too
dearly, at the sacrifice of quiet, peace, and security."
" But you do not think so long. What is a life
of indulgence and sloth. Life is worthy only in
what it achieves. Should I have done better to
have sat over my embroidery, in the midst of my
slaves, all my days, than to have spent them in
building up a kingdom ?"
" Oh, no — no — you have done right. Slaves can
embroider. Zenobia cannot. This hand was made
for other weapon than the needle."
vol. n. — 13
" I am weary," said the Queen, " let us sit," and
saying so, she placed herself upon the low stone
block, upon which we had been sitting, and drawing
Fausta near her, she threw her left arm round her,
retaining the hand she held clasped in her own.
" I am weary," Bhe continued, " for I have walked
nearly the circuit of the walls. You ask what
makes me here ? No night passes but I visit these
towers and battlements. If the governor of the ship
sleeps, the men at the watch sleep. Besides, I love
Palmyra too well to sleep while others wait and
watch. I would do my share. How beautiful is
this! The city girded by these strange fires! its
ears filled with this busy music. Tiso, it seems
hard to believe an enemy, and such an enemy, is
there, and that these sights and sounds are all of
death."
" Would it were not so, noble Queen. "Would it
were not yet too late to move in the cause of peace.
If even at the.risk of life I" —
" Forbear, Piso," quickly rejoined the Queen, " it
is to no purpose. You have my thanks, but your
Emperor has closed the door of peace for ever. It
is now war unto death. He may prove victor. It
is quite possible. But I draw not back — no word
of supplication goes from me. And every citizen of
Palmyra — save a few sottish souls — is witli me. It
were worth my throne and my life, the bare sug-
gestion of an embassy now to Aurelian. But let us
not speak of this, but of things more agreeable.
The day for trouble, the night for rest. Fausta,
where is the quarter of Calpurnius? Methinks it is
hereabouts."
"It is," replied Fausta, "just beyond the towers
of the gate next to us; were it not for tins thick
night, we could see where at this time he is usually
to be found doing, like yourself, an unnecessary
task."
" He is a good soldier and a faithful — may he
prove as true to you, my noble girl, as he has to me.
Albeit I am myself a sceptic in love, I cannot but be
made happier when I see hearts worthy of each
other united by that bond. I trust that bright days
are coming, when I may do you the honor I would.
Piso, I am largely a debtor to your brother — and
Palmyra as much. Singular fortune! — that wdiile
Rome thus oppresses me, to Romans I should owe so
much — to one, twice my life, to another, my army.
But where, Lucius Piso, was your heart, that it fell
not into the snare that caught Calpurnius?"
" My heart," I replied, " has always been Fausta's
— from childhood" —
" Our attachment," said Fausta, interrupting me,
" is not less than love, but greater. It is the sacred
tie of nature — if I may say so — of brother to sister —
it is friendship."
" You say well," replied the Queen. " I like the
sentiment. It is not less than love, but greater.
Love is a delirium, a dream, a disease. It is full of
disturbance. It is unequal — capricious — unjust ; its
felicity, when at the highest, is then nearest to
deepest misery — a step — and it is into unfathomable
gulfs of woe. "While the object loved is as yet
unattained — life is darker than darkest night.
When it is attained, it is then oftener like the ocean
heaving and tossing from its foundations, than the
calm, peaceful lake, which mirrors friendship. And
when lost — all is lost — the universe is nothing.
I Who will deny it the name of madness? Will
love find entrance into Elysium ? Will heaven
know more than friendship? I trust not. It were
an element of discord there where harmony should
reign perpetual." After a pause in which she seem-
ed buried in thought, she added inu-ingly, — "What
darkness rests upon the future. Life, like love, is
■
178
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
I
itself but a dream — often a brief or a prolonged
madness. Its light burns sometimes brightly, oftener
obscurely, and with a flickering ray, and then goes
out in smoke and darkness. How strange that
creatures so exquisitely wrought as we are, capable
of such thoughts and acts, rising by science, and art,
and letters almost to the level of Gods, should be
fixed here for so short a time, running our race with
the unintelligent brute — living not so long as some,
dying like aiL Could I have ever looked out of
this life into the possession of any other beyond it, I
believe my aims would have been different. I
should not so easily have been satisfied with glory
and power. At least I think so — for who knows
himself. I should then, I think, have reached after
higher kinds of excellence, such, for example, as
existing more in the mind itself could be of avail
after death — could be carried out of the world —
which power — riches — glory — cannot. The greatest
service which any philosopher could perform for
the human race, would be to demonstrate the cer-
tainty of a future existence, in the same satisfactory
manner that Euclid demonstrates the truths of
geometry. We cannot help believing Euclid if we
would, and the truths he has established concerning
lines and angles, influence us whether we will or
not. "Whenever the immortality of the soul shall be
proved in like manner, so that men cannot help
believing it, so that they shall draw it in with the
first elements of all knowledge, then will mankind
become a quite different race of beings. Men will
be more virtuous and more happy. How is it pos-
sible to be either in a very exalted degree, dwelling
as we do in the deep obscure — uncertain whether
we are mere earth and water, or parts of the divinity
— whether we are worms or immortals— men or
Gods — spending all our days in, at best, miserable
perplexity and doubt. Do you remember, Fausta
and Piso, the discourse of Longinus in the garden,
concerning the probability of a future life?"
" We do, very distinctly."
"■ And how did it impress you ?"
" It seemed to possess much likelihood," replied
Fausta, " but that was all."
" Yes," responded the Queen, sighing deeply,
" that was indeed all. Philosophy, in this part of it,
is a mere guess. Even Longinus can but conjecture.
And what to his great and piercing intellect stands
but in the strength of probability — to ours will, of
necessity, address itself in the very weakness of
fiction. As it is, I value life only for the brightest
and best it can give now, and these to my mind are
power and a throne. When these are lost I would
fall unregarded into darkness and death."
" But," I ventured to suggest, " 3'ou derive great
pleasure and large profit from study — from the
researches of philosophy, from the knowledge of
history, from contemplation of the beauties of art,
and the magnificence of nature. Are not these
things that give worth to life? If you reasoned
aright, and probed the soul well, would you not
find that from these, as from hidden springs, a great
deal of all the best felicity you have tasted, has
welled up? Then — still more, in acts of good and
just government — in promoting the happiness of
your subjects — from private friendship — from affec-
tions resting upon objects worthy to be loved — has
no happiness come worth living for ? And besides
all this — from an inward consciousness of rectitude !
Most of all this may still be yours, though you no
longer sat upon a throne, and men held their lives
but in your breath."
" From such sources," replied Zenobia, " some
streams have issued, it may be, that have added to
what I have enjoyed — but of themselves, they
would have been nothing. The lot of earth, being
of the low anil common herd, is a lot too low and
sordid to be taken if proffered. I thank the Gods
mine has been better. It has been a throne — glory
— renown — pomp and power — and I have been
happy. Stripped of these, and without the prospect
of immortality, and I would not live."
"With these words she rose quickly from her seat,
saying that she had a further duty to perform.
Fausta entreated to be used as an agent or messenger,
but could not prevail. Zenobia, darting from our
side, was in a moment lost in the surrounding dark-
ness. "We returned to the house of Gracchus.
EEPOSE — FROM THE LECTURES ON ALLSTON.
All the pictures to which I have just referred,
and many others, to which I shall presently turn
your attention, are examples of that peculiar charm
m art, styled by the critics repose. There is hardly
a work from the hand of Allston which is not, either
in the whole, or in some considerable part, an in-
stance in point. The word Repose alone, perhaps,
with sufficient accuracy, describes the state of mind,
and the outward aspect of nature intended by it.
It describes the breathless silence and deep rest of a
midsummer day, when not a leaf moves, and the
shadows fall dark and heavy upon the face of the
clear water, which repeats every object near it as in
a mirror ; the cow on the bank, half asleep, lazily
chewing the cud, and flapping away the flies from
her side ; and the only sound to break the silence,
the sleepy drone of the locust ; while a warm,
misty atmosphere, through which you just catch
the roofs of the neighboring village, wraps all
things in its purplish folds. Or, it describes the
weary foot-traveller sitting upon a stone by the
brook-side, as he rests, watching the sheep as they
nibble the short grass, or the falling of the autumn
leaves, as they alight upon those which had fallen
before ; these the only sounds, save the gurgling of
the water among the pebbles, and the distant Sab-
bath bell that echoes among the hills. The poets
understand this deep repose, and paint no picture
oftener.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
And drowsy tiuklings lull the distant folds:
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient, solitary reign.
And in the words of Bryant :
For me, I lie
Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf,
Yet virgin from the kisses of the sun,
Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind
That still delays its coming.
And again :
The massy rocks themselves,
And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees
That lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude,
Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots.
With all their earth upon them, twisting high,
Breathe fixed tranquillity.
There is much that is closely kindred in the genius
of Bryant and Allston. They both love, prefer, the
calm, the thoughtful, the contemplative. Their pic-
tures, in color and in verse, paint, oftener than any
other theme, this silence, rest, deep repose of nature ;
the pictures of Allston full of poetry, the poems of
Brj'ant gushing with life and truth.
As in these exquisite lines:
CAROLKTE GILMAN.
179
And now, when cornea the calm mild day, as still such days
will come,
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ;
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the
trees are still.
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance
late he bore.
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no
more.
Here are music, poetry, and painting — like Cano-
va's Three Graces, embracing each other — bound
together in indissoluble union ; beautiful apart,
beautiful always, but more beautiful when knit to-
gether by sueli a bond. I may add of this hymn of
Bryant, that, like the Elegy of Gray, the one hardly
less perfect than the other, the pathos and the
beauty are too deep for any one to trust bis voice
to read aloud.
CAROLINE GILMAN.
This lady, the wife of the Rev. Samuel Gilman,
of Charleston, is the daughter of Samuel Howard,
a shipwright of Boston, in which city she was
born October 8, 1794. Her father died in her
infancy, when Iter mother took her to reside in
various country towns of Massachusetts. The
story of her early life and of her literary develop-
ment has been told by herself in a pleasing chap-
ter of Autobiography, in Hart's "Female Prose
Writers of America." When she was ten years
of age, she followed her mother's remains to the
grave at North Andover. She has noticed the
early influences of her life at Cambridge. " Either
childhood," she writes,
is not the thoughtless period for which it is famed,
or my susceptibility to suffering was peculiar. I
remember much physical pain. I recollect, and I
think Bunyan, the author of Pilgrim's Progress, de-
scribes the same, a deep horror at darkness, a suffo-
cation, a despair, a sense of injury when left alone
at night, that has since made me tender to tins
mysterious trial of youth. I recollect also my indig-
nation after a chastisement for breaking some china,
and in consequence I have always been careful
never to express anger at children or servants for a
similar misfortune.
In contrast to this, come the memories of chas-
ing butterflies, launching chips for boats on sunny
rills, dressing dolls, embroidering the glowing
sampler, and the soft maternal mesmerism of my
mother's hand, when, with my head reclined on her
knee, she smoothed my hair, and sang the fine old
6ong
In the downhill of life.
As Wordsworth says in his almost garrulous en-
thusiasm,
Fair seed-time had my soul, and I grew up,
Fostered alike by beauty and by fear ;
Much favored in my birth-place.
I say birth-place, for true life is not stamped on
the spot where our eyes first open, but our mind-
birth comes from the varied associations of child-
hood, and therefore may I trace to the wild influences
of nature, particularly to those of sweet Auburn,
now the Cambridge Cemetery, the formation of
whatever I may possess of the poetical tempera-
ment. Residing just at its entrance, I passed long
summer mornings making thrones and couches of
moss, and listening to the robins and blackbirds.
********
Our residence was nearly opposite Governor
Gerry's, and we were frequent visiters there. One
evening I saw a small book on the recessed window-
seat of their parlor. It was Gesner's Death of
Abel ; I opened it, spelt out its contents, and soon
tears began to flow. Eager to finish it, and ashamed
of emotions so novel, I screened my little self so as
to allow the light to fall only on the book, and,
while forgotten by the group, I also forgetting
the music and mirth that surrounded me, shed, at
eight years, the first preluding tears over fictitious
sorrow.
********
I had seen scarcely any children's books except
the Primer, and at the age of ten, no poetry adapted
to my age ; therefore, without presumption, I may
claim some originality at an attempt at an acrostic
on an infant, by the name of Howard, beginning — ■
How sweet is the half opened rose !
Oh, how sweet is tile violet to view!
"Who receives more pleasure from them —
Here it seems I broke down in the acrostic de-
partment, and went on —
Than the one who thinks them like you ?
Yes, yes, you're a sweet little rose,
That will bloom like one awhile;
And then you will be like one still,
For I hope you will die without guile.
The Davidsons, at the same age, would I suppose
have smiled at this poor rhyming, but in vindication
,of my ten-year-old-ship I must remark, that they
were surrounded by the educational light of the
present era, while I was in the dark age of 1S05.
My education was exceedingly irregular, a per-
petual passing from school to school, from my
earliest memory. I drew a very little, and worked
the " Babes in the Wood" on white satin, in floss
silk ; my teacher and my grandmother being the
only persons who recognised in the remarkable indi-
viduals that issued from my hands, a likeness to
those innocent sufferers.
I taught nryself the English guitar at the age of
fifteen from hearing a schoolmate take lessons, and
ambitiously made a tune, which I doubt if posterity
will care to hear. By depriving myself of some
luxuries, I purchased an instrument, over which my
whole sold was poured in joy and sorrow for many
years. A dear friend, who shared my desk at
school, was kind enough to work out all my sums
for me (there were no black-boards then), while I
wrote a novel in a series of letters, under the eupho-
nious name of Eugenia Fitz Allen. The consequence
is that, so far as arithmetic is concerned, I have been
subject to perpetual mortification ever since, and
shudder to this day when any one asks how much
is seven times nine.
I never could remember the multiplication table,
and, to heap coals of fire on its head in revenge, set
it to rhyme. I wrote my school themes in rhyme,
and instead of following " Beauty soon decays,"
and " Cherish no ill designs," in B and C, I surprised
my teacher with Pope's couplet —
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll.
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
My teacher, who at that period was more ambi-
tious for me than I was for myself, initiated me into
Latin, a great step for that period.
********
About this period I walked four miles a week to
Boston, to join a private class in French.
The religious feeling was always powerful within
me. I remember, in girlhood, a passionate joy in
lonely prayer, and a delicious elevation, when with
upraised look, I trod my chamber floor, reciting or
singing Watts's Sacred Lyrics. At sixteen I joined
the Communion at the Episcopal Church in Cam-
bridge.
180
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
At the age of eighteen I made another sacrifice in
dress to purchase a Bible with a margin sufficiently
large to enable me to insert a commentary. To this
object I devoted several months of study, transfer-
ring to its pages my deliberate convictions.
I am glad to class myself with the few who first
established the Sabbath School and Benevolent
Society at Water-town, and to say that I have en-
deavored, under all circumstances, wherever my
lot has fallen, to carry on the work of social love.
With such tastes and incentives, and a parallel
development of the religious sentiment, Miss
Howard commenced a literary career at the age
of sixteen with a poetical composition, " Jep-
thah's Rash Vow." The North American, lie-
view, in its Miscellany, published her next verses,
"Jairus's Daughter." In 1819 she was married
to Samuel Oilman, and went to reside with him
in Charleston, where he became pastor of the
Unitarian Church. Dr. Gilman has a literary
reputation outside of his profession, as the author
of a pleasant volume of character, The Memoirs
of a New England Village Choir.
e
C^—A^C
--VW-G/CVv
In 1832, Mrs. Gilman commenced the publica-
tion of the Hose Bud, a weekly juvenile news-
paper, one of the earliest, if not the first of its
kind in the country, which developed itself in the
mature Southern Rose. From this periodical her
■writings have been collected. Her Recollec-
tions of a New England Housekeeper, and of a
Southern Matron, have been much admired for
their feminine simplicity and quiet humor; aiding
the practical lessons of life in the most amiable
spirit. The story in these is a slight vehicle for
the facts. In her Poetry of Travelling in the
United States, published in 1838, she has
sketched the incidents of both a Northern and
Southern Excursion with spirit. The volume
also contains some pleasant papers by her friends.
Mrs. Gilman's Verses of a Lifetime were pub-
lished at Boston in 1849. Tales and Ballads,
and Ruth Raymond, or Love's Progress, are
other volumes from the same source. The
Oracles from the Poets, and The Syoil, are
passages of verse from the best poets, ingeniously
arranged under appropriate classifications of fact
or sentiment, to respond to numbers which are
to be taken at random.
Mrs. Gilman has also edited the Letters of
Eliza Wilkinson during the Invasion of Charles-
ton, one of the most interesting personal memo-
rials of the Revolutionary Era.*
The prose of Mrs. Gilman's books is natural and
unaffected, with a cheerful vein of humor. Her
poems are marked by their grace of expression,
chiefly referring to nature, or the warm-hearted,
home-cherishing affections. A description of a
southern country home in the opening of a little
poem entitled " The Plantation," is in a happy
vein.
THE PLANTATION.
Farewell, awhile, the city's hum
Where busy footsteps fall,
And welcome to my weary eye
The planter's friendly halL.
Here let me rise at early dawn,
And list the mockbird's lay,
That, warbling near our lowland home,
Sits on the waving spray.
Then tread the shading avenue
Beneath the cedar's gloom,
Or gnm tree, with its flickered shade,
Or chinquapen's perfume.
The myrtle tree, the orange wild,
The cypress' flexile bough,
The holly with its polished leaves,
Are all before me now.
There towering with imperial pride,
The rich magnolia stands,
And here, in softer loveliness,
The white-bloomed bay expands.
The long gray moss hangs gracefully,
Idly I twine its wreaths,
Or stop to catch the fragrant air
The frequent blossom breathes.
Life wakes around — -the red bird darts
Like flame from tree to tree ;
Tire whip-poor-will complains alone, '
The robin whistles free.
The frightened hare scuds by my path,
And seeks the thicket nigh ;
The squirrel climbs the hickory bough.
Thence peeps with careful eye.
The humming-bird, with busy wing,
In rainbow beauty moves,
Above the trumpet-blossom floats,
And sips the tube he loves.
Triumphant to yon withered pine,
The soaring eagle flies,
There builds her eyry 'mid the clouds,
And man and heaven defies.
The hunter's bugle echoes near,
And see — his weary train,
With mingled howlings, scent the woods,
Or scour the open plain.
Yon skiff is darting from the cove,
And list the negro's song —
The theme, his owner and his boat —
While glide the crew along.
* Mrs. Ellet's Women of the American Revolution, vol. L
pp. 223-23G.
CARLOS WILCOX.
181
And when the leading voice is lost,
Receding from the shore,
His brother boatmen swell the strain,
In chorus with the oar.
The following is from the account of a visit to
Quebec, in 1836, in The Notes of a Traveller.
TO THE UESULTNES.
Oh pure and gentle ones, within your ark
Securely rest!
Blue be the sky above — your quiet bark —
By soft winds blest !
Still toil in duty and commune with heaven,
World-weaned and free ;
God to his humblest creatures room has given,
And space to be.
Space for the eagle in the vaulted sky
To plume his wing —
Space for the ring-dove by her young to lie,
And softly sing.
Space for the sun-flower, bright with yellow glow
To court the sky —
Space for the violet, where the wild woods grow,
To live and die.
Space for the ocean in its giant might,
To swell and rave —
Space for the river, tinged with rosy light,
Where green banks wave.
Space for the sun, to tread his path in might,
And golden pride —
Space for the glow-worm, calling by her light,
Love to her side.
Then pure and gentle ones, within your ark
Securely rest !
Blue be the skies above, and your still bark
By kind winds blest.
Mrs. Caroline II. Glover, the daughter of the
Rev. Dr. and Mrs. Oilman, lias also acquired
distinction in the popular literature of the Maga-
zines, by a number of productions marked by
their spirit and domestic sentiment. She was
born in 1823, in Charleston ; was married in
1840, and since the death of her husband in
1846, has resided with her parents.
Under the nom de plume of " Caroline How-
ard," her mother's maiden name, she has con-
tributed largely to literature for children, and
also written several poems and tales, which
have appeared in many of the leading maga-
zines of the day.
SPUING TIME.
God of the hours, God of these golden hours !
My heart o'erflows with love
To Thee, who giv'st witli liberal hand these flowers ;
To Thee, who sendest cool, delicious showers,
Fresh from the founts above.
God of the hours, the fleeting checkered time,
When Nature smiles and weeps,
Thou pamtest sunset clouds with hues sublime,
Thou tunest bird-notes to the joyous chime
That all creation keeps.
Pale, emerald trees, how gracefully ye twine
Around your boughs a wreath;
Or does some angel hand with touch divine,
Bring from celestial bowers your verdure fine,
To deck the bowers beneath.
How silently your leaflets old and brown
On undulating wings,
In autumn months came floating, floating down,
To form a carpet, as they formed a crown
For you, ye forest kings.
Well may you bend with proud and haughty sweep,
For sunbeams love to lie
Upon your boughs, the breeze you captive keep,
And e'en the dew-drops which the night-clouds weep
Upon your leaflets, die.
Last eve the moon on modest twilight smiled,
And told the stars 'twas Spring !
She swept the wave, deliciously it gleamed,
She touched the birds, and woke them as they
dreamed,
A few soft note3 to sing.
God of the April flowers, how large thy gift —
The rainbow of the skies
That spans the changing clouds with footstep swift —
And rainbows of the earth, that meekly lift
To thee their glorious eyes.
Oh, not content with beauty rich and fair,
Thou givest perfume too,
That loads with burden sweet the tender air,
And comes to fill the heart with rapture rare,
Each blushing morn anew.
God of the Spring-time hours ! what give we Thee,
When thus Thou bounteous art?
Thou owest us naught, we owe Thee all we see —
Enjoyment, hope, thought, health, eternity,
The life-beat of each heart.
This morn came birds on pinions bright and fleet,
A lullaby to sing
To Winter as he slept — but other voices sweet
The low dirge drowned, and warbled carol meet,
To greet the waking Spring.
Thus trees, and birds, and buds, and skies conspire
To speak unto the heart,
" Renew thy strength, be fresh, be pure, desire
To be new touched with purifying fire,
That evil's growth depart."
God of the Seasons ! from our bosoms blow
The sin-leaves, and plant flowers
Bedewed by gentlest rains, that they may show,
That tended by thy love alone they yrow,
God of these golden hours.
CARLOS WILCOX.
Carlos Wilcox was the son of a farmer of New-
port, New Hampshire, where he was born, Octo-
ber 23, 1794. In his fourth year his parents re-
moved to Orwell, Vermont. He entered Middle-
bury College soon after its organization, and on
the completion of his course delivered the vale-
dictory oration. He then went to Andover,
where his studies were frequently interrupted by
the delicate state of his health. He commenced
preaching in 1818, but was obliged after a few
£,.
Ls^ C^c£^,
<SL<I
months' trial to desist. The following two years
were spent, with intervals of travelling, with a
friend at Salisbury, Connecticut. His chief oc-
cupation was the composition of his poem, The
Age of Benevolence, the first book of which ha
published at his own expense in 1822. In 1824
he accepted a call from the North Church at
Hartford. He resigned this situation in 1826 on
182
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
account of his health. This being somewhat re-
established by travel during the summer months,
he accepted a call to Danbury at the end of the
year. Here he died on the 29th of the following
May.
His Bemains* were published in 1828. The
volume contains two poems, The Age of Benevo-
lence and The Beligion of Taste, delivered before
the Phi Beta Kappa Society, and fourteen Ser-
mons. Both of the poems are incomplete. It
was the author's design that the first should ex-
tend to five books, of which he only lived to
complete the first and portions of the three fol-
lowing. These are entitled, Benevolence, the
Glory of Heaven ; Benevolence on Earth, the re-
semblance of Heaven ; the Need of Benevolence,
and the Rewards of Benevolence. The second
poem extends to one hundred and seven Spen-
serian stanzas.
The poems of Wilcox abound in passages of
rural description of remarkable accuracy. The
greater portion is, however, occupied with reflec-
tions on the power and beneficence of the Deity
in the constitution of the material universe and
the human mind. His verse always maintains
correctness and dignity of expression, and often
rises to passages of sublimity.
SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND — FROM TITE AGE OF BENEVOLENCE.
The spring, made dreary by incessant rain,
Was well nigh gone, and not a glimpse appeared
Of vernal loveliness, but light-green turf
Round the deep bubbling fountain in the vale,
Or by the rivulet on the hill-side, near
Its cultivated base, fronting the south,
Where in the first warm rays of March it sprung
Amid dissolving snow : — save these mere specks
Of earliest verdure, with a few pale flowers,
In other years bright blowing soon as earth
Unveils her face, and a faint vermeil tinge
On ciumps of maple of the softer kind,
Was nothing visible to give to May,
Though far advanced, an aspect more like her's
Than like November's universal gloom.
All day beneath the sheltering hovel stood
The drooping herd, or lingered near to ask
The food of winter. A few lonely birds,
Of those that in this northern clime remain
Throughout the year, and in the dawn of spring,
At pleasant noon, from their unknown retreat
Come suddenly to view with lively notes,
Or those that soonest to this clime return
From warmer regions, in thick groves were seen,
But with their feathers ruffled, and despoiled
Of all their glossy lustre, sitting mute,
Or only skipping, with a single chirp,
In quest of food. Whene'er the heavy clouds,
That half way down the mountain side oft hung,
As if o'erloaded with their watery store,
Were parted, though with motion unobserved,
Through their dark opening, white with snow ap-
peared
Its lowest, e'en its cultivated, peaks.
With sinking heart the husbandman surveyed
The melancholy scene, and much his fears
On famine dwelt; when, suddenly awaked
At the first glimpse of daylight, by the sound,
Long time unheard, of cheerful martins, near
His window, round their dwelling chirping quick,
* Remains of the Rev. Carlos Wilcox, late Pastor of tho
Korth Congregational Church in Hartford, with a Memoir of
his Life. Hartford: Edward Hopkins, 1S29. Svb. pp. 430.
With spirits by hope enlivened up he sprung
To look abroad, and to his joy beheld
A sky without the remnant of a cloud.
From gloom to gayety and beauty bright
So rapid now the universal change,
The rude survey it with delight refined,
And e'en the thoughtless talk of thanks devout.
Long swoln in drenching rain, seeds, germs, and buds,
Start at the touch of vivifying beams.
Moved by their secret force, the vital lymph
Diffusive runs, and spreads o'er wood and field
j A flood of verdure. Clothed, in one short week,
Is naked nature in her full attire.
1 On the first morn, light as an open plain
Is all the woodland, filled with sunbeams, poured
Through the bare tops, on yellow leaves below,
With strong reflection : on the last, 'tis dark
With full-grown foliage, shading all within.
! In one short week the orchard buds and blooms ;
And now, when steeped in dew or gentle showers,
It yields the purest sweetness to the breeze,
Or all the tranquil atmosphere perfumes.
E'en from the juicy leaves, of sudden growth,
And the rank grass of steaming ground, the air,
Filled with a watery glimmering receives
A grateful smell, exhaled by warming rays.
Each day are heard, and almost every hour,
New notes to swell the music of the groves.
And soon the latest of the feathered train
At evening twilight come ; — the lonely snipe,
O'er marshy fields, high in the dusky air,
Invisible, but, with faint tremulous tones,
Hovering or playing o'er the listener's head ;
And, in mid-air, the sportive night-hawk, seen
Flying awhile at random, uttering oft
A cheerful cry, attended with a shake
Of level pinions, dark, but when upturned
Against the brightness of the western sky,
One white plume showing in the midst of each,
Then far down diving with loud hollow sound ; —
And, deep at first within the distant wood,
The whip-poor-will, her name her only song.
She, soon as children from the noisy sport
Of hooping, laughing, talking with all tones,
To hear the echoes of the empty barn,
Are by her voice diverted, and held mute,
Comes to the margin of the nearest grove;
And when the twilight deepened into night,
Calls them within, close to the house she comes,
And on its dark side, haply on the step
Of unfrequented door, lighting unseen,
Breaks into strains articulate and clear,
The closing sometimes quickened as in sport.
Now, animate throughout, from morn to eve
All harmony, activity, and joy,
Is lovely nature, as in her blest prime.
The robin to the garden, or green yard,
Close to the door repairs to build again
Within her wonted tree; and at her work
Seems doubly busy, for her past delay.
Along the surface of the winding stream,
Pursuing every turn, gay 6wallows skim ;
Or round the borders of the spacious lawn
Fly in repeated circles, rising o'er
Hillock and fence, with motion serpentine,
Easy and light. One snatches from the ground
A downy feather, and then upward springs,
Followed by others, but oft drops it soon,
In playful mood, or from too slight a hold,
When all at once dart at the falling prize.
The flippant blackbird with light yellow crown,
Hangs fluttering in the air, and chatters thick
Till her breath fail, when, breaking off, she drops
On the next tree, and on its highest limb,
Or some tall flag, and gently rocking, sits,
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
183
Her strain repeating. With sonorous notes
Of every tone, mixed in confusion sweet,
All chanted in the fulness of delight,
The forest rings: — where, far around enclosed
With bushy sides, and covered high above
Witli foliage thick, supported by bare trunks,
Like pillars rising to support a roof,
It seems a temple vast, the space within
Rings loud and clear with thrilling melody.
Apart, but near the choir, with voice distinct,
The merry mocking-bird together links
In one-continued song their different notes,
Adding new life and sweetness to them all.
Hid under shrubs, the squirrel that in fields
Frequents the stony wall and briery fence,
Here chirps so shrill that human feet approach
Unheard till just upon, when with cries
Sudden and sharp he darts to his retreat,
Beneath the mossy hillock or aged tree ;
But oft a moment after re-appears,
First peeping out, then starting forth at once
With a courageous air, yet in his pranks
Keeping a watchful eye, nor venturing far
Till left unheeded. In rank pastures graze,
Singly and mutely, the contented herd ;
And on the upland rough the peaceful sheep ;
Regardless of the frolic lambs, that, close
Beside them, and before their faces prone,
With many an antic leap, aud butting feint,
Try to provoke them to unite in sport,
Or grant a look, till tired of vain attempts ;
When, gathering in one company apart,
All vigor and delight, away they run,
Straight to the utmost corner of the field
The fence beside; then, wheeling, disappear
In some small sandy pit, then rise to view ;
Or crowd together up the heap of earth
Around some upturned root of fallen tree,
And on its top a trembling moment stand,
Then to the distant flock at once return.
Exhilarated by the general joy,
And the fair prospect of a fruitful year,
The peasant, with light heart, and nimble step,
His work pursues, as it were pastime sweet.
With many a cheering word, his willing team,
For labor fresh, he hastens to the field
Ere morning lose its coolness ; but at eve
When loosened from the plough and homeward
turned,
He follows slow and silent, stopping oft
To mark the daily growth of tender grain
And meadows of deep verdure, or to view
His scattered flock and herd, of their own will
Assembling for the night by various paths,
The old now freely sporting with the young,
Or laboring with uncouth attempts at sport.
"WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
Was born at Cummington, Hampshire County,
Mass., November 3, 1794. His father, a physician,
and a man of strength of character and literary
culture, took pride in his son's early ability, and
cherished the young poet with paternal affection.
We have heard the anecdote of his reciting the
poem " Thanatopsis" at the house of one of his
friends, with tears in his eyes. " The father taught
the son," we are told in a valuable notice of the
poet's life and writings,* "the value of correct-
ness and compression, and enabled him to dis-
* An article on Bryant, which appeared in the Southern
Lit. Mess, for 1843. It is from the pen of Mr. James Lawson,
«n old friend of the poet.
tinguish between true poetic enthusiasm and
fustian."
We may here quote the passage which follows
in the article just referred to, for its personal de-
tails of the poet's famil}', and the apposite citations
froi n his verse. " He who carefully reads the poems
of the man, will see how largely the boy has
profited by these early lessons — aud will appreciate
the ardent affection with which the son so beauti-
fully repays the labor of the sire. The feeling
and reverence with which Bryant cherishes the
memory of his father, whose life was
Marked with some act of goodness every day,
is touchingly alluded to in several poems, and
directly spoken of, with pathetic eloquence, in the
Hymn to Death, written in 1825.
Alas ! I little thought that the stern power
Whose fearful praise I sung, would try me thus
Before the strain was ended. It must cease —
For he is in his grave who taught my }Touth
The art of verse, and in the bud of life
Offered me to the Muses. Oh, cut off
Untimely ! when thy reason in its strength,
Ripened by years of toil and studious search
And watch of Nature's silent lessons, taught
Thy hand to practise best the lenient art
To which thou gavest thy laborious days,
And, last, thy life. And, therefore, when the earth
Received thee, tears were in unyielding eyes,
And on hard checks, and they who deemed thy skill
Delayed their death-hour, shuddered and turned pale
When thou wert gone. This faltering verse, which
thou
Shalt not, as wont, o'erlook, is all I have
To offer at thy grave — this — aud the hope
To copy thy example.
Again, in To the Past, written in 1827, from
which we quote :
Thou hast my better }Tears,
Thou hast my earlier friends — the good — the kind,
Yielded to thee with tears —
The venerable form — the exalted mind.
My spirit yearns to bring
The lost ones back — yearns with desire intense,
And struggles hard to wring
Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence.
* * # * *
And then shall I behold
Him, by whose kind paternal side I sprung,
And her, who still and cold,
Fills the next grave — the beautiful and young.
" We have seen, too, while referring to his father,
the devoted affection with which he speaks of her
' who fills the next grave.' The allusion is to his
sister who died of consumption in 182-1. In
The Death of the Flowers, written in the autumn
of 1825, we have another allusion to the memory
of that sister :
And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty
died,
The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by
my side :
* w * *
The gentle race of flowers
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and
good of ours.
" And in his volume there is a sonnet addressed
to her, while sick she waited
184
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Till the slow plague shall bring the fatal hour."
Bryant early displayed the poetical faculty, and
fastened upon the genial influences of nature
about him. He began to write verses at nine,
and at ten composed a little poem to be spoken at
a public school, which was published in a country
newspaper. At the age of fourteen he prepared
a collection of poems, which was published in
Boston in 1809.* The longest of these is en-
titled the Embargo, a reflection in good set heroic
measure of the prevalent New England anti-
Jeffersonian Federalism of the times.t This was
a second and enlarged edition of the " Embargo,"
which had appeared the year previous in a little
pamphlet by itself. It is noticeable that never
since that early publication, while actively en-
gaged in public life, has the poet employed his
muse upon the politics of the day, though the
general topics of liberty and independence have
given occasion to some of his finest poems. By
the side of this juvenile production are an Ode
to Connecticut River, and some verses entitled
Drought, which show a characteristic observation
of nature.
DROUGHT.
Plunged amid the limpid waters,
Or the cooling shade beneath ;
Let me fly the scorching sunbeams,
And the south wind's sickly breath!
Sirius burns the parching meadows,
Flames upon the embrowning hill ;
Dries the foliage of the forest,
And evaporates the rilL
Scarce is seen a lonely floweret,
Save amid th' embowering wood;
O'er the prospect dim and dreary,
Drought presides in sullen mood !
Murky vapours hung in aether,
Wrap in gloom, the sky serene;
Nature pants distressful — silence
Reigns o'er all the sultry scene.
Then amid the limpid waters,
Or beneath the cooling shade ;
Let me shun the scorching sunbeams,
And the sickly breeze evade.
July, 1807.
Bryant studied at Williams College, which he
left to prosecute the study of the law, a profes-
sion in which he was engaged in practice at
Plainfield for one year, and afterwards for nine
3'ears at Great Barrington. In 1816 his poem
of Thanatopsis, written in his nineteenth year,
was published in the North American Review.
Its sonorous blank verse created a marked sen-
sation at the time, and the imitations of it have
not ceased since.i; In 1821 he delivered the
* The Embargo ; or, Sketches of the Times. A Satire. The
second edition, corrected and enlarged, together with the
Spanish Revolution, and other Poems. By William Culleu
Bryant. Boston: Printed for the Author by E. G. House,
No. 5 Court street 18(9. 12mo., pp. 36.
t The poem received the following notice at the time from
the Monthly Anthology for June, 180S: — " If the young bard
has met with no assistance in the composition of this poem, he
certainly bids fair, should he continue to cultivate his talent, to
gain a respectable station on the Parnassian mount, and to re-
flect credit on the literature of his country."
X A story is told of the first publication of this poem in the
Review, in connexion with Richard II. Dana, of which we arc
enabled to give the correct version. Dana was then a member
of the club which conducted the Review, and received two
Phi Beta Kappa poem at Harvard, his composi-
tion entitled the Ages, a didactic poem, view-
ing the past world's progress by the torch-light
of liberty, and closing with a fair picture of
American nature, and its occupation by the new-
race. This he published in that year with other
poems at Cambridge. In 1825, abandoning the
law for literature, he came to New York and
edited a monthly periodical, the New York Re-
view and Athenteum Magazine, which in 1826
was merged in a new work of a similar charac-
ter, also conducted by him, the United States
Review and Literary Gazette, which closed with
its second volume in September of the following
3'ear. In these works appeared many just and
forcible criticisms, and a number of his best
known poems, including The Death of the
Flowers, The Disinterred Warrior, The African
Chief, The Indian GirVs Lament. These periodi-
cals were supported by contributions from Richard
H. Dana, the early friend of Bryant, who wrote
both in prose and verse, by Sands, and by Halleck,
whose Marco Bozzaris, Burns, and Wyoming ap-
peared in their pages. Mr. Bryant was also a
contributor of several prose articles to the early
volumes of the North American Review.
In 1824 a number of his poems, The Murdered
Traveller, The Old Man's Funeral, The Forest
Hymn, March, and others, appeared in the United
States Literary Gazette, a weekly review pub-
lished at Boston, at first edited by Theophilus
Parsons,* and afterwards by James G. Carter.
In 1826 Bryant became permanently connected
with the Evening Post, a journal in which his
clear, acute prose style has been constantly em-
ployed since; enforcing a pure and simple ad-
ministration of the government within the con-
fines of its legitimate powers, steadily opposing
the corruptions of office, advocating the principles
of free trade in political economy both in its
foreign and domestic relations, generous and un-
wearied in support of the interests of art and
literature, uncompromising in the rebuke of fraud
and oppression of whatever clime or race.
On the completion of the half century of the
Evening Post, Mr. Bryant published in that
papeit a history of its career. Its first number
was dated November 16, 1801, when it was
founded by William Coleman, a barrister from
poems, Thanatopsis and a Fragment, which now bears the
title, " Inscription on the Entrance to a "Wood." The first was
somehow understood to be from the father ; the other from the
son. When Dana learnt the name, and that the author ofTha-
natopsis, Dr. Bryant, was a member of the State Legislatuie,
he proce ded to the Senate-room to observe the new poet.
He saw there a man of a dark complexion, with quite dark if
not black hair, thick eyebrows, well developed forehead, well
featured, with an uncommonly intellectual expression, though
he could not discover in it the poetic faculty. He went away
puzzled and mortified at his lack of discernment. When
Bryant afterwards came to Cambridge to deliver the Phi Beta
Kappa Poem, and Dana spoke of his father's Thanatopsis, the
real author explained the matter, and became knowr. as the
writer of the two poems. In this innocent peiplexity the ac-
quaintance between these poets began.
* Mr. Theophilus Parsons, son of the eminent Judge Parsons,
Dane Professor of Law at Cambridge, was also one of the early
contributors to the North American Review under the editor-
ship of Everett. He published a volume of "Essays" which
reached a second ed:tion in 1847. The subjects of these — Life,
Providence, Correspondence, The Human Form, Religion, the
New Jerusalem — indicate the Swedenborgian religious and
philosophic views of the author. Mr. Carter, alluded to in the
text, was much interested in the subject of Education, and
took an active part in the introduction gf normal schools into
this country, in Massachusetts.
t No. for November 13, 1851.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
185
Massachusetts, with the support of the leading
members of the Federal party, to which, till the
close of the war with England, it was a devoted
adherent. In 1826 Mr. Bryant began to write
for its columns. On the death of Coleman in
1829, William Leggett was employed as assistant
editor, and remained with the paper till 1836,
when he retired on the return of Mr. Bryant from
Europe. It now remained in Mr. Bryant's sole
editorial hands, assisted by various contributors, in-
cluding the regular aid of his son-in-law, Mr. Parke
Godwin, till the purchase by Mr. John Bigelow
of a share of the paper in 1850, since which time
he has been associated in the editorship.
In the first years of his engagement in these
editorial duties, Bryant wrote, in conjunction
with his friends Sands and Verplanck, The Talk-
man, in three annual volumes, 1827-29-30 ; the
collection entitled, " Tales of the Glauber Spa," in
1832. His contributions to the " Talisman," be-
sides a few poems, were an Adventure in the East
Indies, The Cascade of MeWngah, Recollections of
the South of Spain, A Story of the Island of Cuba,
The Indian Spring, The Whirlwind, Phanette des
Gaulelmes, and the Marriage Blunder. He also as-
sisted in writing The Legend of the Devil's Pulpit,
and Reminiscences of New York. For the Tales
of the Glauber Spa, he wrote the Skeleton's Cave
and Medfleld. He has since from time to time pub-
lished new poems in the periodicals of the day,
which he has collected at intervals in new editions.*
In the Evening Post have also appeared several
series of Letters from Europe, the Southern States,
and the West Indies, which mark the period of the
author's travels at various times from 1834 to
* The first general collection was published by Elam Bliss, a
bookseller of frreat liberality and worth, a gentleman by
nature, and a warm friend of the poet in 1S32; followed by
anotherin Boston; others subsequently in New Yorkfrom the
press of the Harpers. In 1S46 a richly illustrated edition, with
engravings from original designs, by the painter Leutze, was
published by Carey and Hart in Philadelphia. New editions
of the poems, in three different forms, woro published by the
Appletons in New York, in 1S55.
1S53. The last tour extended to the Holy Land.
A collection of these papers has been published
by Putnam, entitled Letters of a Traveller ; or,
Notes of Things Seen in Europe and America.
Among Mr. Bryant's separate publications
should be mentioned his Eulogy of his friend
Thomas Cole, the artist, delivered in New York
in 1848, and a similar tribute to the genius of
Cooper the novelist, in 1852. The style of these
addresses, and of the author's other prose writings,
is remarkable for its purity and clearness. Its
truthfulness, in accuracy of thought and diction,
is a constant charm to those who know the value
of words, and have felt the poverty of exagge-
rated language. This extends to the daily articles
written by the author in his newspaper, where no
haste or interruptions are suffered to set aside his
fastidious and jealous guardianship, not merely
of sincere statement but of its pure expression.
The style must have been formed at the outset by
a vigorous nature, which can thus resist the
usually pernicious influences of more than a
quarter of a century of editorial wear and tear.
The poems of Bryant may be classed, with
regard to their subjects : — those expressing a uni-
versal interest, relative to the great conditions of
humanity, as Thanatopsis, The Ages, Hymn to
Death, The Past ; types of nature symbolical of
these, as the Winds; poems of a national and
patriotic sentiment, or expressive of the heroic
in character, as the Song of Marion's Men, the
Indian Poems, and some foreign subjects mingled
with translations. Of these, probably the most
enduring will be those which draw their vitality
more immediately from the American soil. In
these there is a purity of nature, and a certain
rustic grace, which speak at once the nature of
the poet and his subject. Mr. Bryant has been a
close student of English poetry through its several
periods, and while his taste would lead him to
admire those who have minutely painted the
scenes of nature, his fidelity to his own thoughts
and experiences has preserved him from imita-
tion of any.
Mr. Dana, in his preface to his reprint of his
" Idle Man," speaks of a poetic influence in the
early period of Bryant's career. " I shall never
forget," says he, " with what feeling my friend
Bryant, some years ago,* described to me the
effect produced upon him by his meeting for the
first time with Wordsworth's Ballads. He lived,
when quite young, where but few works of
poetry were to be had ; at a period, too, when
Pope was still the great idol of the Temple of
Art. He said, that upon opening Wordsworth, a
thousand springs seemed to gush up at once in his
heart, and the face of nature, of a sudden, to
change into a strange freshness and life." This
may have been a seed sown in a generous nature,
but the predetermined quality of the soil has
marked the form and fragrance of the plant. It
is American air we breathe, and American nature
we see in his verses, and " the plain living and
high thinking" of what should constitute Ameri-
can sentiment inspire them.
Bryant, whose Bongs are thoughts thnt bless
The heart, its teachers, and its joy,
* This was written in 1?SS.
186
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAS' LITERATURE.
As mothers blend 'with their caress,
Lessons of truth and gentleness,
And virtue for the listening boy.
Spring's lovelier flowers for many a day,
Have blossomed on his wandering way,
Beings of beauty and decay,
Tliey slumber in their autumn tomb;
But those that graced his own Green River,
And wreathed the lattice of his home,
Charmed by his song from mortal doom,
Bloom on, and will bloom on for ever.*
Bryant's Residence.
Mr. Bryant's country residence is at Roslyn,
Long Island, a picturesquely situated village on
the Sound, a few hours' journey from the city.
There at a home, in the immediate vicinity of nu-
merous fine land and water views, he finds retire-
ment from the care and turmoil of metropolitan
life, and there we may readily suppose his favor-
ite woods and fields inspire the most genial moods
of his poetic creations.
THANATOP8IS
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language ; for his gayer hours
She has a voic"e of glatlness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she gji'des
Intb his darker musings, with a mild
And htfaling sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness ere he is aware. "When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come lilfe a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad image's
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; — ■
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around —
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air, —
Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his couise ; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall
claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
* Lines by ilallcck, in his pcem, "The Recorder. "
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
• And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, — nor couldst thou wish
Coueh more magnificent. Thou 6halt lie down
"With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings,
"The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun ; the vales
rStretching in pensive quietness between ;
*The venerable woods ; rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green ; and, poured round
all,
Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — ■
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
• Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings
Of morning, traverse Barca's desert sands,
/Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come,
,And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
vIn the full strength of years, matron and maid,
iAnd the sweet babe, and the grey-headed man, —
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
v So live, that when thy summons comes to join
vThe innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
>Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
.By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
» About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
TO A WATERFOWL.
Whither, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way ?
Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.
Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of 1 iver wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sin
On the chafed oeeau side !
"WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
187
There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathlesB coast, —
The desert and illimitable air, —
Lone wandering, but not lost
All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end ;
Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest,
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend,
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.
Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.
He who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.
I gazed upon the glorious sky
And the green mountains round ;
And thought that when I came to lie
At rest within the ground,
'Twere pleasant, that iu flower}' June,
When brooks send up a cheerful tune,
And groves a joyous sound.
The sexton's hand, my grave to make,
The rich, green mountain turf should break.
A cell within the frozen mould,
A coffin borne through sleet,
And icy clods above it rolled,
While fierce the tempests beat —
Away ! — I will not think of these — ■
Blue be the sky and soft the breeze,
Earth green beneath the feet,
And be the damp mould gently pressed
Into my narrow place of rest.
There through the long, long summer hours
The golden light should lie,
And thick young herbs and groups of flowers
Stand in their beauty by.
The oriole should build and tell
His love-tale close beside my cell ;
The idle butterfly
Should rest him there, and there be heard
The housewife bee and humming-bird.
And what if cheerful shouts at noon
Come, from the village sent,
Or songs of maids, beneath the moon.
With fairy laughter blent ?
And what if, in the evening light,
Betrothed lovers walk in sight
Of my low monument?
I would the lovely scene around
Might know no sadder sight or sound.
I know, I know I should not see
The season's glorious show ;
Nor would its brightness shine for me,
Nor its wild music flow ;
But if, around my place of sleep,
The friends I love should come to weep,
They might not haste to go.
Soft airs, and song, and light, and bloom,
Should keep them lingering by my tomb.
These to their softened hearts should bear
The thought of what has been,
And speak of one who cannot share
The gladness of the scene ;
"Whose part, in all the pomp that fills
The circuit of the summer hills,
Is— that his grave is green ;
And deeply would their hearts rejoice
To hear again his living voice.
THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the
year.
Of wailing winds and naked woods, and meadows
brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn
leaves lie dead ;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's
tread.
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the
shrubs the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow through all
the gloom}7 day.
Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that
lately sprang and stood
In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sister-
hood?
Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race
of flowers
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and
good of ours.
The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold No-
vember rain
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones
again.
The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long
ag°.
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the
summer glow ;
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the
wood,
And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn
beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls
the plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone from
upland, glade, and glen.
And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still
such days will come,
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their
winter home ;
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though
all the trees are still,
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the
rill,
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fra-
grance late he bore,
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the
stream no more.
And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty
died,
The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by
my side :
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the
forests cast the leaf,
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life
so brief;
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young
friend of ours,
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the
flowers.
On, FAIREST OF THE EUEAL MAIDS.
Oh, fairest of the rural maids I
Thy birth was in the forest shades ;
Green boughs, and glimpses of the 6ky,
Were all that met thine infant eye.
188
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN" LITERATURE.
Thy sports, thy wanderings, "when a child,
"Were ever in the sylvan wild ;
And all the beauty of the place
Is in thy heart and on thy face.
The twilight of the trees and rocks
Is in the light shade of thy locks ;
Thy step is as the wind, that weaves
Its playful way among the leaves.
Thine eyes are springs, in whose serene
And silent waters heaven is seen ;
Their lashes are the herbs that look
On their young figures in the brook.
The forest depths, by foot impressed,
Are not more sinless than thy breast ;
The holy peace that fills the air
Of those calm solitudes, is there.
TO TIIE ETESISG WIND.
Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou
That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day,
Gratefully flows th}T freshness round my brow ;
Thou hast been out irpon the deep at play,
Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,
Roughening their crests, and scattering high their
spray,
And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea !
Nor I alone — a thousand bosoms round
Inhale thee in the fulness of delight;
And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;
And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound,
Lies the vast inland stretched beyond the sight.
Go forth, into the gathering shade ; go forth,
God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth!
Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest,
Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse
The wide old wood from his majestic rest,
Summoning from the innumerable boughs
The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast :
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass,
And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the
grass.
Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly sway
The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone;
That they who near the churchyard willows stray,
And listen in the deepening gloom, alone,
May think of gentle souls that passed away,
Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown,
Sent forth from heaven among the sons of men,
And gone into the boundless heaven again.*
The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the child asleep,
And dry the moistened curls that overspread
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep;
And they who stand about the sick man's bed
Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep,
And softly part his curtains to allow
Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.
Go — but the circle of eternal change,
"Which is the life of nature, shall restore,
With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range,
Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more;
* This stanza is not included in the editions of Mr. Bryant's
Poems. It appealed in '-The Poets of America," published
by Mr. John Keese, and illustrated by Chapman. The stanza
is said to have been written at Mr. Kcese's suggestion, to sup-
ply what is certainly an appropriate addition in keeping with
the sentiment of tho piece.
Sweet odours in the sea-air, sweet and strange,
Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore ;
And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem
He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.
bong op Marion's men.
Our band is few, but true and tried,
Our leader frank and bold ;
The British soldier trembles
When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good green wood,
Our tent the cypress-tree ;
We know the forest round us,
As seamen know the sea.
We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,
Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark inorass.
Wo to the English soldiery
That little dread us near !
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear:
When, waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again ;
And they who fly in terror deem
A mighty host behind,
And hear the tramp of thousands
Upon the hollow wind.
Then sweet the hour that brings release
From danger and from toil ;
We talk the battle over,
And share the battle's spoil.
The woodland rings with laugh and shout,
As if a hunt were up,
And woodland flowers are gathered
To frown the soldier's cup.
With merry songs we mock the wind
That in the pine-top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly,
On beds of oaken leaves.
Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The baud that Marion leads —
The glitter of their rifles,
The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guide our fiery barbs
Across the moonlight plains;
Tis life to feel the night-wind
That lifts their tossing manes.
A moment in the British camp —
A moment — and away
Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.
Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs,
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band,
With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles iike those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton,
For ever, from our shore.
TTTE BATTLE-FIELD.
Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands.
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,
And fiery hearts and armed hands
Encountered in the battle cloud.
■WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
189
Ah! never shall the land forget
How gushed the life-blood of her brave —
Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,
Upon the soil they fought to save.
Now all is calm, and fresh, and still,
Alone the chirp of flitting bird,
And talk of children on the hill,
And bell of wandering kine are heard.
No solemn host goes trailing by
The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain ;
Men start not at the battle-cry.
Oh, be it never heard again I
Soon rested those who fought ; but thou
Who minglest in the harder strife
For truths which men receive not now,
Thy warfare only ends with life.
A friendless warfare! lingering long
Through weary day and weary year.
A wild and mauy-weaponed throng
Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear.
Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof.
And blench not at thy chosen lot.
The timid good may stand aloof,
The sage may frown — yet faint thou not.
Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn ;
For with thy side shall dwell, at last,
The victory of endurance born.
Truth crushed to earth shall rise again ;
The eternal years of God are hers ;
But Error wounded, writhes with pain,
And dies among his worshippers.
Yea, though thou lie upon the dust,
When they who helped thee flee in fear,
Die full of hope and manly trust,
Like those who fell in battle here.
Another hand thy sword shall wield,
Another hand the standard wave,
Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave.
THE LAND OF DREAMS.
A mighty realm is the Land of Dreams,
With steeps that hang in the twilight sky,
And weltering oceans and trailing streams,
That gleam where the dusky valleys lie.
But over its shadowy border flow
Sweet rays from the world of endless morn,
And the nearer mountains catch the glow,
And flowers in the nearer fields are born.
The souls of the happy dead repair,
. From their bowers of light, to that bordering land,
And walk in the fainter glory there,
With the souls of the living hand in hand.
One calm sweet smile, in that shadowy sphere,
From eyes that open on earth no more — ■
One warning word from a voice once dear —
How they rise in the memory o'er and o'er !
Far off from those hiils that shine with day,
And fields that bloom in the heavenly gales,
The Land of Dreams goes stretching away
To dimmer mountains and darker vales.
There lie the chambers of guilty delight,
There walk the spectres of guilty fear,
And soft low voices, that float through the night,
Are whispering sin in the helpless ear.
Dear maid, in thy girlhood's opening flower,
Scarce weaned from the love of childish play !
The tears on whose cheeks are but the shower
That freshens the early blooms of May !
Thine eyes are closed, and over thy brow
Pass thoughtful shadows and joyTous gleams,
And I know, by thy moving lips, that now
Thy spirit strays in the Land of Dreams.
Light-hearted maiden, oil, heed thy feet !
O keep where that beam of Paradise falls,
And only wander where thou may'st meet
The blessed ones from its shining walls.
So shalt thou come from the Land of Dreams,
With love and peace to this world of strife ;
And the light that over its border streams
Shall lie on the path of thy daily life.
ROBERT OF LINCOLN.
Merrily swinging on brier and weed,
Near to the nest of his little dame,
Over the mountain-side or mead,
Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-liuk,
Spink, spank, spink ;
Snug and safe is that nest of ours,
Hidden among the summer flowers.
Chee, chee, chee.
Robert of Lincoln is gaily drest,
Wearing a bright black wedding coat;
White are his shoulders and white his crest,
Hear him call in his merry note :
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-liuk,
Spink, spank, spink;
Look, what a nice new coat is mine,
Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee.
Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,
Pretty and quiet, with plain brown winga,
Passing at home a patient life,
Broods in the grass while her husband sings:
Bob-o'-liuk, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink ;
Brood, kind creature, you need not fear
Thieves and robbers while I am here.
Chee, chee, chee.
Modest and shy as a nun is she :
One weak chirp is her only note.
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he,
Pouring boasts from his little throat:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link.
Spink, spank, spink ;
Never was I afraid of man ;
Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can.
Chee, chee, chee.
Six white eggs on a bed of hay,
Flecked with purple, a pretty sight !
There as the mother sits all day,
Robert is singing with all his might:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink ;
Nice good wife, that never goes out,
Keeping house while I frolic about.
Chee, chee, chee.
Soon as the little ones chip the shell
Six wide mouths are open for food ;
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well.
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood.
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink:
This new life is likely to be
Hard for a gay young fellow like me.
| Chee, chee, chee.
190
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAS LITERATURE
Robert of Lincoln at length is made
Sober with work, and silent with care ;
Off is liia holiday garment laid,
Half forgotten that merry air,
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink ;
Nobody knows but my mate and I
Where our nest and our nestlings lie.
Chee, chee, chee.
Summer wanes ; the children are grown ;
Fun and frolic no more he knows ;
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone ;
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink ;
When you can pipe that merry old strain,
Robert of Lincoln, come back again.
Chee, chee, chee.
1855.
cobn-shucking in south carolina — from the letters of a
traveller.
Baknwell District, )
South Carolina, March 29,1S43. f
But you musthear of the corn-shucking. Tiieone
at which I was present was given on purpose that I
might witness the humors of the Carolina negroes.
A huge fire of light-wood was made near the corn-
house. Light-wood is the wood of the long-leaved
pine, and is so called, not because it is light, for it is
almost the heaviest wood in the world, but because
it gives more light than any other fuel. In clearing
laud, the pines are girdled and suffered to stand :
the outer portion of the wood decays and falls off;
the inner part, which is saturated with turpentine,
remains upright for years, and constitutes the plan-
ter's provision of fuel. When a supply is wanted,
one of these dead trunks is felled by the axe. The
abundance of light-wood is one of the boasts of South
Carolina. Wherever you are, if you happen to be
chilly, you may have afire extempore ; a bit of light
wood and a coal give you a bright blaze and a strong
heat in an instant. The negroes make fires of it in
the fields where they work ; and, when the mornings
are wet and chilly, in the pens where they are milk-
ing the cows. At a plantation, where I passed a
frosty night, I saw fires in a small inelosure, and was
told by the lady of the house that she had ordered
them to be made to warm the cattle.
The light-wood-fire was made, and the negroes
dropped in from the neighboring plantations, singing
as they came. The driver of the plantation, a color-
ed man, brought out baskets of corn in the husk, and
piled it in a heap ; and the negroes began to strip
the husks from the ears, singing with great glee as
they worked, keeping time to the music, and now
and then throwing in a joke and an extravagant
burst of laughter. The songs were generally of a
comic character ; but one of them was set to a sin-
gularly wild and plaintive air, which some of our
musicians would do well to reduce to notation.
These are the words:
Johnny come down de hollow.
Oh hollow 1
Johnny come down de hollow.
Oh hollow !
De nigger-trader got me.
"Oh hollow!
De speculator bought me.
Oh hollow!
I'm sold for silver dollars,
Oh hollow!
Boys, go catch the pony.
Oh hollow!
Bring him round the corner.
Oh hollow 1
I'm goin' away to Georgia.
Oh hollow I
Boys, good-by forever !
Oh hollow !
The song of " Jenny gone away," was also given,
and another, called tiie monkey-song, probably of
African origin, in which the principal singer person-
ated a monkey, with all sorts of odd gesticulations,
and the other negroes bore part in the chorus, " Dan,
dan, who's the dandy?" One of the songs, common-
ly sung on these occasions, represents the various
animals of the woods as belonging to some profession
or trade. For example —
De cooter is de boatman —
The cooter is the terrapin, and a very expert boat-
man he is.
De cooter is de boatman.
John John Crow.
De red-bird de soger.
Johu John Crow.
De mocking-bird de lawyer.
John John Crow.
De alligator sawyer
John John Crow.
The alligator's back is furnished with a toothed
ridge, like the edge of a saw, which explains the last
line.
When the work of the evening was over the ne-
groes adjourned to a spacious kitchen. One of them
took his place as musician, whistling, and beating
time wTith two sticks upon the floor. Several of the
men came forward and executed various dances, ca-
pering, prancing, and drumming with heal and toe
upon the floor, with astonishing agility and perse-
verance, though all of them had performed their
daily tasks and had worked all the evening, and
Eome had walked from four to seven miles to attend
the eorn-shuckiug. From the dances a transition
was made to a mock military parade, a sort of bur-
lesque of our militia trainings, in which the words of
command and the evolutions were extremely ludi-
crous. It became necessary for the commander to
make a speech, and confessing his incapacity for pub-
lic speaking, he called upon a huge black man named
Toby to address the company in his stead. Toby, a
man of powerful frame, six feet high, his face orna-
mented with a beard of fashionable cut, had hitherto
stood leaning against the wall, looking upon the
frolic with an air of superiority. He consented,
came forward, demanded a bit of paper to hold in
his hand, and harangued the soldiery. It was evi-
dent that Toby had listened to stump-speeches in his
day. He spoke of " de majority of Sous Carolina,"
" de interests of de state," " de honor of ole Ba'n-
well district," and these phrases he connected by
various expletives, and sounds of which we could
make nothing. At length he began to falter, when
the captain with admirable presence of mind came
to his relief, and interrupted and closed the ha-
rangue with an hurrah from the company. Toby
was allowed by all the spectators, black and white,
to have made an excellent speech.
John Howard Bkyakt, the brother of the pre-
ceding, who has become known by his verses,
chiefly descriptive of nature, was born at Cum-
mington, July 22, 1807. His first poem, entitled
My Native Village, appeared in 1826, in his
brother's periodical, The United States Review.
Having accomplished himself in various studies,
in 1831 he emigrated to Illinois, where he esta-
blished himself as a farmer, and where he has
JOHN D. GODMAN.
191
since occupied himcelf in agricultural life, occa-
sionally writing poems, which have found their
way to the public through the press. The fol-
lowing is a characteristic specimen of his muse : —
LINES ON FINDING A
FOUNTAIN IN A SECLUDED PART OF
FOEEST.
Three hundred years are scarcely gone,
Since, to the New World's virgin shore,
Crowds of rude men were pressing on,
To range its boundless regions o'er.
Some bore the sword in bloody hands,
And sacked its helpless towns for spoil ;
Some searched for gold the river's sands,
Or trenched the mountain's stubborn soil.
And some with higher purpose sought,
Through forests wild and wastes uncouth,
Sought with long toil, yet found it not,
The fountain of eternal youth.
They said in some green valley where
The foot of man had never trod,
There gushed a fountain bright and fair
Up from the ever verdant sod.
There they who drank should never know
Age, with its weakness, pain, and gloom,
And from its brink the old should go,
With youth's light step and radiant bloom.
Is not this fount, so pure and sweet,
Whose stainless current ripples o'er
The fringe of blossoms at my feet,
The same those pilgrims sought of yore! '
How brightly leap, 'mid glittering sands,
The living waters from below ;
0 let me dip these lean, brown hands,
Drink deep and bathe this wrinkled brow,
And feel, through every shrunken vein,
The warm, red stream flow swift and free —
Feel waking in my heart again,
Youth's brightest hopes, youth's wildest glee.
Tis vain, for still the life-blood plays,
With sluggish i nurse, through ail my frame ;
The mirror of tin1 pool betrays
My wrinkled visage, still the same.
And the sad spirit questions still —
Must this warm frame — these limbs that yield
To each light motion of the will —
Lie with the dull clods of the field?
Has nature no renewing power
To drive the frost of age away ?
Has earth no fount, or herb, or flower,
Which man may taste and live for aye ?
Alas ! for that unchanging state
Of youth and strength, in vain we yearn ;
And only after death's dark gate
Is reached and passed, can youth return.
JOHX D. GODMAN.
John D. Godman was born at Annapolis, Mary-
land, December 20, 1794. Deprived in his second
year of both his parents, he was left dependent
on the care of an aunt, who discharged her duties
towards him with great tenderness. He had the
misfortune to lose this relative also at the early
age of seven years.
Having lost by some fraudulent proceeding the
small estate left him by his father, Godman, after
the death of his aunt, by whom he had been plac-
ed at school, was apprenticed to a printer at Bal-
timore. Desirous of leading the life of a scholar
he commenced and continued in this pursuit with
reluctance.
In 1814, on the entrance of the British into Che-
sapeake Bay, he became a sailor in the navy, and
was engaged in the bombardment of Fort Mc-
Henry.
In the following year he was invited by Dr.
Luckey, who had become acquainted with the
young printer while engaged in the study of his
profession, to become an inmate of his residence
at Elizabethtown. Gladly availing himself of this
opening to the pursuit of the profession of his
choice, Godman obtained a release from his in-
dentures and devoted himself with ardor to study
under the direction of his friend. Having thus
passed a few months, he continued his course with
Dr. Hall of Baltimore ; and after attending lec-
tures in that city, and in the latter part of his
course filling the place of Professor Davidge dur-
ing his temporary absence, he took his degree
February 7, 1813.
After practising a short time in the villages of
New Holland on the Susquehanna, in Ann Arun-
del county, and in the city of Philadelphia, he
accepted the appointment of Professor of Anato-
my in the recently established Medical College of
Ohio, at Cincinnati, and entered upon his duties
in October, 1821. Owingto difficulties " of which
he was neither thj cause nor the victim" he re-
signed his chair in a few months, and commenced
a medical periodical, projected by Dr. Drake, en-
titled the Western Quarterly Reporter. Six num-
bers, of one hundred pages each, of this work
were published.
In the autumn of 1822, he removed to Phila-
delphia, suffering much from exposure on the
journey, owing to the lateness of the season and
the delicacy of his constitution. He opened a
room in the latter city under the auspices of the
University, for private demonstrations in anatomy,
a pursuit to which he devoted himself for some
years with such assiduity as to still further impair
his health.
In 1826, he removed to New York in accept-
ance of a call to the professorship of Anatomy in
Rutgers Medical College. He delivered two
courses of lectures with great success, but was
then compelled to seek relief from exertion and a
rigorous climate by passing a winter in the West
Indies. After his return in the following sum-
mer, he settled at Germantown, where he remain-
ed, gradually sinking under a consumption, until
his death, April 17, 1830.
His principal work, the American Natural
Sktory, was commenced in the spring of 1823,
and completed in 1828, when it appeared in three
volumes octavo. It is a work of much research,
the author having journeyed many hundreds of
miles as well as passed many months in his study
192
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
in its preparation, and has been as much admired
for its beauty of style as accuracy and ftdness of
information. Commencing with the aboriginal
Indian, he pursues his inquiry through all the va-
rieties of animal life, closing with an article on
the Whale Fishery, and including the extinct
Mastodon. Ooufining himself almost exclusively
to description of the subject before him, we have
little or no digression on the scenes in which his
information was acquired, and the incidents con-
nected with his researches. These themes he has
touched upon in a later publication, The EamMes
of a Naturalist, written with a frame enfeebled by
disease, but with a mind still preserving its fresh-
ness, and in a style still vigorous. A portion of
these essays first appeared in a weekly journal in
Philadelphia. The series is incomplete, having
been interrupted by the author's death.
Dr. Godman was for some time editor of the
Philadelphia Journal of the Medical Sciences, and
contributed largely to its pages until the close of
his life. He was also the author of several arti-
cles in the American Quarterly Iieview, and of
the notices of Natural History in the Encyclopae-
dia Americana to the completion of the letter 0.
He translated and annotated many foreign medi-
cal works, and published a number of lectures and
addresses delivered on various professional and
public occasions, which were collected in a vo-
lume towards the close of his life.
At an early stage of his profes-ional career, Dr.
Godinan adopted the atheistic views of some of
the French naturalists. He retained these errors
until the winter of 1827, when he was called to
attend the death-bed of a student of medicine,
who was possessed of " the comfort of a reasona-
ble faith." His mind was so impressed by the
scene, that he devoted himself to the study of the
scriptures, and became a devoutly religious man.
The unremitting labor of Dr. Godman's career
was sustained by the impetuosity and energy of
his character. He knew no rest but in change
of study, and no relaxation out of the range of his
profession as a naturalist. In the directness, the
simplicity and amiability of his character, he ex-
hibited in an eminent degree the usual results of
an enlightened communion with nature.
THE PINE FOEEST.
Those who have only lived in forest countries,
where vnst tracts are shaded by a dense growth of
oak, ash, chestnut, hickory, and other trees of deci-
duous foliage, which present the most pleasing varie-
ties of verdure and freshness, can have but little idea
of the effect produced on the feelings by aged fo-
rests of pine, composed in great degree of a single
species, whose towering summits are crowned with
one dark green canopy, which successive seasons find
unchanged, and nothing but death causes to vary.
Their robust and gigantic trunks rise a hundred or
more feet high, in purely proportioned columns, be-
fore the limbs begin to diverge ; and their tops,
densely clothed "with long bristling foliage, intermin-
gle so closely as to allow of but slight entrance to
the sun. Hence the undergrowth of such forests is
comparatively slight and thin, since none but shrubs
and plants that love the shade can flourish under
this perpetual exclusion of the animating and invi-
gorating rays of the great exciter of the vegetable
world, Through such forests and by the merest
footpaths in great part, it was my lot to pass many
miles almost every day ; and had I not endeavoured
to derive some amusement and instruction from the
study of the forest itself, my time would have been
as fatiguing to me as it was certainly quiet and bo-
lemn. But wherever nature is, and under whatever
form she may present herself, enough is always prof-
fered to fix attention and produce pleasure, if we
will condescend to observe with carefulness. I soon
found that even a pine forest was far from being de-
void of interest.
********
A full grown pine forest is at all times a grand
and majestic object to one accustomed to moving
through it. Those vast and towering columns, sus-
taining a waving crown of deepest verdure ; those
robust and rugged limbs standing forth at a vast
height overhead, loaded with the cones of various
seasons ; and the diminutiveness of all surrounding
objects compared with these gigantic children ofna-
ture, cannot but inspire ideas of seriousness and even
of melancholy. But how awful and even tremen-
dous does such a situation become, when we hear
the first wailings of the gathering storm, as it stoops
upon the lofty summits of the pine, and soon in-
creases to a deep hoarse roaring, as the boughs begin
to wrave in the blast, and the whole tree is forced to
sway before its power!
In a short time the fury of the wind is at its
height, the loftiest trees bend suddenly before it,
and scarce regain their upright position ere they are
again obliged to cower beneath its violence. Then
the tempest literally howls, and amid the tremen-
dous reverberations of thunder, and the blazing
glare of the lightning, the unfortunate wanderer
hears around him the crash of numerous trees hurl-
ed down by the storm, and knows not but the next
may be precipitated upon him. More than once
have I witnessed all the grandeur, dread, and deso-
lation of such a scene, and have always found safety
either by seeking as quickly as possible a spot where
there were none but young trees, or if on the main
road choosing the most open and exposed situation,
out of the reach of the large trees. There, 6eated on
my horse, who seemed to understand the propriety
of such patience, I would quietly remain, however
thoroughly drenched, until the fury of the wind was
completely over. To say nothing of the danger from
falliug trees, the peril of being struck by the light-
ning, which so frequently shivers the loftiest of them,
is so great as to render any attempt to advance, at
Buch a time, highly imprudent.
Like the ox among animals, the pine tree may be
looked upon as one of the most universally useful of
the sons of the forest. For all sorts of building, for
firewood, tar, turpentine, rosin, lampblack, and a
vast variety of other useful products, this tree is in-
valuable to man. Nor is it a pleasing contempla-
tion, to one who knows its usefulness, to observe to
how vast an amount it is annually destroyed in this
country, beyond the proportion that nature can pos-
sibly 6upply. However, we are not disposed to be-
lieve that this evil will ever be productive of very
great injury, especially as coal fuel is becoming an-
nually more extensively used. Nevertheless, were
I the owner of a pine forest, I should exercise a con-
siderable degree of care in the selection of the wood
for the axe.
BOWDOIN COLLEGE.
Trns institution, seated at Brunswick, in the
state of Maine, after some early preliminary
efforts, received its charter from the Legislature of
Massachusetts, to which the region was then at-
tached, June 24, 1794. Five townships of land
BOWDOIN COLLEGE
193
Eowdoin College.
were granted from the unsettled districts of Maine,
as a foundation for the College. A munificent
grant of money and lands, of the estimated value
of six thousand eight hundred dollars, made by
the Hon. James Bowdoin, son of the governor from
whom the college was named, was an additional
means of support ; though from the difficulty of
bringing the lands into market, and the necessity
of waiting for further funds, the institution did
not go into operation till 1801, when the board
of trustees and overseers elected the Kev. Joseph
McKeen the first president. He was a man of
marked character, and usefulness, a native of
Londonderry, N.H., born in 1757, who had been
associated with the best interests of education
and religion at the Academy of Andover, and in
pastoral relations in Boston and Beverly, Mass.,
from the last of which he was called to the pre-
sidency.
The first college building was at the same time
in progress on the site selected, on an elevated
plain, about one mile south from the Androscog-
gin river. There, in September, 1802, the presi-
dent and the professor of languages, John Abbot
of Harvard, were installed : a platform erected in
the open air, in the grove of pines on the land,
serving the purpose of the as yet unfinished Mas-
sachusetts Hall. When this building was com-
pleted it was parlor, chapel, and hall for the col-
lege uses; the president living in one of the rooms
with his family, and summoning his pupils to
morning and evening prayers in the temporary
chapel on the first floor, by striking with his cane
on the staircase.* For two years the president,
with Professor Abbot, sustained the college in-
struction alone, which commenced with the usual
requisitions of the New England institutions.
At the first Commencement, in 1806, there
were eight graduates. The following year the
college met with a great loss in the death of Pre-
sident McKeen, whose character had imparted
strength to the institution.
The Rev. Jesse Appleton, of Hampton, N". H.,
was cho-en his successor. He had been a few
"Historical Sketch of Bowdoin College, in the Am.
lleg. viii. 107, of which this notice is an abstract.
VOL. II. — 13
Quur.
years before a prominent candidate for the theo-
logical chair of Harvard University, and he now
took an active part in his similar duties by the
delivery of a course of more than fifty lectures
on the most important subjects in theology, a por-
tion of which has been since published. His sys-
tem of instruction was accurate and thorough. He
continued president of the college till his death,
at the age of forty-seven, November 12, 181lJ.
An edition of his works was published in two
volumes at Andover, in 1 837, embracing Ids course
of Theological Lectures, his Academical Ad-
dresses, and a selection from his Sermon^, with a
Memoir of his Life and Character, by Professor
Packard, who holds the chair of Ancient Lan-
guages and Classical Literature at Bowdoin.
The Rev. William Allen, who had been presi-
dent of Dartmouth University, and to whom
the public is indebted for the valuable Dictionary
of American Biography, was chosen the new pre-
sident, and continued in the office for twenty
years, witli the exception of a short interval in
1831, when he was removed by an act of the
Legislature, which had taken to itself authority
to control the affairs of the college, in conse-
quence of a cession of the old charter from Mas-
sachusetts to the new state of Maine on its
organization in 1820, and the procurement of a
new charter, which placed the institution in a
measure under the control of the state. The
question was finally adjudicated before Mr. Jus-
tice Story, in the circuit court of the United
States, when a decision was given sustaining the
rights of the college, which had been violated,
and President Allen was restored to his office.
On his retirement in 1839, he was succeeded by
the Rev. Dr. Leonard Woods, son of the venerable
Dr. Woods of Andover. As a philosophical
writer and theologian, Dr. Woods has sustained
a high reputation by his conduct of the early
volumes of the Literary and Theological Review,
published at New York in 183-1, and subsequently.
He has also published a translation, from the
French, of De Maistre's Essay on the Generative
Principle of Political Constitutions.
Of the college professors Dr. Parker Cleave-
land, the eminent mineralogist, has held the chair
194
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
of Natural Philosophy since 1805. He is the
author of a popular elementary treatise on Mi-
neralogy and Geology, which has been long before
the public in successive editions.
The Rev. Thomas C. Upham, the author of se-
veral works on mental and moral science, was
appointed Professor of Mental Philosophy and
Ethics in 1824. He still holds the office, and dis-
charges also the duties of an instructor in the
Hebrew language. He is the author of The Ele-
ments of Mental Philosophy ; of a Treatise on the
Will ; of a volume of a practical character, entitled
Outlines of Imperfect and Disordered Mental
Action, published in 1843 ; and a series of works
unfolding the law of Christianity from its
spring in the inner life, which bear the titles
Principles of Interior or Hidden life, and the
Life of Faith. In illustration of this develop-
ment of purity and holiness, Professor Upham
was led to a close study of the writings of Ma-
dame Guyon, which has resulted in the publica-
tion, in 1855, of two volumes from his pen, en-
titled, Life and Ecligious Opinions and Experi-
ence of Madame de la Mothc Guyon : together
with some account of the Personal History and
Ecligious Opinions of Fenclon, Archbishop of
Cambray.
The poet Longfellow was chosen Professor of
Modern Languages in 1829, and discharged the
duties of the office till 1835, when he was called
to a similar post at Harvard.
A medical school, founded in 1821, is attached
to the college. By the catalogue of 1854 it ap-
pears that the number of students at that date
was seventy, and of the four college cla>ses one
hundred and seventy-seven.
UNION COLLEGE.
Uniox College, Schenectady, New York, dates
from the year 1795, when it received its charter
from the Regents of the University, a body insti-
tuted in the state in 1784-, to whom was intrusted
the power of incorporating Colleges, which should
be endowed by the citizens of a particular locality.
Gen. Philip Schuyler took special interest in for-
warding the subscription. There had, however,
been an earlier effort to establish a College at
Schenectady. In 1782, an earnest application
had been made to the Legislature at Kingston for
this object, which, it should be noticed, was pur-
sued at a time when the interests of literature
were generally suspended by the scenes of the
Revolution. This was two years before the re-
opening of the College at New York.
The first President of the College was John
Blair Smith, a brother of the better known Presi-
dent of the College of New Jersey, but himself a
man of marked character and not without dis-
tinction in other portions of the country. Be
was born in 1756 at Pequea, in Pennsylvania,
received his education at Princeton, pursued a
course of theological study with his brother, then
President of Hampden Sidney College in Virgi-
nia, and, in 1779, succeeded him in that position.
His career as a preacher in the valley of Virginia
became much celebrated. Dr. Alexander, who
saw him in the midst of the revival scenes of the
time, has left a vivid picture of the man : " In
person ho was about the middle size. His hair
was uncommonly black, and was divided on the
top and fell down on each side of the face. A
large blue eye of open expression was so piercing,
that it was common to say Dr. Smith looked you
through. His speaking was impetuous ; after
going on deliberately for awhile, he would sud-
denly grow warm and be carried away with a
violence of feeling, which was commonly com-
| municated to his hearers."* In 1791, he was
I called to the Third Presbyterian Church in Phi-
| ladelphia, and thence to the Presidency of Union,
where he remained till 1799, returning to his
i former charge at Philadelphia, where he died
| within a few months of the epidemic then
[ raging.
He was succeeded in the Presidency by Jona-
than Edwards, a son of the metaphysician. His
j childhood had been passed at Stockbridge, Massa-
chusetts, where communication with the Indians
had taught him their language, and fitted him for
the duties of a missionary among the aborigines,
a career which the breaking out of the French
war prevented his pursuing. He completed his
studies at the College in New Jersey, was licens-
ed as a preacher after a course of theology with
the Rev. Dr. Bellamy, became Tutor at Prince-
ton, and afterwards Pastor at Whitehara and at
Colebrook in Connecticut. From this retired
position he was called to the Presidency of Union,
which he did not live long to occupy, dying two
years after, August 1, 1801. He was the author
of numerous productions, chiefly theological and
controversial, following out his father's acute
metaphysical turn. Besides A Dissertation on
Liberty and Necessity, and a number of special
Sermons, he published Observations on the Lan-
guage of the Stockbridge Indians, communicated
to the Connecticut Society of Arts and Sciences,
and since edited for the Massachusetts His-
torical Society's Collections, by the philologist
Pickering.
Jonathan Maxcy was the third President, a
native of Attleborough, Massachusetts, where he
was born in 1708.
The united terms of the three first Presidents
were but nine years, during which the College
had hardly given evidence of its present import-
ance. At this time the Rev. Eliphalet Nott was
called to its head. The present venerable octo-
genarian was then in his thirty-first year. He
was born in 1773, of poor parents, in Ashford,
Connecticut, and his youth had been passed in the
frequent discipline of American scholars of that
period, acquiring the means of properly educating
himself by instructing others. He received the
degree of Master of Arts from Brown University
in 1795. He was soon licensed to preach, and
established himself as clergyman and principal of
an academy at Cherry Valley, in the state of
New York, then a frontier settlement. From
1798 to his election to the College he was Pastor
of the Presbyterian Church at Albany, where he
delivered a discourse On the Death of Hamilton,
which was published at the time, and which has
been lately reprinted. It was an eloquent asser-
tion of the high qualities of Hamilton, and a
vigorous attack on the practice of duelling. The
text, from the prophet Samuel, was a significant
Life of Archibald Alexander, p. 54.
UNION COLLEGE.
195
one for either branch of the discourse, " How are
the mighty fallen /"
The college on Nott's accession had but few
student--, and wa- poorly endowed. It soon began
to gain the former, and the state provided the
latter by its act of 1814, which granted a sum of
two hundred thousand dollars for its benetit, to
be derived, however, from the proceeds of certain
lotteries sanctioned for the purpose. Dr. Nott
turned his financial and business skill to the mat-
ter, and secured a handsome endowment for the
institution.
vetAt ^/M&
In 1854 the fiftieth anniversary of Dr. Nott's
presidency was celebrated at Union, at the time
of Commenc jment in July. A large number of the
graduates assembled, and addresses were delivered
by the Hon. Judge Campbell of New York, and
by President Wayland of Brown University, who
pronounced an academical discourse on the topic
of The Education Demanded by the People of the
United States. Dr. Nott himself spoke with his
old eloquence, anil various speeches were delivered
at a special meeting of the alumni.
The particular influence of Dr. Nott in the ad-
ministration of the college lias been the practical
turn which he has given to its discipline, in call-
ing forth the earnest, manly qualities of his
pupils, and repressing the opposite proclivities of
youth. This is a personal influence for which he
will be gratefully remembered.
Dr. Nott's publications have been chiefly in the
periodicals and newspapers, and mostly anony-
mous. His Addresses to Young Men, Temper-
ance Addresses, and a collection of Sermons,
are. his only published volumes. He has written
largely on " Heat," and illustrated his theories by
the practical achievement of the stove bearing his
name. In the Digest of Patents, thirty appear
granted to him for applications of heat to steam-
engines, the economical use of fuel, &a. In 1851
the Rev. Laurens P. Hickok was appointed Vice-
President.
Laurens P. Hickok was born in Danbury, Fair-
field co., Ct., December 2!), 170S. His lather, Ebe-
nezer, was a substantial farmer of strong mind and
sound judgment, and of leading influence in the
town, especially in ecclesiastical matters. Until
sixteen, his sou labored on the farm in summer and
attended the district school in winter. He then
was prepared for college by a noted teacher of the
day, Captain Luther Harris, of Newtown ; enter-
ing Union, and graduating in 1820. His mind
was led to the study of theology, and he was
licensed as a preacher by the Fairfield East As-
sociation in 1822. He preached at Newtown,
and some years later was the successor to Dr.
Lyman Beecher at Litchfield. In 1836 he be-
came Professor of Theology in Western Reserve
College, Ohio, and for eight years performed
the influential duties of that post. In 1844 ho
removed to the Auburn Theological Seminary,
and in 1852 accepted the Professorship of Mental
and Moral Science, with the Vice-Presidency of
Union College.
Desirous of placing mental philosophy on a
firm basis to supersede partial and false S3'stems
tending to infidelity, he published in 1850 his
Rational Psychology. He has also published a vo-
lume, Empirical Psychology, or the Human Mind
as gicen in Consciousness. His System of Moral
Science was published in 1853 as a college text-
book. It is mainly divided into two parts, treating
of pure morality and positive authority. Under
the former are considered personal and relative
duties to Mankind, and duties to Nature and to
God; under the latter, Civil, Divine, and Family
Government. Dr. Hickok has written articles in
the Christian Spectator ; the Biblical Repository,
particularly on the a priori and a posteriori
proofs of the bei ng of God ; and some contribu-
tions to the Bibliotheca Sacra. Various sermons
on special occasions and college addresses have
appeared from his pen.
In the list of Professors of Union appear two
bishops of the Protestant Episcopal Church — Dr.
Brownell of Connecticut, who, a graduate of
the college, fill*l the chairs of Logic, Belles
Lettres, and Chemistry, in different appointments
from 1806 to 1819, and the Rt. Rev. Dr. Alonzo
Potter,* of Pennsylvania, who was at different
times Professor of Mathematics and Natural Phi-
losophy, and of Rhetoric, from 1822 to 1845.
Among the oider Professors, the Rev. Andrew
Yates, held the chair of the Latin and Greek Lan-
guages from 1797 to 1801, and of Moral Philoso-
phy and Logic for a number of years subsequently
to 1814. The Rev. Thomas Macauley, a gradu-
ate of the college of 1804, was at first tutor, and
subsequently for two periods, from 1811 to 1814,
and from 1814 to 1822, Professor of Mathematics
and Natural Philosophy. The Rev. Robert Proud-
fit assumed the Professorship of Greek and Latin
in 1812, and has now the rank of Emeritus Pro-
fessor. In 1849 Mr. Tayler Lewis was appointed
to the Professorship of Greek Language and
* Dr. Potter has extended the influence of his Episcopate hj
the sound Christian philosophy of his published Discourses,
and by the course of Lectures on the Evidences of Christi-
anity, in which he bore a leading part in Philadelphia, in the
fall and winter of 1353-4. Before his election to his Bishop-
ric, Dr. Potter had published an elementary work on "Science
and the Arts of Industry," one on "Political Economy," and,
on "The School, its Uses, Objects, and Relations/1
19G
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Literature, his devotion to which is sufficient to
stamp the high scholarship of the college in this
department.
' ^^^CpU/C^^- ^Ze^i/iV
Tayler Lewis was born in Northumberland, in
Saratoga county, New York, in 1802. His father
was an officer in the Revolutionary war, and was
an honored member of the Cincinnati Society at
its close, when he had passed through its scenes
and served with distinction in the battles of Mon-
mouth and Germantown, at the siege of Fort
Stanwix, and in the storming of the redoubts at
the taking of Cornwallis at Yorktown. His mo-
ther was of a Dutch family in Albany, a niece of
John Tayler, from whom our author derives his
christian name, for many years Lieutenant-Gover-
nor of the state in the days of Tompkins and Clin-
ton. Mr. Lewis graduated in 1820 at Union Col-
lege, Schenectady, in the class of Judge Kent, Go-
vernor Seward, and Comptroller John C. Wright.
He studied law in the office of Samuel A. Foot in
Albany, in company with William Kent Though
attracted by the study of such writers as Coke,
Fearne, Blackstone, and Butler, and much inte-
rested in the logical questions of the law of evi-
dence and real estate, he was not at ease with the
practical conduct of the profession, touching which
he had some conscientious scruples. He, how-
ever, rejecting offers of partnership at Albany,
pursued the profession in the retired village of
Fort Miller, Washington county, New York ,
where he had sufficient time for reflection, and
where, at the suggestion of a clerical friend, he
entered .on the study of Hebrew to fill up the
mental vacuum. The new occupation engrossed
all his time and attention. He gave his days and
nights to Hebrew. This led to a close and dili-
gent study of the Bible in the language of the Old
and New Testament. Homer and Plato followed
with equal zest. Six years were devoted to bibli-
cal and classical studies, pursued with a scholar's
miction and a pure love of literature, with no
thought of using the stores thus accumulating in
teaching or composition, or with any prospect of
leaving the humble village. Nine years had now
passed, when it became evident that law or lite-
rature must be relinquished. The former was the
readiest sacrifice. In 1833 he married, abandoned
the law, and took a classical school in the village
of Waterford. In 1835 be went to Ogdensburg,
St. Lawrence count}-, where he remained two
years, then returned to Waterford, and shortly
afterwards, through the influence of Mr. Foot and
his old classmate Judge William Kent, was ap-
pointed Professor of Greek in the University of
the City of New York. At this time he also be-
came an active writer for the higher reviews, The
Literary and, Theological, the Biblical Repository,
and others, to which he has continued a frequent
contributor. His topics have been the relations
of theology and philosophy, following generally
the ideas of Calvin ; the questions of the day in
morals, politics, church and state government,
and natural science regarded in their religious
bearing.*
His special classical studies have been subordi-
nate to those philosophical discussions. In 1845
he published a semi-classical, semi-theological
work, Plato contra Atheos, and he has since pre-
pared A Translation of Plato's Theaetetus, with
notes and illustrations on its adaptedness to our
own times. In 1844 he also published 'a volume
on The Nature and Ground of Punishment.
The discoveries of geology and astronomy, in
* A list of these Miscellaneous Writings will be valuable to
our readers. I oners many points of reference and special
"aids to reflection."
Addresses. — Faith the Life of Science : delivered before the
Phi Beta Phi Society, Union College, 183S. Natuial Religion
the Remains of Primitive Revelation ; Delivered at Burling-
ton, 1639. The Believing Spirit ; Phi Beta Kappa Society,
Dartmouth College, IBM. The True Idea of the State: Porter
Rhetorical Society, Audover. 1848. The Revolutionary Spirit;
"Wesleyau University, Middlelown, Connecticut, 1S48. The
Bible Everything or Nothing; New Turk Theological Semi-
nary. 1S4T. Nature, Progress, Ideas ; or, A Discourse on Na-
turalism ; Phi Beta Kappa Society, Union College, 1649. Lec-
tures.— Common School Education ; Albany and Troy, January,
184S. Ancient Names for Soul ; Albany and Rochester. 1849.
Six Days of Creation, two Lectures; New York, January, 1658.
Articles in Beviews, dtc. — Economical Mode of Studying the
Classics ; Lit. and Theol. Review. Dec, 163S. Influence of the
Classics ; Lit. and Theol. Review. March, 1839. Natural and
Moral Science; Lit. and Theol. Review. -Turn, 1839. Review
of Nordheimer's Hebrew Grammar ; Bib. Rep., April, 1S41.
Review of Nordheimer's Hebrew Concordance ; Bib. Rep.,
April. 1842. The Divine Attributes as Exhibited in the Gre-
cian Poetry ; Bib. Rep., July. 1843. Vestiges of Creation, Re-
view of; Amer. Whig Review, May, 1845. Cases of Con-
science ; Amer. Whig Review. July, 1S45. Human Rights,
Art. 1 ; Amer. Whig Review, Oct.. 1*845. Human Rights, "Art.
2; Amer. Whig Review, Nov., 1845. The Church Question?
Amer. Bib. Rep. (Gil pp.) Jan. 1846. Has the State a Religion ;
Amer. Review. March. 1£4G. The Nature of the Sufferings of
Christ; Bib. Rep., July. 1846. Human Justice, or Govern-
ment a Moral Power ; Bib. Rep.. Jan.. 1847. Second article on
the same subject ; Bib. Rep., April, 1S47. The Bible Every-
thing or Nothing ; Bib. Rep.. January, 184s. Classical Criti-
cism (Essay on) ; Knickeibocker, Sept., 1647. Association, or
Fourierism ; Methodist Qnar. Review. Jan.. 1S48. Chalmers;
Bib. Rep., April. 1S48. Bible Ethics ; Bib. Rep., July, 1648.
Astronomical Views of the Ancients; Bib. Rep., April, 1849.
Second Article on the same ; Bib. Rep., July, 1849. The Spirit
of the Old Testament ; Bib. Rep.. January, 1850. Spirituality
of the Book of Job ; Andover Bibliotheca, May, 1649. Second
Article on the same ; Andover Bibliotheca, Aug., 1849. Poli-
tical Corruption ; Whig Review, 1646. The Book ofProveiba;
Bib. Rep., April, 1850. Names for Soul ; Bib. Rep., Oct.. 1850.
Review of Hickok's Rational Psychology ; Andover Biblio-
theca, Jan.. 1851. Second Article on the same : Andover Bib-
liotheca. April. 1851. Three Absurdities of Modern Theories of
Education ; Princeton Review, April, 1851. Numerous Arti-
cles in the Literary World. Theaetetus of Plato ; Andover
Bibliotheca, Jan., 1S53. The Editor's Table ; in Harper's New-
Monthly for three years, with one or two exceptions. Nume-
rous Articles iu the New York Observer.
JOHN' E. HOLBROOK.
197
::% ft.
■?--,?■ .^.l....J.c-'r
Union College.
their relation to the Biblical narrative, have em-
ployed much of his attention. His work pub-
lished at Schenectady in 1855, entitled The Six
Pays of Creation; or, Scriptural Cosmology,
with the ancient, idea of Time-Worlds in distinc-
tion from Worlds of Space, is a novel and able
view of the subject," displaying distinguished phi-
lologizal research and acumen.
Besides his illustration of these and kindred
topics in the more scholastic journals, Professor
Lewis has handled most of the great social, poli-
tical, and philosophical topics of the times in the
"Editor's Table" of Harper's Magazine, where
his writings have exerted a healthful and widely
extended influence.
Professor Isaac "W. Jackson, a graduate of
thecollegeof 1820, and since 1831 Professor of Ma-
thematics and Natural Philosophy, has illustrated
his department by the production of text hooks on
"Conic Sections," "Mechanics," and " Optics," in
which these subjects are digested with ability, and
presented with new researches by the author in a
style of noticeable clearness and precision.
A Professorship of Civil Engineering lias been
held since 1846 by William Mitchell Gillespie, who
has given to the public several works illustrating
the subject of his instructions. His Manual of
Road-Making has passed through a number of
editions. In 1851 he published The Philosophy
of Mathematics, a translation from the French of
Auguste Comte; and in 1855 The Principles
and Practice of Land Surveying. An early
publication from his pen appeared in 1845, the
sketch of a careful tourist, entitled Pome; as seen
ly a New Yorker in 1843-4. Mr. Gillespie was
born in 1816, and is a graduate of Columbia Col-
lege of 1834.
The College Programme of the " Civil Engi-
neering Department" shows this subject to be
pursued with a philosophical discrimination of its
various parts, rendering it a general discipline of
the faculties as well as a direct avenue to the large
practical business in the country which must be
based on the science. The course commences
with the second term of the Sophomore year, and
may be pursued separately from the classical and
purely philosophical studies, the pupil receiving a
special certificate of the progress which he may
have made. This system of allowing a partial
pursuit of the University Course was introduced
as early as 1832, and more fully developed in
] 849. The students may engage in various studies
at choice, but must attend at least three recita-
tions daily to entitle them to the privilege.
Mr. Elias Peissner, Instructor of Modern Lan-
guages, has published a grammar of the German
language on a philosophical system, assisting the
English student by first exhibiting to him the re-
semblances of the two tongues, an assistance which
starts him far on the journey.
The view of the college buildings which we
present includes the whole plan, though only one
half is yet completed. The rest is expected to be
soon accomplished.
In 1842, on the 22d July, the first semi-cen-
tennial anniversary of the college was celebrated
by a variety of public exercises, including ad-
dresses by the Rev. Joseph Sweetman of the class
of 1797, and by the Rev. Alouzo Potter of the
class of 1818. There was also a dinner of the
alumni presided over by John C. Spencer, who
delivered an eloquent speech on the college, and
the festivities were well sustained 03' speech and
song from Bishop Doane, the Rev. J. W. Brown,
Alfred B. Street, and other honored sons of the
institution.
JOHN E. nOLBROOK.
Dr. Jotin Edwards Holbhook, author of North
American Herpetology and Ichthyology of South
Carolina, was horn at Beaufort, South Carolina,
1795. He became a graduate of Brown Univer-
sity, Providence, Rhode Island, and after taking
a medical degree in Philadelphia, left home to
pursue his professional studies at the schools of
Edinburgh and London. Having passed nearly
two years in Scotland and England, he proceeded
to the continent, where he spent two more years,
partly in Germany and Italy, but principally in
Paris — always occupied in the study of his pro-
fession.
It was among the magnificent collections in the
Museum of the Garden of Plants in Paris that
Dr. Holbrook began the study of natural history,
to whi< 1 he ha3 since devoted his life.
In 1822 he returned to the United States, and
in 1824 was elected Professor of Anatomy in the
Medical College of the State of South Carolina, a
place which he still holds.
198
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
At the time Dr. Holbrook undertook the pub-
lication of his great work upon the Reptiles of
North America, very little was known of the
natural history of these animals in this part of
the world, and the difficulties under which he
labored from want of books and collections can
hardly be appreciated now. In fact, he had to
clear the whole Held, upon which he has erected
a monument which will remain the foundation
of that branch of natural history in this country
as long as science is cultivated. The work is par-
ticularly remarkable for the clearness and fulness
of its descriptions, and the total absence of va-
garies ; the illustrations are natural and correct — ■
not a single figure having been made from dead
specimens, and all are colored from life. Of late
Dr. Holbrook has been devoting bin attention to
a work on the fishes of the southern states, of
which three numbers have been published, which
will undoubtedly maintain the high rank of his
previous scientific labors.*
MARIA BROOKS.
Maria del' Occidents, to adopt her poetical desig-
nation, was the descendant of a family of Welsh
origin. Her grandfather had settled in Charles-
town, Massachusetts, before the Revolutionary
war. He was a man of wealth, and built there a
fine house for his residence, from which he was
driven when the town was burnt by the British.
He retired to Medford, where his granddaughter,
Maria Gowen, was born ah ut 1795. Her father
was a man of literary cultivation, and enjoyed the
intimacy of the professors of Harvard, which
doubtless lent its influence to the tastes of the
young poetess who, before her ninth year, had
committed to memory passages from Comus and
Cato and the ancient classics. The loss of her
father's property was followed by his death, and
with these broken fortunes, at the age of fourteen
she became engaged to a merchant of Boston, who
provided for her education, and on its completion
married tier. Mercantile disaster succeeded a few
years of prosperity, and a life of poverty and re-
tirement followed. The wife turned her thoughts
to poetry and wrote, at the age of twenty, an oc-
tosyllabic poem in seven cantos, which was never
printed. In 1820 she published a small volume,
Judith, Esther, and other Poems ; by a Lover of
the Fine Arts ; in which she struck a new and
peculiar view in American poetry. Concentrated
and musical in expression, with equal force and
delicacy of imagination, it was an echo of the
refined graces of the noble old school of English
poetry of the seventeenth century, in a new world
in the nineteenth.
In 1823 the husband of Mrs. Brooks died, when
she took up her residence with a relative in Cuba,
where she speedily completed the first canto of
Zophiel, or the Bride of Seven, which was pub-
lished at Boston in 1825. The five remaining
cantos were written in Cuba. The death of her
uncle, a planter of the island, who left her his
property, gave her a settled income. She returned
to the United States and lived in the neighbor-
hood of Dartmouth College, where her son, now
* North American Herpetology, published in Philadelphia:
J. Dobson, 1842. Ichthyology of South Carolina, published in
Charleston : John Russell, 1854.
j Captain Brooks of the United States Army, was
pursuing bis studies — the library of the institution
■ supplying materials for the notes to her poem
! which she was then revising. In 1830 she ac-
| companied her brother to Paris. In London she
! saw Washington Irving, then attached to the le-
i gation, who encouraged her in the production of
the poem. With Southey, who warmly admired
her poetical powers, and with whom she had held
a correspondence from America, she passed the
spring of 1831 at Keswick. Zophiel was left in
his hands for publication ; and the proof sheets
had been corrected by him when it appeared from
the press of Kennett, a London publisher, in
1833.
Southey, in the Doctor, has pronounced Maria
del' Oceidente ''the most impassioned and most
imaginative of all poetesses."* If anjr one has
since risen to divide the honor it is Mrs. Elizabeth
Barrett Browning; otherwise Mrs. Brooks stands
alone in one of the most refined and difficult pro-
vinces of creative art. Zophiel, or the Bride of
Seven, is an exquisite tale of an exiled Jewish
maiden in Media, surrounded by the agencies of
the spiritual world of demons, under the special
influence of the fallen angel named in the title,
and is evidently founded on the story, in the book
of Tobit in the Apocrypha, of Sara the daughter
of Raguel in Ecbatane, a city of Media, who " was
reproached because she had been married to seven
husbands, whom Asmodeus, the evil spirit had
killed, before they had lien with her." Egla,
the maiden, is all that exquisite beauty, grace, and
tenderness can combine together in youthful wo-
manhood— and though mostly passive in the story,
her character and image are identified tothe mind
with distinctness. Zophiel, who is in the place
of Asmodeus, is the oriental representative of
Apollo,
a spirit sometimes ill ; but ere
He fell, a heavenly angel.
* The Doctor, chapter Hv. First EDglish Edition. Vol. it.
p. 178.
MARIA BROOKS.
199
As this poem has been objected to, though
without any sufficient reason, for obscurity in the
narrative, we may cite for the reader's conve-
nience a neat analysis of the plot which appeared
in a contemporary review in Fraser's Magazine.
Zophiel, a fallen angel, sees a Hebrew maid, and
falls passionately in love with her, at the time that
her parents wish her to marry a powerful and hand-
some Mede, by name Meles, who had won the old
people's admiration by his skill in archery, exerted
on the occasion of a victim-dove escaping from the
altar as the Hebrew couple were about to perform a
sacrifice. Meles just then happening to pass, let fly
an arrow, and nailed the fugitive to a tree. He is
accepted as the daughter's lover, in spite of her aver-
sion. He enters the chamber where she is awaiting
him:
But ere lie yet, with haste, could draw aside
His broidered belt and sandals, — dread to tell,
Eager be sprang — he sought to clasp bis bride:
He stopt — a groan was beard — be gasped aud fell
Low by the couch of her who widowed lay,
Her ivory bands convulsive clasped in prayer,
But lacking power to move. And when 'twas day,
A cold black, corse was all of Meles there.
Sardius, the king of Media, sends for Meles, who
had been his ambassador to Babylon: search is made
after him, and his corpse is found. The old Hebrew
couple, and their daughter Egla, are brought pri-
soners to Sardius, and the latter describes the manner
of Meles' death, and the circumstance of her being
haunted by a spirit. This is taken for the raving of
her unsettled brain, although she is detained in the
palace, as the king has become enamoured of her.
Liaspes, one of the nobles, fearful that Egla was in
possessiou of some deadly art by which Meles fell,
and which she might try upon Sardius, dissuades the
king from approaching her ; and Alcestes is destined
to visit her during the night. He is killed by the
same unseen hand. Sardius now offers a high re-
ward to him who will unravel the mystery. Then
steps forward another noble : he was bold, and de-
scended from some god.
He came, and first explored with trusty blade;
But soon as he approached the fata! bride,
Opened tbe terrace-door, and half in siiade
A form, as of a mortal, seemed to glide ;
He flew to strike ; but baffling still tbe blow,
And still receding from the chamber far,
It lured him on ; and in the morning, low
And bloody lay tbe form.
All is dismay at the court. Rough old Philomars
next claims permission to expose the trick. He en-
ters the chamber, while his armed companions sur-
round every avenue without, to prevent the escape
of any fugitive. The precaution was vain, as Egla
lay awaiting in bed the rough soldier. She heard
Philomars' last struggle, and the suffocating noise of
the lengthened death-pang. The next adventurer
was Rosanes, who shared the same fate. Altheetor,
the favourite of Sardius, and his youthful musician,
now falls ill with excessive love for Egla ; his passion
is discovered, and the king allows him to make the
attempt which had proved fatal to so many.
Touching bis golden harp to prelude sweet.
Entered the youth, so pensive, pale, and fair;
Advanced respectful to the virgin's feet.
And, lowly bending down, made tuneful parlance there.
Like perfume soft hi* gentle accents rose.
And sweetly thrilled the gilded roof along;
His warm devoted soul no terror knows,
And truth and love lend fervour to bis song.
Bhe hides her face upon her conch, that there
She may not see him die. No groan, she springs
Frantic between a hope-beam and despair.
And twines her long hair round him as bo sings.
Then thus:—" Oh ! Being who unseen but near
Art hovering now, behold and pity me I
For love, hope, beauty, music, — all that's dear,
Look, — look on me — and spare my agony !
" Spirit! in mercy, make me not the cause,
The hateful cause, of this kind beinsfs death !
In pity kill me first 1 — He lives — he draws—
Thou wilt not blast ? — he draws bis harmless breath."
Still lives Altheetor ; — still unguarded strays
One hand o'er his fall'n lyre; but all his soul
Is lost — given up ; — he fain would turn to gaze.
But cannot turn, so twined. Now, all that stole
Through every vein, and thrilled each separate nerve,
Himself could not have told, — al! wound and clasped
In her white arms and hair. All! can they serve
To save him ? — " What a sea of sweets 1" — he gasped,
But 'twas delight : — sound, fragrance, all were breathing.
Still swelled the transport. " Let me look and thank:'1
He sighed (celestial smiles his lip enwreatbing),
"I die — but ask no more,'1 he said and sank.
Still by her arms supported — lower — lower —
As by soft sleep oppressed; so calm, so fair —
He rested on the purple tap'strie'd floor,
It seemed an angel lay reposing there.
Zophiel, in despair at not having obtained Egla's
love, flies to the palace of Gnomes under the sea,
following the guidance of Phraerion (Zephyrus), to
obtain a draught which shall perpetuate life and
youth in Egla. With difficulty they obtain it, but
only on condition of taking back to the Gnome king
in return a mortal bride. But as they are returning
from their strange expedition, a tremendous storm
occurs, in which Zophiel lets fall the spar containing
the drops of life. He and his companion reach the
Libyan land, and the former is met by Satan himself,
who demands of him the relinquishment of the hand
of Egla, as he is enamoured of her ; but Zophiel re-
fuses, and defies his power, when the superior fiend
makes him feel it, and denounces destruction to his
hopes.
The morning sun discovers Helon and Ilariph, a
young man and his aged guide, on the banks of the
Tigris. The former is sorrowful, in consequence of
a dream of the preceding evening, when Hariph
gives him a box of carneul, as a preservative from
evil; for in the hour of imminent danger he was to
burn the contents. On proceeding, they come upon
Zameia and her guide, an aged man, overspent with fa-
tigue, and in utter destitution. Zameia had been mar-
ried tooneof the magnates of Babylon; but during the
performance of the rights of Mylitta (the Assyrian Ve-
nus) she meets Meles, on an embassy at Babylon from
Media, and falls desperately in love. During her
husband's absence on another embassy she frequently
sees Meles, and indulges her guilty passion ; but the
Mede, however, leaves her, and returns to his own
country. The impassioned woman resolves to seek
him through the world. Helon and Hariph relieve
her. She finds her way to the bower of Egla, and is
on the point of stabbing her to the heart, as the mur-
deress of Meles, when Helon and his companion
arrive to rescue her. This they effect. Zameia dies
from excess of passion ; Helon is wedded to Egla,
being the husband predestined for her ; Hariph turns
out to be the archangel Raphael, who blesses the
pair, and bids the lost spirit Zophiel to indulge in
hope.
The capabilities of this outline in a true poet's
hands are manifest, but no one who has not read
the poem with care — and whoever reads it once
will be apt so to read it again and again — can do
justice to the purity, sweetness, variety, and force
of the versification, and the warm passionate na-
ture which, without exaggeration or apparent
effort, interpenetrates every portion of it. There
is no vulgarity in the fate of the lovers. They
seem to die worthily in the noble cause of honor
200
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
and beauty. The pure maiden walks unscathed
amidst these desperate fires. One charmed inci-
dent of Eastern romance succeeds another, 'with
sentiment and description of nature blended with
a certain cool spiritual breath of the peace which
tempers the flames of passion burning through it.
The imagery and ideas have been so thoroughly
fused in the writer's mind, and come forth so na-
turally in the simple verses, that we would not
suspect the deep study and costly elaboration of
the work, which it is said was written over seven
times, were we not reminded of these things by
the learned quotations in the admirably written
notes which carry us to Oriental, Classic, German,
and French sources.*
Eeturning to America from England, Mr.?.
Brooks resided for a time at West Point, where
her son, now an officer in the United States army,
was stationed at the Military Academy as Assi.-t-
ant Professor, and afterwards at Governor's Inland,
New York.
In 1843 she had printed for private circulation
a prose romance, Idomen, or the Vale of Yumjiri,
whicl), under a disguise of fiction, embodies the in-
cident? of her career with much fine poetical de-
scription and philosophical reflection. At the
close of the year she returned to her home in
Cuba, a luxurious tropical residence, continuing
to cultivate her poetic faculties in the production
of some minor poems, and the planning and par-
tial composition of an epic entitled, Beatrix, the
Beloved of Columbus. It was her habit, says her
correspondent, Dr. R. W. Griswold, " to finish her
shorter pieces and entire cantos of longer poems,
before committing a word of them to paper."
Her Ode to the Departed was written in 1843.
Her death occurred at Matanzas November 11,
1845.t
EGLA SLEEPING IS THE GROVE OF ACACIAS — FROM ZOPIIIEL.
Sephora held her to her heart, the while
Grief had its way ; then saw her gently laid,
And b:ide her, kissing her blue eyes, beguile
Slumbering, the fervid noon. Her leafy bed
Breathed forth o'erpowering sighs; increased the
heat;
Sleepless had been the night ; her weary sense
Could now no more. Lone in the still retreat,
Wounding the flowers to sweetness more intense
She sank. Thus kindly Nature lets our woe
Swell till it bursts forth from the o'erfraught
breast ;
Then draws an opiate from the bitter flow,
And lays her sorrowing child soft in the lap of
rest.
Now all the mortal maid lies indolent ;
Save one sweet cheek, which the cool velvet turf
* The notes of Z6pbiel were written some in Cuba, some in
Canada, some at Hanover. United States, some at Paris, and
the last at Keswick, England, under the kind encouragement
of Eobert Southey, Esq. ; and near a window which overlooks
the beautiful lake Derwent, and the finest groups of those
mountains which encircle completely that charming valley
where the Greta winds over its bed of clean pebbles, looking
as clear as dew. — Aid/tor's Note-.
T A Biographical sketch of Mrs. Brooks, with an analysis of
her poems, appeared in the Southern Literary Messenger for
August. 1839. Griswold, to whom the public is indebted for
the publication of several of her minor poems in Graham's
Magazine, has added some interesting particulars in his Fe-
male Poets of America.
Had touched too rude, though all with blooms
besprent,
One soft arm pillowed. Whiter than the surf
That foams against the sea-rock looked her neck
By the dark, glossy, odorous shrubs relieved,
That close inclining o'er her, seemed to reek
What 'twas they canopied ; and quickly heaved,
Beneath her robe's white folds and azure zone,
Her heart yet incomposed ; a fillet through
Peeped softly azure, while witli tender moan,
As if of bliss, Zephyr her ringlets blew
Sportive; about her neck their gold he twined ;
Kissed the soft violet on her temples warm,
And eyebrow just so dark might well define
Its flexile arch; throne of expression's charm.
As the vexed Caspian, though its rage be past,
Ami the blue smiling heavens swell o'er in peace,
Shook to the centre by the recent blast.
Heaves on tumultuous still, and hath not power
to cease ;
So still each little pulse was seen to throb,
Though passion and its pain were lulled to rest;
And ever and anon a piteous sob
Shook the pure arch expansive o'er her breast.
Save that, a perfect peace was, sovereign, there
O'er fragrance, sound, and beauty ; nil was mute;
Only a dove bemoaned her absent pnere.
Or fainting breezes swept the slumberer's lute.
EGLA AT THE BANQUET OF BARDIES — FROM THE SAME.
But Egla this refused them; and forbore
The folded turban twined with many a string
Of gems; and, as in tender memory, wore
Her country's simpler garb, to meet the youthful
king.
Day o'er, the task was done ; the melting hues
Of twilight gone, and reigned the evening gloom
Gentty o'er fount and tower; she could refuse
No more ; and, led by slaves, sought the fair ban-
quet-room.
With unassured yet graceful step advancing,
The light vermillion of her cheek more warm
For doubtful modesty ; while all were glancing
Over the strange* attire that well became such
form.
To lend her space the admiring band gave way ;
The sandals on her silvery feet were blue ;
Of saffron tint her robe, ns when young day
Spreads softly o'er the heavens, and tints the trem-
bling dew.
Light was that robe, as mist; and not a gem
Or ornament impedes its wavy fold,
Long and profuse ; save that, above its hem,
'Twas'broidered with pomegranate-wreath, in gol 1.
And, by a silken cincture, broad and blue
In shapely guise about the waist confined,
Blent with the curls that, of a lighter hue,
Half floated, waving in their length behind ;
The other half, in braided tresses twined,
Was decked with rose of pearl3, and sapphires
azure too,
Arranged with curious skill to imitate
The sweet acacia's blossoms ; just as live
And droop those tender flowers in natural state;
And so the trembling gems seemed sensitive;
And pendant, sometimes, touch her neck ; and there
Seem shrinking from its softness as nlive.
O'er her arms flower-white, and round, and bare,
Slight bandelets were twined of colours five ;
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.
201
Like little rainbows seemly on those arms ;
None of that court had seen the like before ;
Soft, fragrant, bright, — so muuh like heaven her
charms,
It scarce could seem idolatry t' adore.
He who beheld her hand forgot her face ;
Yet in that face was all beside forgot ;
And he, who as she went, beheld her pace,
And locks profuse, had said, " nay, turn thee not."
Placed on a banquet-couch beside the king,
'Mid many a sparkling guest no eye forbore ;
But, like their darts, the warrior-princes fling
Such looks as seemed to pierce, and scan her o'er
and o'er :
Nor met alon-1 the glare of lip and eye —
Charms, but not rare : — the gazer stern and cool,
Who sought but faults, nor fault or spot could spy ;
In every limb, joint, vein, the maid was beautiful.
Save that her lip, like some bud-bursting flower,
Just scorned the bounds of symmetry, perchance,
But by its rashness gained an added power ;
Heightening perfection to luxuriance.
But that was only when she smiled, and when
Dissolved th' intense expression of her eye;
And had her Spirit-love first seen her then
He had not doubted her mortality.
MORNING SUNLIGHT — FROM THE SAME.
now beauteous art thou, O thou morning sun! —
The old man, feebly tottering forth, admires
As much thy beauty, now life's dream is done,
As when he moved exulting in his fires.
The infant strains his little arms to catch
The rays that glance about his silken hair ;
And Luxury hangs her amber lamps, to match
Thy face, when turned away from bower and
palace fair.
Sweet to the lip, the draught, the blushing fruit;
Music and perfumes mingle with the soul;
How thrills the kiss, when feeling's voice is mute!
And light and beauty's tints enhance the whole.
Yet each keen sense were duluess but for thee:
Thy ray to joy, love, virtue, genius, warms ;
Thou never weariest: no inconstancy
But comes to pay new homage to H13' charms.
How many lips have sung thy praise, how long!
Yet, when his slumbering harp he feels thee woo,
The pleasured ban! pours forth another song,
And finds in thee, like love, a theme for ever new.
Thy dark-eyed daughters come in beauty forth
In thy near realms; and, like their snow-wreaths
fair,
The bright-haired youths and maidens of the North
Smile in thy colours when thou art not there.
Tis there thou bid'st a deeper ardour glow,*
And higher, purer reveries completest ;
* It has been generally believed that " the cold in clime are
cold in blood," but this on examination would. I am convinced,
be found phyxiuUi/ untrue; at least, in those climates near
the equator. It is here that most cold-blooded animals, such
as the tortoise, the serpent, and various tribes of beautiful in-
sects, are found in the greatest perfection.
Fewer instances of delirium or suicide, occasioned by the
passion of love, would, perhaps, be found within the tropics
than in the other divisions of the earth. Nature, in the colder
regions, appears to have given an innate warmth and energy
proportionate to those efforts, which the severity of the ele-
ments and the numerous wants which they create, keep con-
tinually in demand.
Those who live, as it were, under the immediate protection
of the sun. have little need of internal flies. Their blood is
cool and thio; and living where everything is soft and flatter-
As drops that farthest from the ocean flow,
Refining all the way, from springs the sweetest.
Haply, sometimes, spent with the sleepless night,
Some wretch impassioned, from sweet morning's
breath,
Turns his hot brow and sickens at thy light ;
But Nature, ever kind, soon heals or gives him
death.
SONG — FROM TnE SAME.
Day, in melting purple dying,
Blossoms, all around me sighing,
Fragrance, from the lilies straying,
Zephyr, with my ringlets playing,
Ye but waken my distress:
I am sick of loneliness.
Thou, to whom I love to hearken,
Come, ere night around me darken ;
Though thy softness but deceive me,
Say thou'r't true and I'll believe thee;
Veil, if ill, thy soul's intent,
Let me think it innocent !
Save thy toiling, spare thy treasure:
All I ask is friendship's pleasure:
Let the shining ore lie darkling,
Bring no gem in lustre sparkling ;
Gifts and gold are naught to me ;
I would only look on thee !
Tell to thee the high-wrought feeling,
Ecstasy but in revealing;
Paint to thee the deep sensation,
Rapture in participation,
Yet but torture, if comprest
In a lone unfriended breast.
Absent still ! Ah ! come and bless me!
Let these eyes again caress thee,
Once, in caul ion, I could fly thee:
Now, I nothing could deny thee ;
In a look if death there be,
Come, and I will g.ize on thee !
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.
Joseph Rodman1 Dp.ake was; born in the city of
New York, August 7, 1795. His lather died
while he was quite young, and the family had to
contend with adverse circumstances. There were
four children, Joseph and three sisters — Louisa,
Millieent, and Caroline, of whom the last shared
in his poetic susceptibility. Drake obtained a
good education, and studied medicine under Dr.
Nicholas Romayne, who was strongly attached to
his young pupil. He obtained his degree, and
shortly after, in October, 1816, married Sarah,
the daughter of Henry Eckford, a connexion which
placed him in affluent circumstances. > After his
marriage he visited Europe with his wife, and his
relative, Dr. De Kay, who had also married a
daughter of Eckford, and who was subsequently
known to the public as the author of a volume of
ing to the senses, it is not surprising that their thoughts seldom
wander far beyond what their bright eyes can look upon.
Though sometimes subject to violent fits of jealousy, these
generally pass off without leaving much regret or unhappiness
behind, and any other object falling in their way (for they
would not go far to seek it) would very soon become just as
valuable to them as the one lost. Such of them as are constant
are rather so from indolence, than from any depth of senti-
ment or conviction of excellence. "The man who reflects
(says Rousseau) is a monster out of the order of nature. " The
natives of all tropical regions might be brought forward in
proof of his assertion : they never look at remote results, or
enter into refined speculations; and yet, are undoubtedly less
unhappy than any other of the inhabitants of earth. — Note by
the Auilior.
202
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Travels in Turkey, and of the zoological portion
of the Natural History of New York. His health
failing at this time, he visited New Orleans in
the winter of 1819, for its recovery. He returned
to New York in the spring, fatally smitten with
consumption, and died in the following autumn,
on the 21st September, 1820, at the age of
twenty -five. He .is buried in a quiet, rural spot,
at Hunt's Point, Westchester county, in the neigh-
borhood of the island of New York, where he
passed some of his boyish years with a relative,
and where the memory of his gentle manners and
winning ways still lingers. A monument con-
tains a simple inscription of his name and age,
with a couplet from the tributary lines of Hal-
leck : —
None knew him but to love him,
Nor named him but to praise.
Drake was a poet in his boyhood. The anecdotes
preserved of his early youth show the prompt
=•. "Cmi^A- &~dJ/)*-GSAA_,>
kindling of the imagination. His first rhymes
were a conundrum, which he perpetrated when
he was scarcely five. When he was but seven or
eight years old, he was one day punished for
some childish offence, by imprisonment in a por-
tion of the garret shut off by some wooden bars,
which had originally inclosed the place as a wine
closet. His sisters stole up to witness his suffer-
ing condition, and found him pacing the room
with something like a sword on his shoulder,
watching an incongruous heap on the floor, in the
character of Don Quixote at his vigils over the
armor in the church. He called a boy of his
acquaintance, named Oscar, "little Fingal;" his
ideas from books thus early seeking living shapes
before him in the world. In the same spirit, the
child listened with great delight to the stories of
an old lady about the Revolution. He would
identify himself with the scene, and once, when
he had given her a very energetic account of a
ballad which he had read, upon her remarking it
was a tough story, he quickly replied, with a deep
sigh : " Ah ! we had it tough enough that day,
ma'am."
As a poet, " he lisped in numbers, for the num-
bers came." He wrote The Moching-Bird, the
earliest of his poems which has been preserved,
when a mere boy. It shows not merely a happy
facility, but an unusual consciousness of the imi-
tative faculty in young poets. A portion of a
poem, The Past and the Present, which furnished
the concluding passage of Leon in the published
volume, was communicated to a friend in MS.
when the author was about fourteen. On his
European tour in 1818, he addressed two long
rhyming letters to his friend Halleck — one dated
Dumfries, in May, in the measure of Death and
Dr. Hornbook, and in English-Scotch ; the other,
dated Irvine, in the same month, mostly on Burns,
in the eight-syllable iambic.
On his return home to New York, he wrote, in
March, 1819, the first of the famous Croakers, the
Tterses to Ennui, which he sent to the Evening
Post, and which Coleman, the editor, announced
to the public as " the production of genius and
taste." The authorship was for a while kept
secret. Drake communicated it to Halleck, who
joined his friend in the series as Croaker, Jr., and
they mostly signed the contribution*, afterwards,
Croaker & Co. Of the thirty or more poems of
which the whole series was composed, Drake
wrote nearly one half, including The American
Flag, which appeared among them.
Though the poems have not b\en acknow-
ledged by either author, and the public is of
course somewhat in the dark as to these anony-
mous effusions, yet the mystery has been pene-
trated by various knowing persons of good
memories and skilled in local and political gossip
— of the result of whose labors the following is,
we believe, a pretty accurate statement.
The Croakers, published in the Evening Post,
appeared in rapid succession in one season, begin-
ning with the lines by Drake, to Ennui, March
10, 1819, and ending July 24, with The Curtain
Conversation by Halleck, that pleasant appeal
of Mrs. Dash, since included among his poems
under the title " Domestic Happiness." The fol-
lowing Croakers have been attributed to Drake:
"On Presenting the Freedom of the City in a
Gold Box to a Great General ;" " The Secret
Mine sprung at a late Supper," an obscure local
political squib, of temporary interest ; " To Mr.
Potter, the Ventriloquist," who is supposed to be
employed in the State Legislature, promoting a
confusion of tongues among the members in mal-
d-propos speeches; the first "Ode to Mr. Simpson,
Manager and Purveyor of the Theatre," — pleasant
gossip about Woodworth, Coleman, Mrs. Barnes,
Miss Leesugg who afterwards became Mrs.
Hackett, and others : " The Battery War," a
sketch of a forgotten debate in Tammany ; " To
John Minshull, Esq., Poet and Playwright, who
formerly resided in Maiden-lane but now absent
in England," a pleasant satire, light and effective,
upon a melancholy poetaster of the times; the
lines to John Lang, Esq.,
In thee, immortal Lang ! have all
The sister graces met —
Thou statesman ! sage ! and " editor"
Of the New York Gazette ;
JOSEPH RODMAN BRAKE.
203
the " Abstract of the Surgeon-General's Report,"
and, perhaps, the lines " Surgeon-General " him-
self— hitting off Dr. Mitehill's obvious peculiari-
ties in the funniest manner; "To ,
Esq.," a legal friend, who is invited from his law
books to " the feast of reason and the flow of soul
of the wits;" an "Ode to Impudence," which
expresses the benefit and delight of paying debts
in personal brass in preference to the usual gold
and silver currency ; an " Ode to Fortune," with
a glimpse of the resources of an easy lounger
about the city ; the " Ode to Simon Dewitt, Esq.,
Surveyor-General," to whom it. appears the public
is indebted for those classic felicities in the nam-
ing of our rural towns Pompey, Ovid, Cicero,
Manlius, and the like; " To Croaker, Jr.," in com-
pliment to his associate Halleck, — with whom the
honors of the whole, for wit and sentiment, are
fairly divided.
The Culprit Fay arose out of a conversation in
the summer of 181:), in which Drake, De Kay,
Cooper the novelist, and Halleck were speaking
of the Scottish streams and their adaptation to
the uses of poetry by their numerous romantic
associations. Cooper and Halleck maintained
that our own rivers furnished no such capabi-
lities, when Drake, as usual, took the opposite
side of the argument; and, to make his position
good, produced in three days The Culprit Fay.
The scene is laid in the Highlands of the Hudson,
but it is notifiable that the chief associations
conjured up relate to the salt water; the poet
drawing his inspiration from his familiar haunt,
on the Sound, at Hunt's Point.*
The Culprit Fay is a poem of exquisite fancy,
filled with a vast as-emblage of vitalized poetical
images of earth, air and water, which come
thronging upon the reader in a tumult of youthful
creative ecstasy. We cannot suppo-e this poem
to have been written otherwise than it was, in a
sudden brilliant Hash of the mind, under the
auspices of the fairest associations of natural
scenery and human loveliness. No churl could
have worked so generously, prodigally bestowing
poetical life upon the tiny neglected creatures
which he brings within the range of the reader's
unac •ustomed sympathy. It is a Midsummer's
Night's Dream after Shakespeare's Queen Mali ;
but the poet had watched this manifold existence
of Held and wave or he never would have described
it, though a thousand Shakespeares had written.
The story is pretty and sufficient for the purpose,
which is not a very profound one — a mere junket-
ing with a poet's fancy. The opening scenery is
a beautiful moonlight view of the Highlands of
the Hudson.
'Tis the middle watch of a summer's night —
The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright;
Nought is seen in the vault on high
But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky,
And the flood which rolls its milky hue,
A river of light on the welkin blue.
The moon looks down on old Cronest,
She mellows the shades on his shiiggy breast,
And seems his huge grey form to throw
* In a MS. copy of the Culprit Fay the author left a note,
Ingeniously removing the difficulty.' " The reader will find
some of the inhabitants of the salt water a little further up the
Hudson than they usually travel ; but not too far for the pur-
poses of poetry."
In a silver cone on the wave below ;
His sides are broken by spots of shade,
By the walnut bough and the cedar mado.
And through their clustering branches dark
Glimmers and dies the fire-fly's spark —
Like starry twinkles that momently break
Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack.
The stars are on the moving stream,
And fling, as its ripples gently flow,
A burnished length of wavy beam
In an eel-like, spiral line below ;
The winds are whist, and the owl is still,
The bat in the shelvy rock is hid,
And nought is heard on the lonely hill
But the cricket's clurp, and the answer shrill
Of the gauze-winged katy-did ;
And the plat t of the wailing whip-poor-will,
Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings,
Ever a note of wnil and wo,
Till morning spreads her rosy wings,
And earth and sky in her glances glow.
The Culprit has been guilty of the enormity of
falling in love with an earthly maid.
And left for her his woodland shade;
He has lain upon her lip of dew,
And sunned him in her eye of blue,
Fanned her cheek with his wing of air,
Played in the ringlets of her hair,
Aud, nestling on her snowy breast,
Forgot the lily-king's behest.
For this he is put on trial and sentenced at once.
In consideration of the damage done to his wings
be is to repair their wounded purity by seizing a
drop from the glistening vapory arch in the
moonlight of the leaping sturgeon, and since his
flame-wood lamp has been extinguished he is
to light it again from the last spark of a falling
star. It was a pretty penance, but difficult of
execution. The Fay, plunging into the wave in
quest of the sturgeon, is met by an embattled
host of those thorny, prickly, and exhaustive
powers which lurk in the star-fish, the crab, and
the leech.
Up sprung the spirits of the waves,
From sea-silk beds in their coral eaves,
With snail-plate armour snatched in haste,
They speed their way through the liquid waste:
Some are rapidly borne along
On the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong,
Some on the blood-red leeches glide,
Some on the stony star-fish ride,
Some on the back of the lancing squab,
Some on the sideling soldier-crab;
Anil some on the jellied quart that flings
At once a thousand streamy stings —
They cut the wave with the living oar
And hurry on to the moonlight shore,
To guard their realms and chase away
The footsteps of the invading Fay.
The activity of these foes is vigorously described.
Fearlessly he skims along,
His hope is high, and his limbs are strong,
lie spreads his arms like the swallow's wing.
And throws his feet with a frog-like fling;
His locks of gold on the waters shine,
At his breast the tiny foam-beads rise,
His hack gleams bright above the brine,
Aud the wake-line foam behind him lies.
But the water-sprites are gathering near
To check his course along the tide ;
204
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Their warriors come in swift career
And hem him round on every side.
On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold,
The quarl's long arms are round him rolled,
The prickly pror.g has pierced his skin,
And the squab has thrown his javelin,
The gritty star has rubbed him raw,
And the crab has struck with his giant claw ;
He howls with rage, and he shrieks with pain,
He strikes around, but his blows are vain ;
Hopeless is the unequal fight,
Fairy ! nought is left but flight.
He turned him round and fled amain
With hurry and dash to the beach again ;
He twisted over from side to side,
And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide.
The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet,
And with all his might he flings his feet,
But the water-sprites are round him still,
To cross his path and work him ill.
They bade the wave before him rise ;
They flung the sea-fire in his eyes,
And they stunned his eai-s with the scallop stroke,
With the porpoise heave and the drum-fish croak.
Oh ! but a weary wight was he
When he reached the foot of the dog-wood tree.
Like wounded knight-errant, repairing his per-
sonal injuries with the simples at hand, he em-
barks this time in the shallow of a purple muscle-
shell, meets the sturgeon, and catches the eva-
nescent lustre. lie has then the powers of the
air to deal with in quest of the star ; but they are
less formidable, or he is better mounted on a fire-
fly steed, which carries him safely through all
opposition.
He put his acorn helmet on ;
It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down :
The corslet plate that guarded his breast
Was once the wild bee's golden vest;
His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes,
Was formed of the wing3 of butterflies ;
His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen,
Studs of gold on a ground of green ;
And the quivering lance which he brandished
bright,
Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.
Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed ;
He bared his blade of the bent grass blue ;
He drove his spurs of the cockle seed.
And away like a glance of thought he flew,
To skim the heavens and follow far
The fiery trail of the rocket-star.
With this armor he wins his way to the palace
of the sylphid queen, who is for retaining him in
that happy region. She is a kind damsel, for
while he rejects her love, she speeds him on his
errand with a charm. The star bursts, the flame
is relighted, and there is a general jubilee on his
return to the scenery of Crow Nest.
But hark ! from tower on tree-top high,
The sentry elf his call has made,
A streak is in the eastern sky,
Shapes of moonlight ! flit and fade !
The hill-tops gleam in morning's spring,
The skylark shakes his dappled wing,
The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn.
The cock has crowed, and the Fays are gone.
The poems of Drake have not all been pre-
served. He wrote with great facility on the spur
of the moment, and seldom cared for a piece
after it was written, but would give it to the first
friend who would ask him for it. Some of his
best verses were written with his friends and fa-
mily sitting round the winter hearth — a passing
amusement of the hour. These impromptus,
whether witty or sentimental, were equally felici-
tous. He always touched matters of feeling with •
delicacy, and the Croakers witness the pungency j
of his wit. The following epigram does not ap- /
pear in the collection of his poems : —
IMPK0MPTI7.
Unveil her mind, but hide her face,
And love will need no fuel ;
Alas! that such an ugly ease,
Should hide so rich a jewel.
Of Drake's personal character and literary ha-
bits we are enabled to present several characteris-
tic anecdotes, by the aid of Mr. James Lawson,
who some time since prepared an elaborate notice
of the poet for publication, and has kindly placed
his manuscript notes at our disposal.
" Drake's reading," remarks Mr. Lawson, "com-
menced early, and included a wide range of
books. His perception was rapid and Ins me-
mory tenacious. He devoured all works of ima-
gination. His favorite poets were Shakespeare,
Burns, and Campbell. He was fond of discus-
sion among his friends, and would talk by the
hour, either side of an argument affording him
equal opportunity. The spirit, force, and at the
same time simplicity of expression, with his art-
less manner, gained him many friends. He had
that native politeness which springs from bene-
volence, which would stop to pick up the hat or
the crutch of an old servant, or walk by the side
of the horse of a timid lady. When he was lost
to his friends one of them remarked that it was
not so much his social qualities which engaged
the affections as a certain inner grace or dignity
of mind, of winch they were hardly conscious at
the time.
" Free from vanity and affectation, he had no
morbid seeking for popular applause. When he
was on his death-bed, at his wife's request, Dr.
De Kay collected and copied all his poems which
could be found, and took them to him. ' See,
Joe,' said he to him, ' what I have done.' ' Burn
them,' he replied, ' the}' are valueless.'
" Halleck's acquaintance with Drake arose in
a poetical incident on the Battery, one day, when
in a retiring shower the heavens were spanned
by a rainbow. DeKa}7 and Drake were together,
and Halleck was talking with them : the conver-
sation taking the turn of some passing expression
of the wishes of the moment, when Halleck
whimsically remarked that it would be heaven
for him, just then, to ride on that rainbow, and
read Campbell. The idea arrested the attention
of Drake. He seized Halleck by the hand, and
from that moment they were friends.
" Drake's person was well formed and attrac-
tive : a fine head, with a peculiar blue eye, pale
and cold in repose, but becoming dark and bril-
liant under excitement. His voice was full-toned
and musical ; he was a good reader, and sang
with taste and feeling, though rarely."
A fastidious selection, including the Culprit
Fay, was made from Drake's poems, and pub-
lished in 1836 by the poet's only child, his
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.
205
daughter, married to the late Commodore De Kay,
famed for his naval engagements in the La Plata
while commanding the squadron of Buenos Ayres.
The Mocking- Bird, and several of the other
poems among the following extracts, are not in-
cluded in that volume, the only one of the au-
thor's writings which has appeared.
THE moceing-bied.
Early on a pleasant day,
In the poet's month of May,
Field and forest looked so fair,
So refreshing was the air,
That despite of morning dew
Forth I walked, where tangling grew,
Many a thorn and breezy bush ;
Where the red-breast and the thrush,
Gaily raised their early lay,
Thankful for returning day.
Every thicket, bush, and tree,
Swelled the grateful harmony ;
As it mildly swept along,
Echo seemed to catch the song ;
But the plain was wide and clear,
Echo never whispered near !
From a neighboring mocking-bird,
Came the answering notes I heard.
Soft and low the song began,
I scarcely caught it as it ran,
Through the melancholy trill
Of the plaintive whip-per-will.
Through the ring-dove's gentle wail,
Chattering jay and whistling quail,
Sparrow's twitter, cat bird's cry,
Red bird's whistle, robin's sigh,
Blade bird, blue bird, swallow, lark,
Each his native note might mark,
Oft he tried the lesson o'er,
Each time louder than before.
Burst at length the finished song,
Loud and clear it poured along ;
All the choir in silence heard,
Hushed before this wonderous bird!
All transported and amazed,
Scarcely breathing — long I gazed:
Now it reached the loudest swell,
Lower, lower, now it fell,
Lower, lower, lower still,
Scarce it sounded o'er the rill.
Now the warbler ceased to sing,
Then he spread his downy wing;
And I saw him take his flight,
Other regions to delight.
Thus, in most poetic wise,
I began to moralize —
In fancy thus, the bird I trace.
An emblem of the rhyming race ;
Ere with heaven's immortal fire,
Loud they strike the quivering lyre;
Ere in high, majestic song,
Thundering roars the verse along;
Soft they time each note they sing,
Soft they tune each varied string;
Till each power is tried and known,
Then the kindling spark is blown.
Thus, perchance, has Moore oft sung,
Thus his lyre hath Milton strung ;
Thus immortal Harold's Childe,
Thus, O Scott, thy witch notes wild ;
Thus has Pope's melodious lyre,
Beamed with Homer's martial fire ;
Thus did Campbell's war blast roar,
Round the cliffs of Fdsinore ;
Thus he dug the soldier's grave,
Iser, by thy rolling wave.
60NNET.
Is thy heart weary of unfeeling men,
And chilled with the world's ice ? Then come
with me,
And I will bring thee to a pleasant glen
Lovely and lonely. There we'll sit, unviewed
By scoffing eye ; and let our hearts beat free
With their own mutual throb. For wild and rude
The access is, and none will there intrude,
To poison our free thoughts, and mar our solitude!
Such scenes move not their feelings — for they hold
No fellowship with nature's loneliness;
The frozen wave reflects not back the gold
And crimson flushes of the sun-set hour ;
The rock lies cold in sunshine — not the power
Of heaven's bright orb can clothe its barrenness.
TO THE DEFENDEES OF NEW OELEAN6.
Hail sons of generous valor,
Who now embattled stand,
To wield the brand of strife and blood,
For freedom and the land.
And hail to him your laurelled chief,
Around whose trophicd name,
A nation's gratitude has twined,
The wreath of deathless fame.
Now round that gallant leader,
Your iron phalanx form,
And throw, like Ocean's barrier rocus,
Your bosoms to the storm.
Though wild as Ocean's wave it rolls,
Its fury shall be low,
For justice guides the warrior's steel,
And vengeance strikes the blow.
High o'er the gleaming columns,
The bannered star appears,
And proud amid its martial band,
His crest the eagle rears.
And long as patriot valor's arm
Shall win the battle's prize,
That star shall beam triumphantly,
That e:igle seek the skies.
Then on, ye daring spirits,
To danger's tumults now,
The bowl is filled ami wreathed the crown,
To grace the victor's brow ;
And they who for their country die,
Shall fill an honored grave.
For glory lights the soldier's tomb, f
And beauty weeps the brave.
I sat me down upon the green bank-side,
Skirting the smooth edge of a gentle river,
Whose waters seemed unwillingly to glide,
Like parting friends who linger while they sever;
Enforced to go, yet seeming still unready,
Backward they wind their way in many a wistfid
eddy.
Gray o'er my head the yellow-vested willow
Ruffled its hoary top in the fresh breezes,
Glancing in light, like spray on a green billow.
Or the fine frost-work which young winter freezes ;
When first his power in infant pastime trying,
Congeals sad autumn's tears on the dend branches
lying-
From rocks around hung the loose ivy dangling,
And in the clefts sumach of liveliest green,
206
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Bright ising-stars the little beach was spangling,
The gold-eup sorrel from his gauzy screen
Shone like a fairy crown, enchased and beaded,
Left on some morn, when liglit flashed in their eyes
unheeded.
The hum-bird shook his sun-touched wings around,
The bluefinch carolled in the still retreat ;
The antic squirrel capered on the ground
Where lichens made a carpet for his feet:
Through the transparent waves, the ruddy minkle
Shot up in glimmering sparks his red fin's tiny twin-
kle.
There were dark cedars with loose mossy tresses,
White powdered dog-trees, and stiff hollies flaunt-
ing.
Gaudy as rustics in their May-day dresses,
Blue pelloret from purple leave- upslanting
A modest gaze, like eyes of a young maiden
Shining beneath dropt lids the evening of her wed-
ding.
The breeze fresh springing from the lips of morn,
Kissing the leaves, and sighing so to lose 'em,
The winding of the merry locust's horn,
The glad spring gushing from the rock's bare bo-
som:
Sweet sights, sweet sounds, all sights, all sounds ex-
celling,
Oh I 'twas a ravishing spot formed for a poet's
dwelling.
And did I leave thy loveliness, to stand
Again in the dull world of earthly blindness?
Pained with the pressure of unfriendly hands,
Sick of smooth looks, agued with icy kindness?
Left I for this thy shades, where none intrude,
To prison wandering thought and mar sweet soli-
tude?
Yet I will look upon thy face again,
My own romantic Bronx, and it will be
A face more pleasant than the face of men.
Thy waves are old companions, I shall see
A well-remembered form in each old tree,
And hear a voice long loved in thy wild minstrelry.
TO ENNUI — FROM TnE CROAKERS.
A vaunt ! arch enemy of fun,
Grim nightmare of the mind ;
Which way, great Momus ! shall I run
A refuge safe to find? —
My puppy's dead — Miss Rumour's breath
Is stopt for lack of news,
And F*** is almost hyp'd to death
And L*** has got the blues.
I've read friend Noah's book quite through,
Appendix, notes, and all;
I've swallowed Lady Morgan's too,
I've blundered through De Stael,
The Edinburgh Review — I have seen 't
The last that has been shipt ;
I've read, in short, all books in prir.t,
And some in manuscript.
I'm sick of General Jackson's toast,
Canals are nought to me ;
Nor do I care who rules the rors',
Clinton or John Targee :
No stock in any bank I own,
I fear no lottery shark :
And if the Battery were gone
I'd ramble in the Park.
Let gilded guardsmen shake their toes,
Let Altorf please the pit,
Let Mr. Hawkins " blow his nose"
And Spooner publish it.
Insolvent laws, let Marshall break,
Let dying Baldwin cavil;
And let tenth ward electors shake
Committees to the devil.
In vain, for like a cruel cat
That sucks a child to death,
Or like a Madagascar bat
Who poisons with his breath,
The fiend, the fiend is on me still;
Come, doctor ! — here's your pay- —
What lotion, potion, plaster, pill,
Will drive the beast away ?
ODE TO FORTUNE — FROM TnE CROAKERS.
Fair lady with the bandaged eye !
I'll pardon all thy scurvy tricks,
So thou wilt cut me and deny .
Alike thy kisses and thy kicks :
I'm quite contented as I am —
Have cash to keep my duns at bay,
Can choose between beefsteaks and ham,
And drink Madeira every day.
My station is the middle rank,
My fortune just a competence —
Ten thousand in the Franklin Bank,
And twenty in the six per cents :
No amorous chains my heart enthrall,
I neither borrow, lend, nor sell ;
Fearless I roam the City Hall,
And bite my thumb at Mr. Bell.*
The horse that twice a year I ride,
At Mother Dawson's eats his fill;
My books at Goodrich's abide,
My country-seat is Weehawk hill ;
My morning lounge is Eastburn's shop
At Poppleton's I take my lunch ;
Niblo prepares my mutton chop,
And Jennings makes my whiskey punch.
When merry, I the hours amuse
By squibbing bucktails, guards, and balls;
And when I'm troubled with the blues
Damn Clinton and abuse canals :
Then, Fortune! since I ask no prize,
At least preserve me from thy frown ;
The man who don't attempt to rise
'Twere cruelty to tumble down.
TO CROAKER, JUNIOR — FROM THE CROAKERS.
Your hand, my dear Junior ! we are all in a flame
To see a few more of your flashes ;
The Croakers for ever I I'm proud of the name,
But brother, I fear, though our cause is the same,
We shall quarrel like Brutus and Cassius.
But why should we do so! 'tis false what they tell,
That poets can never be cronies:
Unbuckle your harness, in peace let us dwell,
Our goose quills will canter together as well
As a pair of Prime's mouse-colored ponies.
Once blended in spirit, we'll make our appeal,
And by law be incorporate too ;
Apply for a charter in crackers to deal,
A fly-flapper rampant shall shine on our seal,
And the firm shall be " Croaker & Co."
Fun, prosper the union — smile, Fate, on its birth ;
Miss Atropos shut up your scissors;
Together we'll range thiough the regions of mirth.
A pair of blight Gemini dropt on the earth,
The Castor and Pollux of quizzers.
* Ike sheriff.
FLTZ-GREENE HALLECK.
207
THE A1TERICAN FLAG — FHOil TnE CROAKERS.
When Freedom, from her mountain height,
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there !
She mingled with its gorgeous dye3
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure celestial white
With streakings of the morning light; '
Then, from his mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen laud !
Majestic monarch of the cloud!
Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest trumpings loud,
And see the lightning-lances driven,
When stride the warriors of the storm,
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven!
Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given
To guard the banner of the free,
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle stroke,
And bid its Mendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the eloud of war,
The harbingers of victory.
Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high !
When speaks the signal trumpet tone
And the long line comes gleaming on,
(Ere yet the life-blood warm and wet
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet)
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn
To where thy skyborn glories burn,
And, as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And when the cannon mouthings loud,
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud,
Anil gory sabres rise and fall,
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall ;
There shall thy meteor-glances glow,
And cowering foes shall shrink beneath,
Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death.
Flag of the seas! on ocean wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave;
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's reeling rack,
Each dying wanderer of the sea
Shalt look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendours fly
In triumph o'er his closing eye.
Flag of the free heart's hope and home,
By angel hands to valour given ;
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome
And all thy hues were born in heaven !
For ever float that standard sheet!
Where breathes the foe but falls before us?
With freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And freedom's banner streaming o'er us?*
FITZ-GEEENE HALLECK *
Was born at Guilford, in Connecticut, August,
1795. He earl}' wrote verses. One of his ellu-
* The last four lines of The American Flas are by llalleck,
in place oi the following by Drake, which originally closed the
poem: —
And fixed as yonder orb divine,
That saw thy bannered blaze unfurled,
Shall thy proud stars resplendent shine,
The guard aDd glory of the world.
sions — it is said there were some earlier — was
published in a New York paper, in 1809, when
he was fourteen* At the age of eighteen, in
1813, he came to New York, and entered the
banking-house of Jacob Barker, with which he
was associated for many years, subsequently per-
forming the duties of a book-keeper in the pri-
vate office of John Jacob Astor. Not long after
the decease of that eminent millionaire, he re-
tired to his birth-place, where he has since re-
sided.
It is said that Halleck's first appearance in
print was in the columns of Soil's Columbian,
New York, where, in 1813, a poem appeared,
with the signature of " A Connecticut Farmer's
Boy," which the editor introduced with the re-
mark, that lie did not credit that authorship — ■
" the verses were too good to be original !" t At
this time too, llalleck belonged to " Swartwout's
gallant corps, the Iron Grays," as he afterwards
wrote in " Fanny," and stimulated their patriot-
ism by a glowing Ode.
THE IKON GRAYS.
We twine the wreath of honor
Around the warrior's brow,
Who, at his country's altar, breathes
The life-devoting vow,
And shall we to the Iron Grays
The meed of praise deny,
Who freely swore, in danger's day,
For their native land to die.
For o'er our bleeding country
Ne'er lowered a darker storm,
Than bade them round their gallant chief,
The iron phalanx form.
When first their banner waved in air,
Invasion's bands were nigh,
And the battle-drum beat long and loud,
And the torch of war blazed high !
Though still bright gleam their bayonets,
Unstained with hostile gore,
Far distant yet is England's host,
Unheard her cannon's roar.
Yet not in vain they flew to arm3 ;
It made the foeman know
That many a gallant heart must bleed
Ere freedom's star be low.
Guards of a nation's destiny!
High is that nation's claim,
For not unknown your spirit proud,
Nor your daring chieftain's name.
'Tis yours to shield the dearest ties
That bind to life the heart,
That mingle with the earliest breath,
And with our last depart.
The angel smile of beauty
What heart but bounds to feel?
Her fingers buckled on the belt,
That sheathes your gleaming steel;
And if the soldier's honoured death
In battle be your doom,
Her tears shall bid the flowers be green
That blossom round 3'our tomb.
* Notice in Now York Mirror, Jan. 26, 1S2S.
t Biographical Art. on llalleck, by Mr. James Lawson, in
South Lit. Mess., 1S43.
208
CYCLOPZ5DIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Tread on the path of duty,
Band of the patriot brave,
Prepared to rush, at honor's call,
" To glory or the grave."
Nor bid your flag ag:iin be furled
Till proud its eagles soar,
Till the battle-drum has ceased to beat,
And the war-torch burns no more.
Halleok, however, gained his first celebrity in
literature as a town -wit, one of the producers, in
connexion with his friend Drake, of the poetical
squibs which appeared in the columns of the
Evening Post in 1819, with the signature Groalc-
er & Co., when they quizzed Cobbett, Dr.
Mitcmll, the politicians of Tammany, the editors,
aldermen, and small theatrical characters of the
day, in poetical epistles to Edmund Simpson, Esq.,
manager of the theatre, and other vehicles of sim-
ple fun and well aimed satire. If these had no-
thing more to bring them into notice than their
local allusion, they would have been forgotten, as
hundreds of series of the kind have been ; but
their keen wit and finely moulded poetical phrase-
ology have preserved them ; and were it not for
some delicacy in the avowed authorship and pub-
lication of verses filled with personalities, they
would be an indispensable part of the volume
which contains the collection of the poet's writ-
ings. As it is, several specimens of them are
there, as of the simply poetical effusions — " The
World is Bright before Thee," " There is an
Evening Twilight of the Heart;" and of the light-
er pieces, " Domestic Peace." The rest will un-
doubtedly be in request, and be some day accom-
panied by learned prose annotations from civic
history.
As we have mentioned a number of these
poems usually assigned to Drake as their author,
we may add the titles of some of the others
understood to be from the pen of Halleck.
Among them are " The Forum," a picture of a
literary debating society, to which the public
were admitted, which had for its supporters some
of the political celebrities of the city; " To Si-
mon , a kick at a fashionable folly which
reigns among the sons and daughters of the
higher order, in the renowned city of Gotham,
at this present writing;" Simon being a black
caterer of fashionable entertainments —
Prince of pastry cooks,
Oysters and ham, and cold neat's tongue,
Pupil of Mitchill's cookery books,
And bosom friend of old and young;
several highly humorous epistles " To Edmund
Simpson, Esq., Manager of the Theatre," in one
of which he advises that stage director, if he
would secure a profitable season, to disband his
old company and employ the political actors at
Albany, from the hoards of the state legislature.
Halieck's lines " To Twilight," one of his earli-
est poems, appeared in the Evening Post of Octo-
ber, 1818. The next year, when the Croakers
had made a reputation for themselves, the little
poem was reprinted by the editor Coleman, with
the following introduction : — " We republish the
following beautiful lines from our own files of
October last, for the three following reasons :
fir3t, because they deserve it for their intrinsic
aierit ; they are the inspirations of poetry itself.
Second, because they were injured in their first
publication by a typographical error : and lastly,
because they show that our correspondent Croak-
er (whose we have just discovered they are) no
less resembles P. Pindar in his elegiac than in his
humor and satiric vein."
Several of the Croakers appeared in the Na-
tional Advocate published by Noah, and there
are several longer pieces in the anthor's volume,
as " The Recorder," and the lines " To Walter
Bowne," which, though not numbered with tho
Croakers, have their general characteristics.
Fanny, which grew out of the success of the
Croakers, was published in 1821. It is a satiri-
cal squib in Don Juan measure, at the fashion-
able literary and political enthusiasms of the
day. The story which is the vehicle for this
pleasantry, is simply the emergence of a belle
from low birth and fortune to an elysium of
fashionable prosperity, when the bubble bursts in
bankruptcy. Like everything of the kind, which
has the good fortune to be both personal and
poetic, it made its hit. , It owed its permanent
success, of course, to its felicitous execution, in
the happiest of musical verses. The edition was
soon exhausted ; it was not reprinted, and copies
were circulated, fairly copied out in manuscript,
— though a stray copy now and then, from a book-
seller, who re-published the poem in Glasgow,
helped to keep alive the tradition of its humor.
The authorship was for a long while unacknow-
ledged. In 1839 it was published by the Harpers,
in a volume, with a few poems of similar charac-
ter, collected by the author, and is now included
in the standard edition of his writings.
In 1822 Halleck visited England and the Con-
tinent, of which tour we have a reminiscence in
the poet's " Alnwick Castle."
In 1825, and subsequently, he was a contributor
to Bryant's periodicals, the New York Review,
FITZ-GREENE HALLECK.
209
and U. S. Review, where his Marco Bozzaris and
Bums first appeared. A collection of these and
other poems was published in a volume in 1827.
The}- were reprinted, in other editions, by the
Harpers; the Appletons, with illustrations by
Weir, in 1847 ; and by Redfield, with additions to
the poem " Connecticut," in 1852.
The characteristic of Halleck's poetry is its
music ; its perfection of versification, whether em-
balming a trifle of the hour or expressing a vigo-
rous manly eloquence, a true lyric tire and healthy
sentiment. Though of an old school of English li-
terature, and fastidiously cultivated with a tho-
rough knowledge of the author's predecessors, the
poetry of Ilalkvk is strictly original. In some of
Ids poems he appears to have been led by dis-
like to even the suspicion of sentimentality to
fasten a ludicrous termination to a serious emo-
tion ; but this is more dangerous to his imitators
than injurious to his own powers. In Connecti-
cut, which appears to be indebted to a happy
idea struck out by Hrainard, in his New Year's
verse on the same theme, his subtle humor has
happily blended the two qualities. For separate
examples the reader may consult his " Field of
the Grounded Arms,'' his " Burns." and his
" Fanny."
The world is bright before thee.
Its summer flowers are thine,
Its calm blue sky is o'er thee.
Thy bosom pleasure's shrine ;
And thine the sunbeam given
To Nature's morning hour,
Pure, warm, as when from heaven
It burst on Eden's bower.
There is a song of sorrow,
The death-dirge of the gay,
That tells, ere dawn of morrow,
These charms may melt away.
That sun's bright beam be shaded,
That sky be blue no more,
The summer flowers be faded,
And youth's warm promise o'e--.
Believe it not — though lonely
Thy evening home may be;
Though Beauty's bark can onlj-
Float on a summer sea ;
Though Time thy bloom is stealing.
There's still beyond his art
The wild-flower wreath of feeling.
The sunbeam of the heart.
DOMESTIC HAPPINESS — FROM TITE CROAKERS.
***** The only bliss
Of Paradise that has survived the rail.
Cuwper.
' Beside the nuptial curtain bright,"
The Bard of Eden sings,
' Young Love his constant lamp will light.
And wave his purple wings."
But rain-drops from the clouds of care
May bid that lamp be dim,
And the boy Love will pout and swear,
'Tis then no place for him.
So mused the lovely Mrs. Dash ;
'Tis wrong to mention names ;
vol.. II. — 14
AVhen for her surly husband's cash
She urged in vain her claims.
" I want a little money, dear,
For Yandervoort and Flandin,
Their bid, which now has run a year.
To-morrow mean to hand in."
in.
" More ?" cried the husband, half asleep,
" You'll drive me to despair;"
The lady was too proud to weep,
And too polite to swear.
She bit her lip for very spite,
He felt a storm was brewing.
And dreamed of nothing else all night.
But brokers, banks, and ruin.
IV.
He thought her pretty once, but dream"
Have sure a wondrous power.
For to his eye the lady seems
Quite altered since that hour ;
And Love, who on their bridal eve,
Had promised long to stay,
Forgot his promise, took French leave,
And bore his lamp away.
song — from fanny.
i.
Young thoughts have music in them, lorr
And happiness their theme ;
And music wanders in the wind
That lulls a morning dream.
And there are angel voices heard,
In childhood's frolic hours,
"When life is but an April day
Of sunshine and of showers.
It.
There's music in the forest leaves
When summer winds are there,
And in the laugh of forest girls
That braid their sunny hair.
The first wild bird that drinks the dew.
From violets of the spring,
Has music in his song, and in
The fluttering of his wing.
in.
There's music in the dash of waves
When the swift bark cleaves their foam;
There's music heard upon her deck.
The mariner's song of home.
When moon and star beams smiling meet
At midnight on the sea —
And there is music — once a week
In Seudder's balcony.
IV.
But the music of young thoughts too soon
Is faint, and dies away.
And from our morning dreams we wake
To curse the coming day.
And childhood's frolic hours are brief,
And oft in after years
Their memory comes to chill the heart,
And dim the eye with tears.
v.
To-day, the forest leaves are green,
They'll wither on the morrow,
And the maiden's laugh be changed ere lon^
To the widow's wail of sorrow.
Come with the winter snows, and ask
Where are the forest bird"?
The answer is a silent one,
More eloquent than words.
210
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
The moonlight music of the wave-:
In storms is heard no more,
When the living lightning mocks the wre ':
At midnight on the shore,
And the mariner's song of home has ceased,
His corse is on the sea —
And music ceases when it rains
In Scudder's balcony.
OX TfiE DEATH OF JOSEPH RODHAN BRAKr.
Tbc irood die first.
And they. whore hearts are dry as summer dust,
Burn to the socket.
Woedswoeth.
Green be the turf above thee,
Friend of my better days!
None knew thee but to love thee,
Nor named thee but to praise.
Tears fell, when thou wcrt d3'ing,
From eyes unused to weep,
And long where thou art lying,
"Will tears the cold turf steep.
"When hearts, whose truth was proven,
Like thine, are laid in earth.
There should a wreath be woven
To tell the world their worth,-
And I, who woke each morrow
To clasp thy hand in mine,
Who shared thy joy and sorrow',
Whose weal and woe were thine:
It should be mine to braid it
Around thy faded brow,
But I've in vain essayed it,
And feel I cannot now.
While memory bids me weep thee,
Nor thoughts nor words are free,
The grief is fixed too deeply
That mourns a man like thee.
MARCO POZZARIS.
At midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour-
When Greece, her knee in supplianee bent, +
Should tremble at his power:
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror ;
In dreams his song of triumph heard:
Then wore his monarch's signet ring:
Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,
As Eden's garden bird.
At midnight, in the forest shades,
Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,
True as the steel of their tried blades,
Heroes in heart and hand.
There had the Persian's thousands stood,
There had the glad earth drunk their blood
On old Platreu's day ;
And now there breathed that haunted air
The sons of sires who conquered there,
With arm to strike, and soul to dare,
As quick, as far as they.
An hour passed on — the Turk awoke;
That bright dream was his last;
He woke — to hear his sentries shriek,
'To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!"
He woke — to die 'midst flame, and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke,
And death shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his baud:
' Strike — till the last armed foe expires ;
Strike — for your altars ami your fires;
Strike — for the green graves of your sires ;
God — and your native land !"
They fought — like brave men, long and well ;
They piled that ground with Moslem slain,
They conquered — but Bozzaris fell,
Bleeding at every vein.
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile when rang their proud hurrah,
And the red field was won ;
Then saw in death his eyelids close
Calmly, as to a night's repose,
Like flowers at set of sun.
Come to the bridal chamber, Death !
Come to the mother's, when she feels,
For the first time, her first-born's breath ;
Come when the blessed seals
That close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke; J-
Come in consumption's ghastly form, '
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;
Come when the heart beats high and warm,
With banquet song, and dance, and wine ;
And thou art terrible — the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier;
And all we know, or dream, or fear
Of agony, are thine.
But to the hero, when his sword U
Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word ;
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Come, when his task of fame is wrought —
Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought — ■
Come in her crowning hour— and then
Thy sunken eye's unearthly light
To him is welcome as the sight
Of sky and stars to prisoned men:
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand
Of brother in a foreign land ;
Thy summons welcome as the cry
That told the Indian isles were nigh
To the world-seeking Genoese,
When the land wind, from woods of palm,
And orange groves, and fields of balm,
Blew o'er the Haytian seas.
Bozzaris! with the storied brave
Greece nurtured in her glory's time,
Rest thee — there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime.
She wore no funeral weeds for thee,
Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume,
Like torn branch from death's leafless tree
In sorrow's pomp and pageantry,
The heartless luxury of the tomb
But she remembers thee as one
Long loved, and for a season gone ;
For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed,
Her marble wrought, her music breathed;
For thee she rings the birthday bells;
Of thee her babes' first lisping tells;
For thine her evening prayer is said
At palace couch and cottage bed ;
Her soldier, closing with the foe,
Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ;
His plighted maiden, wdien she fears
For him, the joy of her young year;,
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears •
And she, the mother of thy boys,
Though in her eye and faded cheek
FTTZ-GEEENE HALLECK.
211
Is read the grief she will not speak,
The memory of her buried joys,
And even she who gave thee birth,
Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth,
Talk of thy doom without a sigli :
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's;
One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.
a poet's daughter.
For the Album of M 'Iss ***, at tlte request of her Fatlier.
" A lady asks the Minstrel's rhyme."
A lady asks? There was a time
When, musical as play-bell's chime
To wearied boj-,
That sound would summon dreams sublime
Of pride and joy.
But now the spell hath lost its sway,
Life's first-born fancies first decay,
Gone are the plumes and pennons gay
Of young romance ;
There linger but her ruins graj*,
And broken lance.
Tis a new world — no more to maid,
Warrior, or bard, is homage paid ;
The bay-tree's, laurel's, myrtle's shade,
Men's thoughts resign ;
Heaven placed us here to vote and trade.
Twin tasks divine !
" 'Tis youth, 'tis beauty asks ; the green
And growing leaves of seventeen
Are round her; and, half hid, half seen,
A violet flower,
Nursed by the virtues she hath been
From childhood's hour."
Blind passion's picture — yet for this
We woo the life-long bridal kiss,
And blend our every hope of bliss
Witli lier's we love;
Unmindful of the serpent's hiss
In Eden's grove.
Beauty — the fading rainbow's pride,
Youth — 'twas the charm of her who died
At dawn, and by her coffin's side
A grandsire stands,
Age-strengthened, like the oak storm-tried
Of mountain lands.
Youth's coffin — hush the tale it tells!
Be silent, memory's funeral bells!
Lone in one heart, her home, it dwells
Untold till death.
And where the grave-mound greenly swells
O'er buried faith.
" But what if hers are rank and power,
Armies her train, a throne her bower,
A kingdom's gold her marriage dower,
Broad seas and lands?
What if from bannered hall and tower
A queen commands?"
A queen ? Earth's regal moons have set.
Where perished Marie Antoinette?
Where's Bordeaux's mother? Where the jet-
Black Haytiau dame?
And Lusitania's coronet ?
And Angouleine?
Empires to-day are upside down,
The castle kneels before the town,
The monarch fears a printer's frown,
A brickbat's range ;
Give me, in preference to a crown,
Five shillings change.
" But her who asks, though first among
The good, the beautiful, the young,
The birthright of a spell mce strong
Than these hath brought her;
She is your kinswoman in song,
A Poet's daughter."
A Poet's daughter ? Could I claim
The consanguinity of fame,
Veins of my intellectual frame!
Your blood would glow
Proudly to sing that gentlest name
Of aught below.
A Poet's daughter? — dearer word
Lip hath not spoke nor listener heard,
Fit theme for song of bee and bird
From morn till even,
And wind harp by the breathing stirred
Of star-lit heaven.
My spirit's wings are weal;, the fire
Poetic comes but to expire,
Her name needs not my humble lyre
To bid it live ;
She hath already from her sire
AH bard can give.
CONNECTICUT.
From an Unpublished Poem.
The woods in which we had dwelt pleasantly rustled their
gree:i leaves i;i the song, and our streams were there with the
sound of all their waters.
MONTEOSE.
I.
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
That crouches at their feet, a conquered wave;
'Tis a rough land of earth, and stone, and tree,
Where breathes no castled lord or cabined slave ;
Where thoughts, and tongues, and hands are bold
and free,
And friends will find a welcome, foes a grave;
And where none kneel, save when to heaven they
pray,
Nor even then, unless in their own way.
11.
Theirs is a pure republic, wild, yet strong,
A " fierce democracie," where all are true
To what themselves have voted — right or wrong —
And to their laws denominated blue;
(If red, they might to Draco's code belong ;)
A vestal state, which power could not subdue.
Nor promise win — like her own eagle's nest,
Sacred — the San Marino of the West.
A justice of the peace, for the time being,
They bow to, but may turn him out next year;
They reverence their priest, but disagreeing
In price or creed, dismiss him without fear ;
They have a natural talent for foreseeing
And knowing all things; and should Park appear
From his long four in Africa, to show
The Nigei's source, they'd meet him with — we
know.
They love their land, because it is their own.
And scorn to give aught other reason why ;
Would shake hands with a king upon his throne,
And think it kindness to his majesty ;
A stubborn race, fearing and flattering none.
Such are they nurtured, such they live and die;
All — but a few'apnstates, who are meddling
With merchandise, pounds, shillings, pence, and
peddling ;
212
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Or wandering through the southern countries,
teaching
The ABC from Webster's spelling-book ;
Gallant and godly, making love and preaching,
And gaining by what they call " honk and crook,"
And what the moralists call over-reaching,
A decent living. The Virginians look
Upon them with as favorable eyes
As Gabriel on the devil in paradise.
VI.
But these are but their outcasts. Yiew them near
At home, where all their worth and pride is
placed ;
And there their hospitable fires burn clear,
And there the lowliest farm-house hearth is
graced
With manly hearts, in piety sincere,
Faithful in love, in honor stern and chaste.
In friendship warm and true, in danger brave.
Beloved in life, and sainted in the grave.
And minds have there been nurtured, whose con-
trol
Is felt even in their nation's destiny;
Men who swayed senates with a statesman's soul.
And looked on armies with a leader's eye ;
Names that adorn and dignify the scroll.
Whose leaves contain their country's history,
And tales of love and war — listen to one
Of the Green-Mountaineer — the Stark of Bennington.
When on that field his band the Hessians fought,
Briefly he spoke before the tight began :
"Soldiers! those German gentlemen are bought
For four pounds eight and sevenpence per man,
By England's ki g; a bargain, as is thought.
Are we worth more ? Let's prove it now we
can ;
For we must boat them, boys, ere set of sun,
Oe Maky Stack's a Wxnow." It was done.
IX.
Hers are not Tempe's nor Arcadia's spring,-
IS'or the long summer of Cathayan vales,
The vines, the flowers, the air, the skies, that fling
Such wild enchantment o'er Boccaccio's tales
Of Florence and the Arno; yet the wii g
Of life's best angel, Health, is on her gales
Through sun and snow; and in tie autumn time
Earth has no purer and no lovelier clime.
x.
Her clear, warm heaven at noon — the mist that
shrouds
Her twilight hills — her cool and starry eves,
The glorious splendor of her sunset clouds.
The rainbow beauty of her forest leaves.
Come o'er the eye, in solitude and crowds,
Where'er his web of song her poet weaves ;
And his mind's brightest vision but displays
The autumn scenery of his boyhood's days.
And when you dream of woman, and her love ;
Her truth, her tenderness, her gentle power;
The maiden listenii g in the moonlight grove,
The mother smiling in her infant's bower ;
Forms, features, worshipped while we breathe or
move,
Be by some spirit of your dreaming hour
Borne, like Loretto's chapel, through the air
To the green laud I sing, then wake, you'll find them
there.
JAMES G. PEECIVAL.
James Gates Pehcival was born in Kensington,
Connecticut, a town of which his ancestors bad
been among the earliest inhabitants, on tbe 15th
of September, 1795. He was the second son of
Dr. James Percival, a physician of the place, who.
dying in 1807, left his three sons to their mother's
care.
An anecdote is related of his early childhood,
indicative of strength of mind and purpose. He
had just begun to spell, when a book, in compli-
ance with the custom of the district school to
which he belonged, was lent to him on Saturday,
to be returned on the following Monday. He-
found, by spelling through its first sentences,
that a portion of it related to astronomy. This
so excited his interest, that he sat diligently to
work, and, by dint of hard study, with the aid of
the family, was able to read the portion he
desired on the Monday morning with fluency.
This achievement seemed to give him confidence
in his powers, and he advanced so rapidly in his
studies, that he soon compassed the limited re-
sources of the school. At the age of sixteen he
entered Yale College, and during his course fre-
quently excited the commendation and interest
of President Dwight. He was at the head of his
class in 1815, and his tragedy of Zamor, after-
wards published in his works, formed part of the
Commencement exercises. He had previously
begun his poetical career by the composition of a
few fugitive verses during his college course, and
yet earlier, it is said, had written a satire in his
fourteenth year. In 1820 he published his first-
volume, containing the first part of Prometlieits,
a poem in the Spenserian stanza, and a few minor
pieces. It was well received. In the same year,
having been admitted to the practice of medicine,
/<ts* *^*^*^~%/S^^1>l-4K-4_L
he went to Charleston, S. C, with the intention
of following his profession. There he engaged in
literature, publishing the first number of Clio in
that city in 1822. Tins publication, a neat pam-
phlet of about a hundred pages, was evidently in-
duced by the similar form of the Sketch Book
JAMES G. PERCIVAL.
21i
and the Idle Man. Tt was made up mostly of
verse, to which a few essays were added. A
second part followed, entirely of verse, and was
succeeded, in 1823, by the first and second parts
of Clio, a miscellany of prose and verso.
Dr. Percival was appointed, in 1824, an assist-
ant-surgeon in the United States army, and Pro-
fessor of Chemistry at the Military Academy at
West Point. Finding a greater portion of his
time occupied in the performance of its duties
than he had anticipated, lie resigned after a few
months, and was appointed a surgeon in con-
nexion with the recruiting service at Boston. In
the same year a c illected edition of his principal
poems appeared in New York in two volume-,
ami was reprinted in London. In 1827 lie pub-
lished in New York the third part of Clio, and
was closely engaged in the two following years in
assisting in the preparation of the first quarto
edition of Webster's Dictionary, a service for
which he was well qualified by his philological
acquirements, lie next commenced the transla-
tion of Malte-Brun's Geography, and published
the last part of his verdon in 1813.
While in college he was inferior to none of his
classmates in the mathematics, yet bis inclinations
led him rather into the tieldsof classical literature.
While engaged in the study of medicine, he also
applied himself to botany with ardor, and made
himself acquainted with natural hi tory in general.
Being necessarily much abroad and fond of ex-
ploring nature, lie became a geologist, and as
such has served privately and publicly. In 1835
he was appointed to mike, in conjunction with
Professor C. U. Shepard, a survey of the mine-
ralogy and geology of Connecticut. In 1842 he
published his Report on the Geology of the State
of Connecticut. This work, of nearly live hun-
dred page-, contains the results of a very minute
survey of the rock formations of the state, and
abounds with minute and carefully systematized
details.
In the summer of 1854 he received from the
governor a commission as State Geologist of Wis-
consin, and he entered at once upon the work.
His first annual report was published at Madi-
son, Wisconsin, in 1855.* He is still engaged in
this survey.
Dr. Percival is an eminent linguistic scholar,
and lias a critical knowledge of most of the lan-
guages of Modern Europe. As a specimen of his
readiness, it may be mentioned that when Ole
Bull was in New Haven in 1814 or 1815, he
addressed to him a poem of four or five stanzas
in the Danish language. This was printed in a
New Haven paper of the day t
The poems of Percival have spirit, freshness,
and a certain youthful force of expression as the
* rp. in. Svo.
t Extract from a poem of .eijrbt stanzas, composed by Dr. J.
G. Percival, and addressed to () e Bull, on the occasion of his
first concert in New Haven, June lu, 1S44: —
&h Stanza.
Nonre. dlt Svte:d b'ev en Lire:
Himmelen sr.iv hendos Toner,
Hiertet o>r Sie'eu at atyre,
Fuid sora af Kummerens Moner.
"Norway, thy sword lias become a lyre— Heaven (rave its
tones, to lead heart and soul, fi led as with grief's longings."
The poem, with an English version, may be found in the New
Haven Daily Herald of June il, 1S44.
author harangues of love and liberty. The deli-
verance of oppressed nations; the yearnings and
eloquence of the young heart ready to rejoice or
mourn with a Byronic enthusiasm ; the hour of
exaltation in the triumph of love, and of gloom as
[ some vision of the betrayal of innocence or the
inroads of disease came before his mind: these
were his prominent themes. There is the inner
light of poetry in the idyllic sketch of Maria, the
Village Girl, where nature and the reality of
life in the " long-drawn-out sweetness" of the
imagery assume a visionary aspect.
In those days he struck the lyre with no hesi-
tating hand. There is the first spring of life and
passion in his verse. It would have been better,
sometimes, if the author had waited for slow re-
flection and patient elaboration — since fancy is
never so vigorous as to sustain a long journey
alone. Percival, however, has much of the true
| heat. His productions have been widely popular,
and perhaps better meet the generally received
notion of a poet than the well filed compositions
of many others who deserve more consideration
at the hands of the judicious and critical.
THE SPIRIT OF POETliY — FROM CLIO.
The world is full of Poetry — the air
Is living with its spirit; and the waves
Dance to the music of its melodies,
A. id sparkle in its brightness — Earth is veiled,
i And mantled with its beauty; and the wail's,
! That close the universe, with crystal, in,
Are eloquent with voices, that proclaim
The unseen glories of immensity,
In harmonies, too perfect, and too high
For aught, but beings of celestial mould,
And speak to man, in one eternal hymn,
Unfading beauty, and unyielding power.
The year leads round the seasons, in a choir
For ever charming, and for ever new,
Blending the grand, the beautiful, the guy,
The mournful, and the tender, in one strain.
Which steals into the heart, like sounds, that rise
Far off, in moonlight evenings, on the shore
Of the wide ocean resting after storms;
Or tones, that wind around the vaulted roof,
And pointed arches, and retiring aisles
Of some oil, lonely minster, where the hand,
Skilful, and moved with passionate love of art,
Plays o'er the higher keys, and bears aloft
The pea! of bursti. g thunder, aid then calls,
By mellow touches, from the softer tubes,
Voices of melting tenderness, that blend
With pure and gentle musings, till the soul,
Commingling with the melody, is borne,
Rapt, and dissolved in ecstasy, to heaven.
Tis not the chime and flow of words, that move
In measured file, and metrical array;
'Tis not the union of returning sounds,
Nor all the pleasing artifice of rhyme,
And quantity, and accent, that can give
This all-pervading spirit to the ear,
Or blend it with the movings of the soul.
'Tis a mysterious feeling, which combines
Man with the world around him, in a chain
Woven of flowers, and dipped in sweetness, till
He tnste the high communion of his thoughts,
With all existences, in earth and heaven,
That meet him in the charm of grace ami power.
'Tis not the noisy babbler, who displays,
In studied phrase, and ornate epithet,
And rounded period, poor aud vapid thoughts,
214
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
Which peep from out the cumbrous ornaments,
That overload their littleness. — Its words
Are few, but deep and solemn ; and they break
Fresh from the fount of feeling, and are full
Of all that passion, which, on Carmel, fired
The holy prophet, when his lips weie coals,
His language winged with terror, as when bolts
Leap from the brooding tempest, armed with wrath,
Commissioned to affright us, and destroy.
A PLATONIC BACCHANAL SONG.
Fill high the bowl of life for me —
Let roses mantle round its brim,
While heart is warm, and thought is free,
Ere beauty's light is waning dim —
Fill high with brightest draughts of soul,
And let it flow with feeling o'er,
And love, the sparkling cup, he stole
From Heaven, to give it briskness, pour.
O! fill the bowl of life for me,
And wreathe its drippii g brim with flowers,
And I will drink, as lightly flee
Our early, unreturnii g hours.
Fill high the bowl of life with wine,
That swelled the grape of Eden's grove,
Ere human life, in its decline,
Had strowed with thorns the path of lov
Fill high from virtue's crystal fount,
That springs beneath the throne of Heaven,
And sparkles brightly o'er the mount,
From which our fallen souls were driven.
0 ! fill the bowl of life with wine,
The wTine, that charmed the gods above,
And round its brim a garland twine,
That blossomed in the bower of love.
Fill high the bowl of life with spirit,
Drawn from the living sun of sold,
And let the wing of genius bear it,
Deep-glowiig, like a kindled coal —
Fill high from that ethereal treasure,
And let me quaff the flowing fire,
And know awhile the boundless pleasure,
That Heaven lit fancy can inspire.
0! fill the bowl of life with spirit.
And give it brimming o'er to me.
And as I quaff, I seem to inherit
The glow of immortality.
Fill high the bowl of life with thought
From that unfathomable well,
Which sages long and long have sought
To sound, but none its depths can tell — .
Fill high from that dark stainless wave,
Which mounts and flows for ever on,
And rising proudly o'er the grave,
There finds its noblest course begun.
0 ! fill the bowl of life with thought,
And I will drink the bumper up,
And find, wdiate'er my wish had sought,
In that, the purest, sweetest cup.
THE SERENADE.
Softly the moonlight
Is shed on the lake,
Cool is the summer night —
Wake! O awake!
Faintly the curfew
Is heard from afar,
List ye! 0 list I
To the lively guitar.
Trees cast a mellow shade
Over the vale,
Sweetly the serenade
Breathes in the gale.
Softly and tenderly
Over the lake,
Gaily and cheerily —
Wake ! 0 awake !
See the light pinnace
Draws nigh to the shore.
Swiftly it glides
At the heave of the oar,
Cheerily plays
On its buoyant car,
Nearer and nearer
The lively guitar.
Now the wind rises
And ruffles the pine,
Ripples foam-crested
Like diamonds shine,
They flash, where the water3
The white pebbles lave,
In the wake of the moon,
As it crosses the wave.
Bounding from billow
To billow, the boat
Like a wild swan is .seen,
On the waters to float;
And the light dipping oa.s
Bear it smoothly along
In time to the air
Of the Gondolier's song.
And high on the stern
Stands the young and the brave
As love-led he crosses
The star-spangled wave,
And blends with the murmur
Of water and grove
The tones of the night.
That are sacred to love.
His g-ild-hilted sword
At his bright belt is hung,
His mantle of silk
On his shoulder is flung,
And high waves the feather,
That dances and plays
On his cap where the buckle
And rosary blaze.
The maid from her lattice
Looks down on the lake,
To see the foam sparkle,
The bright billow break,
And to hear in his boat,
Where he shines like a star,
Her lover so tenderly
Touch his guitar.
She opens her lattice,
And sits in the glow
Of the moonlight and starlight,
A statue of snow ;
And she sings in a voice,
That is broken with sighs,
And she darts on her lover
The light of her eyes.
His love-speaking pantomime
Tells her his soul —
How wild in that sunny clime
Hearts and eyes roll.
She waves with her white hand
Her white fazzolet,
And her burning thoughts flash
From her eyes' living jet.
The moonlight is hid
In a vapor of snow;
Her voice and his rebeck
Alternately flow ;
DANIEL PIERCE THOMPSON.
215
Re-echoed they swell
From the rock on the hill;
They sing their farewell,
Aud tiie music is stid.
TO SENECA LAKE.
On thy fnir bosom, silver lake !
The wild swan spreads his snowy Bail,
And round his breast tlie ripples break,
As down he bears before the gale.
On thy. fair bosom, waveless stream!
The dipping paddle echoes fir.
And flashes iu the moonlight gleam,
And bright reflects the polar star.
The waves along thy pebbly shore,
As blows the north-wind, heave their foam ;
And curl around the dashing oar,
As late the boatman hies him home.
How sweet, at set of sun, to view
Tiiy golden mirror spreading wide,
And see the mist of mantling bine
Float ronud the distant mountain's side.
At midnight honr, as shines the moon,
A sheet of silver spreads below,
And swift she cuts, at highest noon,
Liglit clou Is, like wreaths of purest snow.
On thy fair bosom, silver lake!
0 ! I could ever sweep the oar,
When early birds at morning wake,
Aud evening tells us toil is o'er.
THE GRAVES OF TIIE PATRIOTS.
Here rest the great and good. Here they repose
After their generous toil. A sacre 1 band,
They take their sleep together, while the year
Comes with its early flowers to deck their graves,
And gathers them again, as Winter frowns.
Theirs is no vulgar sepulchre — green sods
Are all their monument, and yet it tells
A nobler history than pillared piles,
Or the eternal pyramids. They need-
No statue nor inscription to reveal
Their greatness. It is round them ; and the joy
With which their children tread the hallowed
ground
That holds their venerated bones, the.peace
That smiies on all they fought for, aud the wealth
That clothes the land they rescued, — these, though
mute
As feeling ever is when deepest, — these
Are monuments more lusting than the fanes
Reared to the kings and demigods of old.
Touch not the ancient elms, that bend their
shade
Over their lowly graves ; beneath their boughs
There is a solemn darkness, even at uoon,
Suited to such as visit at the shrine
Of serious liberty. No fictions voice
Called them unto the field of generous fame,
But the pure consecrated love of home.
No deeper feeling sways us, when it wakes
In all its greatness. It has told itself
To the astonished gaze of awe-struck kings,
At Marathon, at Bannockbnrn, and here,
Where first our patriots sent the invader back
Broken aud cowed. Let these green elms be all
To tell us where they fought, and where they lie.
Their feelings were all nature, and they need
No art to m ike them known. They li've in us,
While we are like them, simple, hardy, bold,
Worshipping nothing but our own pure hearts,
Aud the one universal Lord. They need
No column pointing to the heaven they sought,
To tell us of their home. The heart itself,
Left to its own free purpose, hastens there,
And there alone reposes. Let these elms
Bend their protecting shadow o'er their graves,
And build with their green roof the only fane,
Where we may gather on the hallowed day
That rose to them in blood, and set in glory.
Here let us meet, and while our motionless lips
Give not a sound, and all around is mute
In the deep Sabbath of a heart too full
For words or tears — here let us strew the sod
With the first flowers of spring, and make to them
An offering of the plenty Nature gives,
And they have rendered ours — perpetually.
DANIEL PIERCE THOMPSON,
The historical novelist of Vermont, was born at
Charlestown, Massachusetts, October 1, 1795.
His grandfather, Daniel Thompson, of Woburn,
a cousin of the well known Count Rumford, fell in
the battle of Lexington. His mother was a de-
scendant of the old primitive New England school-
master, Ezekiel Cheever. His father settled for
awhile in bu-iness at Charlestown, but being un-
successful withdrew to a wild farm of a few acres
on Onion River in the town of Berlin, Vermont,
which ho had some time before purchased of one
Lovel, a hunter, and son of the noted Indian
lighter, the hero of Lovel's Pond in Fryburgh,
Maine. Here the family lived a pioneer life in the
wilderness, remote from schools and churches; if
indeed the latter were not supplied in the Chris-
tian piety and devout religious exercises of the
mother of the household, to the memory of whose
virtues and instructions the heart of her son fondly
turns. The youth was brought up iu the labors
of the farm, securing such elementary instruction
us his home and a scanty winter attendance at the
poor district school afforded. He was sighing for
books to read when — he was then about sixteen —
as the breaking up of the roads and ice in the
spring, after an extraordinary freshet, which
brought together the wrecks of bridges, mills, and
trees, he found among the remains a thoroughly
soaked volume. He dried the leaves, and with
great zest read, for the first time, the verses of the
English poets. The passages which he then ad-
mired he afterwards found to be the favorite pas-
sages of the world, "a fact," he has remarked,
" which taught him a lesson of respect for the
opinions of the uncultivated, by which he has
often profited." He was now intent on procuring
an education. It is difficult, in the matured state
of society of the present day, with the appliances
of education extended so freely on all sides, to es-
timate the natural strength of mind, and personal
efforts and sacrifices, which led many a farmer's
son half a century ago to the gates of the New
England colleges. Daniel Webster rejoicing on his
way to Dartmouth, and afterwards supporting his
brother there by teaching, will recur to everyone.
The young Thompson, on looking around for
resources, found that he was master of a small
flock of sheep, which had come to be his under
rather singular circumstances. When the family
had set out for the wilderness his grandmother
had put into his hand, in his childhood, a silver
dollar which was to be invested in a ewe, the good
lady calculating that the future growth of the Dock,
well tended, might in some way be of important
216
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AiLERICAN LITERATURE.
service to him. He was now the owner, in con-
sequence, of sixteen sheep. By a long process of
inquiry he came to the knowledge that he could
purchase, for their value in the market, a pair of
two year old steers, which he might support in
the summer in the woods free of cost, and by
hiring raise to full grown oxen in a couple of
years, when his sheep fund would he doubled.
The money to be realized would help to support
him in college. On this agricultural basis he be-
gan his preparations ; diligently hunting mink and
muskrat, the skins of which were saleable. He
worked out- with an old blacksmith the cost of a
set of steel traps, and with the proceeds made the
purchase of that rare book in Vermont at the
time, Pike's large arithmetic, also a Latin gram-
mar, lexicon, and. Virgil. He was now in dilri-
culty with the pronunciation of the latter, but he
secured thai from a graduate of Dartmouth, who
had settled as a lawyer in a village growing up in
his neighborhood, paying Mm, per contract, thirty-
seven and a-half cents for three lessons in the lan-
guage, which, with his own exertion*, carried him
through the grammar. Released by his father
from hi * labor on the farm — an important consi-
deration in that place and time — and having dis-
posed of his cattle for seventy five dollars and a
thick old-fashioned bull's-eye watch, which he
thought might be of service to him in marking the
hours in his contemplated school-keeping; and be-
ing fitted by his mother with an equipment of
homespun wardrobe, he turned his steps one morn-
ing of September, 1815, to the house of a cler-
gyman thirty miles off, who kept one or two pupils
at a time in preparation for college, He here made
such good use of his opportunities that in twelve
weeks he had read the whole of Virgil ; tlie win-
ter he employed in studying human nature and
adding to his means while boarding round as the
schoolmaster of one of the wild districts of the
country. A good preparation, he subsequently
found it, for novel writing. A short time at a
classical academy in the north-west of the state
for his own studies, more school-keeping, with an
interval of conscientious help rendered to his
father in the severe toil of the farm, and he pre-
sented himself at Middlebury College. He pa-sed
the examination for the Sophomore class, studied
hard and read extensively with close attention to
English e uiposition, and took his degree in the
summer of 1820.
Through the friendship of Professor Keith of
Alexandria, D. C, he now obtained an eligible
private tutorship in a family in Virginia, in the
vicinity of the mansions of the old Ex-Presidents,
and so far profited by his opportunities as to pro-
cure an admission as attorney and counsellor of
the inferior and superior courts of the state. Af-
ter three or four years of this pleasant life he re-
turned home and opened a law-office in Montpe-
lier. He soon got the appointment of Register of
Probate, was elected clerk of the legislature, which
he held for three years, when he pas-ed a year,
on the appointment of the Governor, in compiling
a volume of the statute laws. He has been since
Judge of Probate of the county, County Clerk of
the county and Supreme Court, and in 1853 he
was elected Secretary of State.
Mr. Thompson's active pursuit of literature was
somewhat accidental. He had from his college
yfucmf^
ci
"\
years contributed to periodicals tales and essays,
but had written nothing of length till :'n 1835, upon
noticing an offer for a prize tale by the New Eng-
land Galaxy, published, at Boston, he wrote his
story of May Martin, or the Money Lingers;
which, having gained the prize, proved so suc-
cessful, that when he published it in a volume he
was not able to hold the copyright from rival
bookseller.-, who printed it with impunity, from
the unprotected pages of the newspaper. This
well told story was founded on incidents of actual
occurrenceinhis neighborhood, with which he had
become acquainted in the course of his profes-
sional business.
In 18-iO Mr. Thompson published at Montpelier,
The Green Mountain Boys, "intended to embody
and illustrate a portion of the more romantic inci-
dents which actually occurred in the early settle-
ments of Vermont, with the use of but little more
of fiction than was deemed .sufficient to weave
them together, and impart to the tissue a con-
nected interest." Lode An sden, or the School-
master, followed in 1847. This work, the design
of which is to illustrate the art of intellectual self-
culture, and to seive the interests of popular edu-
cation, involves no inconsiderable part of the au-
thor's autobiography, and i.- drawn largely from
his personal obst rvaticn. It is an interesting pic-
ture of a time already aneient — so rapidly has the
cause of education developed itself in what was
not many years since a scanty wild settlement.
The Hangers, or the Tory's Davgh'er, a coun-
terpart to the Green Mountain Boys, was pub-
lished in 1850. It is illustrative of the Revolu-
tionary history of Vermont, and the northern
campaigns of i777 ; and is the result of a careful
study of the time to which the author has made
fiction subservient. The style in this, a- in the
preceding, is full and minute, the writer knowing
the art of the story-teller, who must leave nothing
fur the mind of the listener outside of the narra-
tive, but must engross the whole interest for him-
self and his tale.
This concludes the list of the author's works.
They form a series which has attained high popu-
larity in his state, and which has travelled far be-
yond it. The tales have been republished in Eng-
land, where they have doubtless been read with
DANIEL PIERCE THOMPSON.
217
interest as pictures of American history and so-
ciety. The manly career of the author, resulting
in his honorable success in life, and the interest of
his books, have secured him a sterling popularity
at home, lie married in 1831 a daughter of E.
K. Robinson of Chester, Vermont, and is sur-
rounded by a family of children.
A SCHOOL COMMITTEE-MAN AND A LAWSUIT.
[Locke Arusden is in pursuit of a country engagement as a
school teacher.]
The little knowledge he. hart pained,
Was all from simple nature drained. — Gay.
It was late in the season when our hero returnel
bonis ; a;i 1 having ina Ivertently omitted to apprise
his friends of his intention to engage liimself as it
teacher of so ne of the winter schools in the vicinity
of liia father's resi lenoe, he found, o.i his arrival,
every situatio i to which his undoubted qualifications
should prompt him to aspire, already occupied by
others. He was therefore compelled, unless he re-
linquished his pur lose, to listen to the less eligible
offers which cone from such smaller and more back-
ward districts or societies as had not e gaged their
instru ;tors for the wi iter. One of these he was on
the poi it of deudi >g to accept, when he received i i-
form itio i of a dist i :t where the master, from some
cause or other, ha 1 been dismissed during the fi.-st
wee; of his e igige ne it, and where the committee
were now in search of another to supply his place.
The listrict fro n which this i fot'matio.i came, was
situated in one of the mountain tow. is about a doze i
miles distant, a id the particular neighborhoo 1 of is
location w is known in the vicinity, to a considerable
exte it, by the name of the H irn of the Moon ; an
ajip 11 1 ion g1 ieraUvr u i lerstood to be derived from
a peculiar curvature of a mountain that partially
enclose 1 the place. Knowing nothing of the causes
whie i had here lei to tne recent dismissal of tie
teacher, nor in lee 1 of the particular character of the
Bcho >'. further than that it was a large o e, and one,
probably, which, thong i in rather a new part of the
country, would yet furnish something like an ale-
qu ite remuneration to a g po 1 instructor, Locke had
no hesr'tatio i in decidi g to make a i immediate ap-
plica'ioi for the situation. Accordingly, the next
morui g he mounted a horse, aid set out for the |
place i i question.
It was a mild December's day; the ground had
not yet assailed its winter covering, and the route
take t by our he 'o becoming soon bordere I on either
si leby wil 1 a 1 1 picturesque mountain scenery, upon
which he had ever delighted
To look from nature up to nature's God,
the excursion in going was a pleasant one. And oc-
cupie 1 by the reflections thus occasione 1, together
with anticipations of happy results from his expected
engagement, he arrived after a ride of a few hours,
at tie borders of the romantic looking [dace of which
he w is in quest.
At this point in bis journey, he overtook a man on
foot, of whom, aftc discovering him to belong some-
* where in the neighborhood, lie proceeded to make
some inquiries relative to the situation of the school.
" Why,'' replied the man. " as I live out there in
the tip of the Horn, which is, of course, at the outer
c Ige of the district , I know but little about, the school
a'fairs; but one thing is certain, they have shipped j
the m ister, and want to get a >her, I snnpose."
'■ For what cause was the master dismissed? For I
lack of qualifications?"
• Yes, lack of qualifications for our district. The
fellow, however, had learning enough, as all agreed,
but no spunk; and the young Bunkers, and some
others of the big boys, mistrusting this, and being a
little riled at some things he had said to them, took
it into their heads to train him a little, which they
di 1 ; when he, instead t>f showing any grit on the
occasion, got frightened and cleared out."
" Why, sir, did his scholars offer him personal vio-
lence?"
" O no — not violence. They took him up quite
carefully, bound him on to a plank, as I understood,
and carried him on their shoulders, in a sort, of pro-
cession, three times around the sehoolhouse, and
then, unloosing him, told him to go at his business
again."
" And was all this suffered to take place without
any i itcrfereaee from your committee?"
" Yes, our committee-man would not interfere in
such a ease. A master must fight his own way in
our district."
" Who is your committee, sir?"
" Captai i Bid Bunker is now. They had a meet-
ing after The fracas, and chose a new one."
" Is he a man who is capable of ascertaining for
himself the qualifications of a teacher?"
" 0 yes — ::t least I had as lief have Bill Bunker's
judgment of a man who applied for the school as a .y
other in the distinct; and yet he is the o.i'y man in
the whole district but w'.iat can real and write, I
believe."
" Your school committee not able to real and
write ?"
" i.o'" a word, and still he does more business than
any man in this neighb uhood. Why, sir, lie keeps
a sort of sto-e, sells to A, B, and 0, and charges on
book i l a fashion of his own ; and I would as soon
ti ust to his book as that of any regular merchant in
the country ; though, to be sure, he has got into a
jumble, I hear, abo it some charges against a man at
t'other end of the Horn, a d they are having a court
about it to-day at B inker's house, I understand."
" Where does he live?"
" Bight on the roa 1, about a mile ahead. You will
see his name chalked on a sort of a shop-looking
building, which he uses for a store."
The man he e turned off from the road, leaving
our hero so much surprised and staggerel at what
he had just hen d, not only of the ge..erd character
of the school of which he had conic to propose him-
self as a teacher, but of the man who now had the
control of it, that he drew up the reins, stopped his
horse in the road, and sat hesitati g some mo ne ,ts
whether he w. il 1 go buck or forward. It occurring
to him, howc t, that he could doas he liked about
accepting any offer of the place which might be
made him, and feeling, moreover, some curiosity to
see how a man who could neither read nor write
would manage in capacity of an examining school
committee, he resolved to go forward, and present
himself as a candidate for the school. Accordingly,
he rode on, and soon reached a rough built, but sub-
stantial-looking farm-house, with sundry out-build-
ings, on one of which he read, as he had been told
he might, the name of the singular occupant. In the
last-named building, he at once perceived that there
was a gathering of quite a number of individuals, the
nature of which was explained to him by the hint he.
had received from his informant on the road. And
tying his horse, he joined several who were g ring in,
and soon found himself in the midst of the company
assemble 1 in the low, u finished room which consti-
tuted the interior, us parties, witnesses, and specta-
tors ot a justice's court, the ceremonies of which were
about to be commenced. There were no counters,
counting-room, or desk; and a few broad shelves,
clumsily put un on one side, afforded the oily indi-
cation, observable in the interior arrangement of the
218
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
room, of the use to which it was devoted. On these
shelves were scattered, at intervals, small bunches of
hoes, axes, be.1. -cords, and such articles as are gene-
rally purchased by those who purchase little ; while
casks of nails, grindstoucs, quintals of dried salt fish,
and the like, arranged round the room on the floor,
*madc up the rest of the owner's merchandise, an an-
nual supply of which, it appeared, he obtained in the
cities every winter in exchange for the products of
his farm ; ever careful, like a good political econo-
mist, that the balance of trade should not be against
him. The only table and chair in the room were
now occupied by the justice ; the heads of casks,
grindstones, or bunches of rakes, answering for seats
for the rest of the company. On the left of the just-
ice sat the defendant, whose composed look, and oe-
casio'al knowing smile, seemed to indicate his con-
fidence in the strength of his defence as well as a
consciousness of possessing some secret advantage
over his opponent. On the other hand sat Bunker,
the plaintiff in the suit. Ascertaining fom the re-
marks of the bystanders his identity with the com-
mittee-man he had become so curious to see, Locke
fell to noting his appearance closely, and the result
was, upon the whole, a highly favorable preposses-
sion, lie was a remarkably stout, ham'y-looki. g man ;
and although his features were extremely rough and
swarthy, they yet combined to give him an open,
honest, and very intelligent countenance. Behind
him, as backers, were standing in a gronp three or
four of his sons, of ages varyi g fiom fifteen to
twentv, and of bodily proportions promising any-
thi: g but disparagement to the Herculean stock f;cm
which they originated. The parties were now called
and sworn ; when Hunker, there being no attorneys
employed to make two-hour speeches on preliminary
questions, proceeded at once to the merits of his case.
He pro luced and spread open his account-book, and
then went on to show his manner of chaigi g, which
was wholly by hieroglyphics, generally designating
the debtor by pictuii. g him out at the top of the
page wi'.h some peculiarity of his person or calling.
In the present case, the debtor, who was a cooper,
was designated by the rude picture of a man in the
act of hoopi g a barrel ; and the article charged,
there bei; g but one item in the account, was placed
immediately beneath, and represented by a shaded,
circular figure, which the plaintiff said was intended
for a cheese, that had been sold to the defendant some
years before.
" Now, Mr. Justice," said Bunker, after explaining
in a direct, off-hand manner, his peculiar method of
book-keeping, " now, the article here charged the
man had — I will, and do swear to it ; for here it is
in black and white. And I having demanded my
pay, and he havii g not only refused it, but denied
ever buying the article in question, I have brought
this s', it to recover my just due. And now I wish
to see if he will get up here in court, and deny the
charge under oath. If he will, let him ; but may the
Lord have mercy on his soul !"
" Well, sir," replied the defendant, promptly ris-
ing, " you shall not be kept from having your wish
a minute ; for I here, under oath, do swear, that I
never'bought or had a cheese of you in my life."
•' Under the oath of God you declare it," do you?"
sharply asked Bunker.
" I do, sir," firmly answered the other.
"Well, well!" exclaimed the former, with looks
of utter astonishment, "I would not have believed
that there was a man in all of the Horn of the Moon
who would dare to do that."
After the parties had been indulged in the usual
amount of sparri g for such occasions, the justice in-
terposed and suggested, that as the oaths of the par-
ties were at complete issue, the evidence of the book
itself, which lie seemed to think was entitled to cre-
dit, would turn the scale in favor of the plaintiff,
unless the defendant could produce some rebutting
testimony. Upon this hint, the latter called up two
of his neighbors, who testified in his behalf, that he
himself always made a sufficient supply of cheese for
his family ; and they were further knowing, that, on
the year of the alleged purchase, instead of buying,
he actually sold a considerable quantity of the ar-
ticle.
This evidence seemed to settle the question in the
mind of the justice ; and he now soon announced,
that he felt bound to give judgment to the defendant
for his costs.
" Judged and sworn out of the whole of it, as I am
a sinner!" cried the disconcerted Bunker, after sit-
ting a moment working his rough features in indig-
nant surprise ; " yes, fairly sworn out of it, and sad-
dled with a bill of costs to boot! But I can pay it;
so reckon it up, Mr. Justice, and we will have it all
squared on the spot. And, on the whole, I am not
so sure but a dollar or two is well spent, at any
time, in findii g out a fellow to be a scoundrel who
has been passii g himself off among people for an
honest man," he added, pulling out his purse, and
ai grily dashh g the required amount down upon the
table.
" Now, Bill Bunker," said the defendant, after
very coolly pocketing his costs, " you have flung out
a good deal of your stuff here, and I have bore it
wiihout gettii g riled a lair ; for I saw, all the time,
that you — correct as folks ginerally think you — that
you didn't know what you was about. But now it's
all fixed and settled, I am going jist to convince you
that I am not quite the one that has sworn to a per-
jury in this 'ere business."
" Well, we will see," rejoined Bunker, eyeing his
opponent with a look of mingled doubt and defiance.
"Yes, we will see," responded the other, deter-
minedly ; " we will see if we can't make you eat
your own words. But I want first to tell you where
you missed it. When you dunned me, Bunker, for
the pay for a cheese, and I said I never had one of
you, you went off a little too quick ; you called me a
liar, before givii g me a chance to say another word.
And then, I thought I would let you take your own
course, till you took that name back. If you had
held on a minute, without breaking out so upon me,
I should have teld you all how it was, and you would
have got your pay on the spot; but "
" Pay !" fiercely interrupted Bunker, " then you
admit you had the cheese, do you ?"
" No, sir, I admit no such thing," quickly rejoined
the former; " for I still say I never had a cheese of
you in the wo; Id. But I didhave a small grindstone
of you at the time, and at just the price you have
charged for your supposed cheese ; and here is your
money for it, sir. Isow, Bunker, what do you say
to that?"
" Grindstone — cheese — cheese — grindstone !" ex-
claimed the now evidently nonplussed and doubtful
Bunker, taking a few rapid turns about the room,
and occasionally stopping at the tnble. to scrutinize
anew his hieroglvphical charge ; " I must think this
matter over again. Grindstone — cheese — cheese —
grindstone. Ah! I have it; but may God foi give me
for what I have done ! It was a grindstone, but I
forgot to make a hole in the middle for the crank."
Upon this curious development, as will be readily
imagined, the opposing parties were not long in ef-
fecting an amicable and satisfactory adjustment.
And, in a short time, the company broke up and de-
parted, all obviously as much gratified as amused at
this singular but happy result of the lawsuit.
WILLIAM B SPRAGUE; JOHN P. KENNEDY.
219
WILLIAM B. SPEAGUE.
The Rev. Dr. Sprague was born in Andover,
Connecticut, October 16, 1795. His father, Ben-
jamin Sprague, a farm.r, lived and died on the
spot where he was born. The son was fitted for
college at Colchester Academy under the venerable
John Adams, and was much indebted in his
education to the Rev. Dr. Abiel Abbot, now of
Peterhoro', "S. H., then the Congregational Minis-
ter of Coventry, Connecticut. He was graduated
at Yale in 1815, and then employed for nearly a
year as a private tutor to a family in Virginia.
He entered the Theological Seminary at Princeton
in the autumn of 1816, and remained till the
spring of 1819; was settled as colleague pastor
with the Rev. Dr. Joseph Lathrop of the First
Congregational Church in West Springfield, Mas-
sachusetts, in 1819; remained there ten years,
and became settled as pastor of the Second Pres-
byterian Church in Albany in 1829, of which he
is still (in 1854) the incumbent.
The long list of the writings of Dr. Sprague
commences with an Installation Sermon in 1820,
and several discourses on special occasions in tha
following year. In 1822 he published his Letters
to a Daughter, a favorite didactic volume, repub-
lished in Scotland, and latterly printed in thi>
country with the title Daughter's Own Book.
His Letters from Europe appeared in 1828. In
1838 he published a life of Dr. E. D. Griffin,
President of Williams College, and, in 18-15, the
life of Timothy Dwight, in " Sparks's American
Biography." His other volumes are of a practical
devotional character, as his Lectures on Revivals
of Religion (1832) ; Hints on Christian Inter-
course (1831) ; Contrast between True and False
Religion (1837) ; Aids to Eirly Religion (1847) ;
and Words to a Young Mans Conscience (184S).
Besides these, he has written numerous introduc-
tions to biographical and other works, and is the
author of more than one hundred published
pamphlets: The latter are of a religious character,
sermons in the direct line of his profession, and
occasional discourses and addresses on educa-
tional, social, and other topics. Of these we
may enumerate those of an historical and bio-
graphical character, as the Funeral Sermon of
Dr. Joseph Lathrop, in 1821 ; a Thanksgiving
Historical Discourse at West Springfield, in 1824 ;
a Fourth of July Discourse at Northampton, in
1827; a sermon at Albany, in behalf of the
Polish Exiles, in 1834; an oration commemora-
tive of La Fayette, at Albany, in the same year ;
a Phi Beta Kappa address before the Society of
Yale, in 1843 ; an address before the Philoma-
thesian Society of Middlebury College, in 1844 ;
an historical discourse in 1846, containing notices
of the Second Presbyterian Church and Congre-
gation at Albany, during thirty years from the
period of their organization ; other discourses
commemorative of Dr. Chalmers, in 1847 ; of the
Hon. Silas Wright, the same year ; of the Hon.
Ambrose Spencer, late Chief-justice of the State
of New York, the following year; and, with many
others, a discourse, in 1850, on the late Samuel
Miller of Princeton. The fondness of Dr. Sprague
for biographical study is well known, and is illus-
trated by his large collection of autographs.
With Dr. Tefft of Savannah, he enjoys the repu-
tation of possessing the largest collection of this
kind in the country. The latest publication of
Dr. Sprague is a book of sketches of the per-
sonalties of foreign travel, entitled, Visits to
European Celebrities. It includes notices, among
others, of Edward Irving, Rowland Hill, Robert
Hall, Neander, Chalmers, Wilson, and Southey.
He is understood to have prepared for publication
a biographical work, an account of the Clergy of
America of all denominations, from the earliest
times.
JOHN P. KENNEDY.
John Pendleton Kennedy, the eldest son of a
Baltimore merchant, was born in that city on the
twenty-fifth of October, 1795, and was graduated
at the College of. Baltimore in 1812.
In 1816 he was admitted to the bar, and was
soon in successful practice. He was elected to
the state House of Delegates in 1820, and in 1837
entered the House of Representatives, He wa3
re-elected in 1841 and 1843, and in 1810 again
became a member of the House of Delegates.
He occupied a prominent position in Congress,' as
a leading member of the Whig party, and pre-
pared the manifesto in which its representatives
disclaimed any connexion with the administra-
tion of John Tyler. He was also the author of
a volume entitled A Defence of the Whigs,
published in 1844, and at an earlier period
wrote with Warren Dutton of Massachu -etts, and
Charles Jared Ingersoll, of Pennsylvania, the ad-
dress issued by the Protectionist Convention,
held in New York in 1831.*
In 1818 lie commenced his purely literary ca-
reer, by the publication in numbers, at the inter-
vals of a fortnight, of The Red Boole. It con-
tained lively gossiping satire of contemporary so-
cial matters, by Kennedy, with poetry by his
associate in the work, Peter Hoffman Cruse, a
native of Baltimore, who was afterwards the
author of several able reviews and editor of the
Baltimore American. Cruse died during the
cholera summer of 1832, at the age of thirty-
seven. The Red Book was continued during
1818 and 1819, until it formed two volumes.
A long interval elapsed before Kennedy's next
appearance as an author, Swallow Burn not
having been published until 1832. This is a col-
lection of sketches of rural life in Virginia, at
the commencement of the present century, linked
into a c mnected whole by a slight story.
In 1835 Horse-Shoe Robinson appeared. The
story was founded on the personal recollections
of its hero, an old soldier of the Revolution^ who
derived his popular pranomen from the trade
which lie carried on before the war, of a black-
smith, and the practice of which he continued so
far as hard blows were concerned, in the service
of the country, in his native state of South Ca-
* Griswold's Prose Writers, p. 342.
220
CYCLOPAEDIA OjJ AMERICAN LITERATURE.
jm W> \ !
J.'AM*u
u£'.
rolin.i. Mr. Kennedy, in the course of a journey
in the western part of tliat region, fell in with
thi< worthy, and afterwards turned to good ac-
count a long everiing's'cbnvei^ation with him, by
making it the groundwork of an excellent historical
novel, its leading incidents being transcripts of
the old man's veritable adventures.
In his next work, Bob of the Bowl, published
in 1838, Mr. Kennedy went further back in Ame-
rican history than before, but with a similar
adherence, in the main, to fact ; the scene being
laid in Maryland, in the days of her founder,
Calvert. These three novels were reprinted in
uniform volumes, with illustrations, in 1852, by
G. P. Putnam.
In 1840 Mr. Kennedy published The Annals of
Quodlibet, a political satire, suggested by the
animated li log-cabin and bard cider" canvass pre-
ceding the election of Harrison and Tyler, in the
same year.
In 184-9 he published an elaborate life of his
friend William Wirt, with extracts from his cor-
respondence, forming two octavo volumes.
In addition to the works mentioned, Mr. Ken-
nedy is tlie author of an Address delivered he/ore
the Baltimore Society, in 1833, an -Eulogy on
Wirt, in 1834, and A Discourse at the Dedication
of Green Mount Cemetery, in 1839.
Mr. Kennedy writes with delightful ease and
freshness. His works are evidently the natural
product of his thought and observation, and are
pervaded by the happy genial temperament winch
characterizes the man in his personal relation-.
We have a full reproduction in his volumes of the
old Virginia lift-, with its old-time ideas of re-
pose, content, and solid comfort; its hearty out-
door existence, and the " humors " which are
apt, in a fixed state of society, to develop quaint
features in ma ter and dependants.
The author's books abound in delightful rural
pictures and sketches of character, which, in easy
style and quiet genial humor, recall the Sketch
mff*-
Kennedy's Residence.
Book and Bracebridge Hall. The author has him-
self acknowledged the relationship in the graceful
tribute to Irving which forms the dedication to
the volume.
DESCRIPTION OF 6WALLOW BARN.
Swallow Barn is an aristocraiieal old edifice, that
squats, like a broodi. g lien, on the southern bank
of the James River. It is quietly seated, with its
vassal out-buildii gs, in a kind of shady pocket or
nook, formed by a sweep of the stieani, on a gentle
acclivity thinly sprinkled with oak , whose magnifi-
cent branches afford habitation a.,d defence to an
antique colony of owls.
This time-honored mansion was the residence of
the family of Hazards; but in the present genera-
tion the spells of love and mortgage conspired to
translate the possession to Frank Meriwether, who
having married Lucietia, the eldest daughter of my
late uncle, Walter Hazard, and lifted some»gentle-
manlike incumbrances that had been silently brood-
ing upon the domain along with the owls, was thus
inducted into the proprietary rights. The adjacency
I of his own estate gave a territorial feature to this
alliance, of which the fruits were no less discerni-
ble in the multiplication of negroes, cattle, and
poultry, than in a flourishing elan of Meriwethers.
The buildings illustrate three epochs in the his-
tory of the family. The main structure is upwards
i of a century o d ; one story high, with thick brick
walls, and a double-faced roof, resembling a ship
1 bottom upwards ; this is perforated with small dor-
j mer windows, that have some such expression as
beloi gs to a face without eye-brows. To this is
added a more modem tenement of wood, which
i might have had its date about the time of the Revo-
lution : it has shrunk a little at the joints, and left
j some crannies, through which the winds whisper all
night long. The last member of the domicile is an
upstart laljric of later times, that seems to be ill at
J ease in this antiquated society, and awkwardly over-
I looks the ancestral edifice, with the air of a grena-
dier recruit posted behind a testy little veteran cor-
poral. The traditions of the house ascribe the ex-
istence of this erection to a certain family divan,
where — say the chronicles — the salic law was set at
nought, and some pungent matters of style were
considered. It lias a.i unfinished drawing-room,
possessing an ambitious air of fashion, with a mar-
ble mantel, high ceilings, and large foldi. g doors;
but being yet unplastered, and without paint, it has
JOHN' P. KENNEDY.
221
somewhat of a melancholy aspect, and may be com-
pared to an unlucky bark lifted by an extraordinary
tide upon a sand-bank: it is useful as a memento to
all aspiring householders against a premature zeal to
make a show in the world, and the indiscretion of
admitting females into cabinet councils. -
These three masses compose an irregular pile, in
which the two last described constituents are obse-
quiously statioae 1 in the rear, like serving-men by
the chair of a gouty old gentleman, supporting the
squat and frowning little mansion which, but for the
family pride, would have bee.i long since given over
to the accommodation of the guardian bird.s of the
place.
The great hall door is an ancient piece of walnut
work, that lias grown too heavy for its hinges, and
by its daily travel has furrowed the floor with a deep
quadrant, over which it has a very uneasy journey.
It is shaded by a narrow porch, with a carved pedi-
ment, upheld by massive columns of wood sa lly split
by the sr.i . A court-yard, in front of this, of a semi-
circular shape, bounded by a white paling, and hav-
ing a gravel road leading from a large and variously
latticed gateway around a grass plot, is embellished
by a superannuated willow that stretches forth its
arms, clothed with its pendant drapery, like a re-
verend priest pronouncing a benediction. A bridle-
rack stands on the outer side of the gate, and near
it a ragged, horse-eaten plum tree casts its skeletm
shadow upon the dust.
Some Lombardy poplars, springing above a mass
of shrubbery, partially screen various supernume-
rary buildings around the mansion. Amongst these
is to be seen the gable e id of a stable, with the di.te
of its erection stiffly emblazoned in black bricks
near the upper angle, i:i figures set in after the
fashion of the work in a girl's sampler. In the same
quarter a pigeon box, reared on a post, and resem-
bling a huge tee-totu n, is visible, and about its se-
veral doors and windows, a family of pragmatical
pigeons are generally strutting, bridling and brag-
ging at .each Ooher from sunrise until dark.
Appe idant to this homestead is an extensive tract
of la id that stretches for some three or four miles
along the river, presenting alternately abrupt pro-
montories mantled witli pine aid dwarf oak. and
small inlets terminating in swamps. Some sparse
portions of forest vary the landscape, which, for
the most part, exhibits a succession of fields clothed
with a diminutive growth of Indian corn, patches
of cotton or parched toba-jco plants, and the occa-
sional varieties of stubble and fallow grounds.
These are surrounded with worm fences of shrunken
chesuut, whore lizir Is and ground squirrels arc
perpetually ru ming races along the r dls.
At a short distance from the mansion a brook
glides at a snail's pace towards the river, holding its
course through a wilderness of alder and laurel, and
farming little islets covered with a damp moss.
Across this stream is thrown a rough bridge, and not
far below, an aged sycamore twists its complex
roots about a spring, at the point of co .flueuce of
which and the brook, a squadron of ducks have a
cruising ground, where they may be seen at any
time of tne day turning up their tails to the skies,
like unfortunate gu iboats driven by the head in a
gale. Immediately on the margin, at this spot, the
family linen is usually spread out bv some sturdy
negro women, who chant shrill ditties over then-
wash tubs, and keep up a spirited attack, both of
tongue and hand, upon sundry little besmirched and
bow-legged blacks, that are continually making
somersets on the grass, or mischievously waddling
across the clothes laid out to blench.
Beyond the bridge, at some distance, stands a pro-
minent object in this picture — the most time-worn
and venerable appendage to the establishment: — a
huge, crazy, and disjointed barn, with an immense
roof hanging in penthouse fashion almost to the
ground, and thatched a foot thick, with sun-burnt
straw, that reaches below the eaves in ragged flakes,
giving it an air of drowsy decrepitude. The rude
enclosure surrounding this antiquated magazine is
strewed knee-deep with litter, from the midst of
which arises a loug rack, resembling a ehevaux de
frise, which is ordinarily filled with fodder. This is
the customary lounge of four or five gaunt oxen,
who keep up a sort of imperturbable companionship
with a sickly-looking wagon that protrudes its
parched tongue, and droops its rusty swingle-trees
in the hot sunshine, with the air of a dispirited and
forlorn invalid awaiting the attack of a tertian ague:
wdiile, beneath the sheds, the long face of a plough
horse may be seen, peering through the dark win-
dow of the stable, with a spectral melancholy : his
glassy eye moving silently across the gloom, and the
profound stillness of his habitation now and then in-
terrupted only by his sepulchral and hoarse cough.
There are also some sociable carts under the same
sheds, with their shafts against the wail, which seem
to have a free and easy air, like a set of roysterers
taking their ease in a tavern porch.
Sometimes a clownish colt, with long fetlocks and
dishevelled mane, and a thousand burrs on his tail,
stalks about this region ; but as it seems to be for-
bid, e i ground to all his tribe, he is likely very soon
to encounter his natural enemy in some of the young
negroes, upon which event be makes a rapid retreat,
not without an uncouth display of his heels in pass-
ing; and bounds off towards the brook, where he
stops and looks back with a saucy defiance, and,
after affecting to drink for a moment, gallops away,
with a hideous whinnying, to the fields.
PURSUITS OF A PHILOSOPHER.
From the house at Swallow Barn there is to be
seen, at no great distance, a clump of trees, and in
the midst of these an humble building is discerni-
ble, that seems to court the shade in which it is mo-
destly embowered. It is an old structure built of
logs. Its figure is a cube, with a roof rising from all
sides to a point, and surmounted by a wooden wea-
thercock, which somewhat resembles a fish, and
somewhat a fowl.
This little edifice is a rustic shrine devoted to Cad-
mus, and here the sacred rites of the alphabet are
daily solemnized by some dozen knotty-pated and
freckled votaries not above three feet high, both in
browsers and petticoats. This is one of the many
temples that stud the surface of our republican em-
pire, where liberty receives her purest worship, and
where, though in humble and lowly guise, she se-
cretly breathes her strength into the heart and si-
news of the nation. Here the germ is planted that
fructifies through generations, and produces its hun-
dredfold. At this altar the spark is kindled that
propagates its fire from breast to breast, like the
vast conflagrations that light up and purify the
prairie of the west.
The school-house has been an appendage to Swal-
low Barn ever since the infancy of the last genera-
tion. Frank Meriwether has, in his time, extended
its usefulness by opening it to the accommodation of
his neighbors; so that it is now a theatre whereon
a bevy of pigmy players are wont to enact the serio-
comic'interludes that belong to the first process of
indoctrination. A troop of these little sprites are
seen, every morning, wending their way across the
fields, armed with tin kettles, in which are deposited
their leather-coated apple-pics or other store for the
222
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
day, and which same kettles are generally used, at
the decline of the day, as drums or cymbals, to sig-
nalize their homeward march, or as receptacles of
the spod pilfered from blackberry bushes, against
which these barefooted Scythians are prone to carry
on a predatory war.
Throughout the day a continual buzz is heard
from this quarter, eve.i to the porch of the mansion-
house. Hazard and myself occasionally make them
a visit, and it is amusing to observe how, as we ap-
proach, the murmur becomes more distinct, until,
reaching the door, we find the whole swarm running
over their long, tough syllables, in a high concert
pitch, with their elbows upon the desks, their hands
covering their ears, and their naked heels beating
time against the benches — as if every urchin believ-
ed that a polysyllable was a piece of music invented
to torment all ears but his own. And, high above
this dm, the master's note is sounded ill a lo;d!y
key, like the occasional touch of the horn in an or-
chestra. •
This little empire is under the dominion of parson
Chub, lie is a plump, rosy old gentleman, rather
short and thick set, with the blood-vessels meander-
ing over his face like rivulets, — a pair of prominent
blue eyes, and a head of siiky hair, not unlike the
covering of a white spaniel. He may be said to be
a man of jolly dimensions, with an evident taste for
good livii.g; somewhat sloven in his attire, for his
coat — which is not of the newest — is decorated with
sundry spots that are scattered over it in constella-
tions. Besides this, he wears an immense cravat,
which, as it is wreathed around his short neck,
forms a bowl beneath his chin, and — as Ned says —
gives the parson's head the appearance of that of
John the Baptist upon a charger, as it is sometimes
represented in the children's picture books. His
beard is grizzled with silver stubble, which the par-
son reaps about twice a week — if the weather be
fair.
Mr. Chub is a philosopher after the order of So-
crates. He was an emigrant from the Emerald Isle,
where he suffered much tribulation in the disturb-
ances, as they are mildly called, of his much-endur-
ing country. But the old gentleman has weathered
the storm without losing a jot of that broad, healthy
benevolence with which nature has enveloped his
heart, and whose ensign she has hoisted in his face.
The early part of his life had been easy and pros-
perous, until the rebellion of 1798 stimulated his re-
publicanism into a fever, and drove the full-blooded
hero headlong into the quarrel, and put him, in spite
of his peaceful profession, to standing by his pike in
behalf of his principles. By this unhappy boiling
over of the caldron of his valor he fell under the
ban of the ministers, and tested his share of govern-
ment mercy. His house was burnt over his head,
his horses and hounds (for, by all accounts, he was a
perfect Acteon) were " confiscate to the state," and
he was forced to fly. This brought him to America
in no very compromising mood with royalty.
Here his fortunes appear to have been various,
and he was tossed to and fro by the battledoor of
fate, until he found a snug harbour at Swallow
Barn ; where, some years ago, he sat down in that
quiet repose which a worried and badgered patriot
is best fitted to enjoy.
He is a good scholar, and having confined his read-
ing entirely to the learning of the ancients, his re-
publicanism is somewhat after the Grecian mould.
He has never read any polities of later date than
the time of the Emperor Constantitie, not even a
newspaper, — so that he may be said to have been
contemporary with jEsehines rather than Lord Cas-
tlcreagh, until that eventful epoch of his life when
his blazing roof-tree awakened him from his ana-
chronistical dream. ihis notable interruption, how-
ever, gave him but a feeble insight into the moderns,
and he soon relapsed to 'Ihucydides and Livy, with
some such glimmerings of the American Revolution
upon his remembrance as most readers have of the
exploits of the first Brutus.
The old ge.tleman has a learned passion for
folios. He had been a long time urging Meriwether
to make some additions to his collections of litera-
ture, and descanted upon the value of some of the
ancient authors as foundations, both moral and phy-
sical, to the library. Frank gave way to the argu-
ment, partly to gratify the parson, and partly from
the proposition itself having a smack that touched
his fancy. The matter was therefore committed en-
tirely to Mr. Chub, who forthwith set out on a voy-
age of exploration to the north. I believe he got as
far as Boston*. He certainly contrived to execute
his commission with a curious felicity. Some famous
Elzevirs were picked up, and many other antiques
that nobody but Mr. Chub would ever think of
opening.
The cargo arrived at Swallow Barn in the dead
of winter. During the interval between the par-
son's return from his expedition and the coming of
the books, the reverend little schoolmaster was in a
remarkably unquiet state of body, which almost pre-
vented him from sleeping" and it is said that the
sight of the long expected treasures had the happiest
effect upon him. There was ample accommodation
for this new acquisition of ancient wisdom provided
before its arrival, and Mr. Chub now spent a whole
week in arranging the volumes on their proper
shelves, having, as report affirms, altered the ar-
rangement at least seven times during that period.
Everybody wondered wdiat the old gentleman was.
at all this time ; but it was discovered afterwards,
that he was endeavouring to effect a distribution of
the works according to a minute division of human
science, which entirely failed, owing to the unlucky
accident of several of his departments being with-
out any volumes.
After this matter was settled, he regularly spent
his evenii gs in the library. Frank Meriwether was
hardly behind the parson in this fancy, and took,
for a short time, to abstruse reading. They both
consequently deserted the little family circle every
evening after tea, and might have continued to
do so all the winter but for a discover}' made by
Hazard.
Ned had seldom joined the two votaries of science
in their philosophical retirement, and it was whis-
pered in the family that the parson was giving Frank
a quiet course of lectures in the ancient philosophy,
for Meriwether was known to talk a good deal,
about that time, of the old and new Academicians.
But it happened upon one dreary winter night,
during a tremendous snow storm, which was bang-
ing the shutters and doors of the house so as to
keep up a continual uproar, that Ned, having waited
in the parlour for the philosophers until midnight,
set out to invade their retreat — not doubting that
he should find them deep in study. When he en-
tered the library, both candles were burning in
their sockets, with long, untrimmed wicks; the fire
was reduced to its last embers, and, in an arm-chair
on one side of the table, the parson was discovered in
a sound sleep over Jeremy Taylor's Ductor Dubitan-
tium, whilst Frank, in another chair on the opposite
side, was snoring over a folio edition of Montaigne.
And upon the table stood a small stone pitcher, con-
taining a residuum of whiskey punch, now grown
cold. Frank started up in great consternation upon
hearing Ned's footstep beside him, and, from that
JOHN GOR11AM PALFREY.
time, almost entirely deserted the library. Mr.
Chub, however, was not so easily drawn away from
the ca eer of his humour, and still shows his hanker-
ing after his leather-coated friends.
It is an amusing point in the old gentleman's
character to observe his freedom in contracting en-
gagements that depend upon his purse. He seems
to thi.ik himself a rich man, and is continually be-
coming security for some of tlie neighbours. To
hear him talk, it would be supposed that he meant
to re invite the affairs of the whole county. As
his int.; itio.ts are so generous, Meriwether does not
fail to bajk hi n when it comes to a pinch — by rea-
son of which the giol squire has more than once
been obliged to pay the penalty.
Mr. Cuub's character, as it will be seen from this
description of him, possesses great simplicity. This
has given rise to some practical jokes against him,
which have cau = id him much annoyance. The tra-
dition in the family goes, that, one evening, the
worthy divine, by some strange accident, fell into an
excess in his cups; and that a saucy chamber-maid
found him dozing in his chair, with his pipe in his
mouth, having the bowl turned downward, and the
ashes sprinkle 1 over his breast. He was always
distinguished by a broad and superfluous ruffle to
his shirt, and, on this occasion, the mischievous maid
ha 1 the effrontery to set it on fire. It produced, as
mav be supposed, a great alarm to the parson, and,
besides, brought him into some scandal ; for he was
rouse 1 up in a stale of consternation, and began to
strip himself of his clothes, not knowing what lie
was about. I don't know how far he exposed him-
self, bit the negro woman who ran to his relief,
m ide a fine story of it.
Hazard once reminded him of this adventure, in
my presence, ami it was diverting to see with what
a comic and quiet sheepishness • he bore the joke.
He half closed his eyes and puckered up his mouth
as Ned proceeded ; and when the story came to the
conclusion, he gave Ned a gentle blow on the breast
with the back of his hand, crying out, as he did so,
" Hoot toot, Mister Ned!" — then he walked to the
front door, where lie stood whistling.
JOHN GOEIIAM TALFEET,
The son of a Boston merchant, and the grandson
of a Revolutionary officer, William Palfrey, aide to
Washington at Dorchester, was born in Boston,
May 2, 1796. He was educated in his youth by
William Payne, father of the celebrated tragedian,
and afterwards at Eveter Ac-idemy; was gradu-
ated at Harvard in 1813, studied theology, and in
1818 took charge of the Brattle street congrega-
tion, till his appointment as Dexter professor of j
sacred literature in Harvard in 1831. In 1835
he became editor of the North American Review, j
and had charge of that periodical till 181-3. From
1839 to '42 he delivered courses of lectures for '
the Lowell Institute on the Eoidenees of Christi-
anity, which were subsequently published in two
volumes octavo. He has also published four vo-
lumes of Lestures on the Jewish Scriptures and
Antiquities ; a supplementary volume on Quo-
tations from the Old Testament in the New; and
a volume of Sermons on the Duties belonging to
some of the Conditions and Relations of Private
Life.
He has published several historical discourses:
a Fourth of July, Boston oration, in 1831 ; the dis-
course at the centennial celebration of Barnstable
in 183'J; the semi-centennial discourse before the
Massachusetts Historical Society in 18U; two
discourses on the History of the Brattle Street
Church, and in Sparks's American Biography;
the Life of William Palfrey, his ancestor, paymas-
ter-general to the army of the Revolution.
Latterly, Mr. Palfrey has been much in public
life, as a politician in his own state, and a repre-
sentative to Congress in 18d7 and sine, where
lie lias been a leader of the free-soil party. In
184G he published in the Boston, Whig, edited by
Charles Francis Adams, a series of Papers on the
Slave Power, which were collected into a pam-
phlet*
In his work on the Evidences Dr. Palfrey pur-
sues mainly the historical line of argument, with
a consideration of the moral relations growing
immediately from the doctrines of the Biole. In
this method he belongs rather to the Norton than
to the Channing school of Unitarians. Apart
from the scholarship implied in the handling of
his learned themes, his writings are peculiarly
distinguished by the acumen of the legal mind.
In the words of one of his friends, the Rev. Dr.
Samuel Osgood, he is an example of the accom-
plished Christian lawyer.
His volume of Sermons on the Duties of Private
Life shows him an experienced casuist, combining
refinement and delicacy of perception with sound
judgment.
P.ELIGTor/S OPPORTUNITIES OF AGE.
As we look for a pious spirit as the indispensable
support and grace of age, so that period of life
abounds with peculiar privileges for its culture.
Before the view of the aged, life has been presented
in a great diversity of aspects; and, in every new
aspect, it has presented to their minds, with a new
impression, the truth that the Providence of a wise
and good being governs in the world, and that to do
his will is the one great interest of man, his one sure
way to genuine and lasting enjoyment. The retro-
spect, which they may take, is full of bright revela-
tions to them of the perfections of his character ; of
the equity and benevolence of his government; of
the excellence of his service. They reckon up pre-
cious and accumulated tokens of his parental good-
ness to themselves, kindling a deep, warm gratitude
in their hearts. They have learned to number even
their griefs among their blessings, explaining and
vindicating to them, as the event of after years has
often done, what had seemed for the time the dark-
est ways of Providence. And in such reflections,
what was always matter of strong faith to them, lias
become rather matter of reality and knowledge, —
that the Lord is indeed gracious and of tender mercy,
and all his ways are righteousness and love.
That composed state of the mind, which it is rea-
sonable to expect will be attaine 1, to an increased ex-
tent, when the early ferment of the feelings has sub-
sided, and the agitating cai-es of the world no longer
press, greatly favors the growth of a pervading and
vital piety. Age can look oa all things with a cool,
a just, and wise observation (and the view of true
wisdom is always the view of religion); ami as the
chances of life have perforce inured it to disappoint-
ment and restraint in some forms, and the passions
and impulses have, by a law of nature, lost, much of
their headlong force, the work of self-discipline hai
been made of easier execution, aad a subdued and
serene temper, akin to the temper of devotion, has
* Loring's Boston Orators, pp. 4S5-192.
22-i
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
been diffused over the soul. Age, ngain, has more
ample leisure for those retired exercises, to which a
devotional spirit prompts; and herein it has a pri-
vilege, "which the pious mind will hold in peculiar
estimation. In the more occupied period of earlier
life, we could not praise a man, wrho should with-
draw much time, day by day, from the duties of his
worldly calling, to be given to tiie solitary exercises
of religious study, meditation, and prayer. He must
learn to turn his opportunities of this kind to tlie
best' account, because he cannot have them in such
abundance as he would wish. The aged have the
happiness of not being so restricted. They have
more free access to enjoyments of the highest aud
purest character that can belong to man. They
have leisure for investigations in that science of pro-
foundest interest, of which God's word is the expo-
sitor. They have tranquil hours, in which they can
look into the mysteries, and chide the wanderings,
and nourish the good affections, of their own hearts.
The world has no longer such demands on them, but
that they ma}' often go aside to solitary converse
with their best friend ;' to communion with him,
whose friendship has become continually more need-
ful to them, on whose love they know they are soon
to be thrown without even the vain appearance of
any other resource, and to whose nearer society they
have an humble hope then to be received. That
age does afford such rich opportunities of this na-
ture, is to be to them a leading occasion of gratitude
that they have beea brought to see that time ; and
to profit by those opportunities, to the full extent of
their great worth, should be realized by them to be
a chief part of the peculiar responsibility which age
imposes.
Miss Sarah Pai.frey, a daughter of the Hon.
Mr. Palfrey, is the author of a recently published
volume of poems (1855) bearing the title Primi-
ees, by E. Foxton. It is chiefly made up of two
ballad narratives: Hilda, a love song, and The
Pvincess's Bulk. These show originality and spi-
rit, and a quick, lively temperament in the writer.
We cite a picture of youthful studies from one of
the shorter pieces, entitled Manhood : —
No more in swaddling-bands confined,
How from its cradle leaps the mindl
The viewless might of air to wield,
Bid the swollen clouds their lightnings yield,
Or from the surest holds of earth
To wring 'lime's rocky records forth,
Or from their lurking-places high
Hunt starting systems through the sky.
In haste the universe to explore,
While still its cry is, More! and Morel
It raises, with a magic tome.
The demigods of Greece and Rome.
Till Servius' legions shake the plain,
And Homer's harp resounds again.
Aud, oftener, in communion sweet.
Sits on the Mount at Jesus' feet.
The longest day is all too brief
To bring the stripling's thirst relief;
By night, the good and great of old
In dreams to him their arms unfold;
The morning wakes to pleasing toil,
Cheered by the glad parental smile ;
And generous friendship weaves the crown
That generous rivalry has won.
Thank God for life!
Still dance the years. Perfecting time
Has borne him on to early prime,
And paid, in golden hoard amassed,
The earnings of the thrifty past.
Each blessed earthly joy he knows;
The gleaming laurel wreathes his brows ;
In wisdom, as in courage, great,
He firmly sways the helm of state ;
While Virtue in his silver tone
Commands, with graces all his own,
Scarce less than his, his hearers feel
Their fervors for the common weal ;
And, meek in beauty, by his side
A stately maiden blooms, a bride.
Thauk God for life !
IIOEACE MAOTJ
Is a native of Massachusetts where he was born
at Franklin, May 4, 1796. In his youth he fellin
with an itinerant schoolmaster, Samuel Barrett,
by whose proficiency in the languages he was ani-
mated in his studies. He was educated at Brown
University, and pursued the study of the law in
Litchfield, Conn., and Dedham, Mass., which he
represented in the legislature. He took up his
residence in Boston in 1836, and was elected to
the state Senate. He was secretary of the Mas-
sachusetts Board of Education from 1837 to 1848,
when he succeeded John Quincy Adams in Con-
gress. He is chiefly known as a writer through
his valuable series of Annual Education Reports,
twelve in number, stored with ingenious and per-
tinent discussion of the various means and ma-
chinery to be employed in the work of popular
education, both intellectual and physical. Through
these he has identified himself with the progress
of the public-school system of Massachusetts. He
published in this connexion, as part of his seventh
Annual Report to the legislature, a Report of an
Educational Tour in Germany, Eritain,&c.,uia&e
in the year 1843.
He has become eminent as a social reformer and
philanthropist ; taking under his charge the tem-
perance question, among others. His lectures and
addresses are vigorous and energetic, in a familiar
colloquial manner — striking hard to produce an
immediate impression. f
In 1853, lie was elected President of Antioch
College, where he also supports the duties of Pro-
fessorof Political Economy, Intellectual and Moral
Philosophy, Constitutional Law and Natural Theo-
logy.
This college was incorporated in 1852. It is
situated at Yellow Springs, Green County, Ohio,
at a healthy location convenient of access. From
a prospectus of the institution we cite a few sen-
tences declaratory of its plan, which has some pe-
culiarities.
" The leading minds, under wdiose auspices and
* It was republished In London in 1846. with preface and
notes, by W. B. Hodgson, Principal of the Mechanics' Institu-
tion, Liverpool.
t " A Few Thoughts for a Youn*; Man," a Lecture before
the Boston Mercantile Library Association. Ticknor. Svo. 1850.
Two Lectures on Intemperance : its effects on the poor and
ignorant, and on the rich and educated. Syracuse : Hal!, Mills.
& Co., 1852. ISmo. pp. 12T. A Few Thoughts, on the Powers
and Duties of Woman. lb. 18mo. pp. 141.
HORACE MANN.
225
hy whose patronage Antioch College was founded,
long ago called themselves 'Christians,' not in-
vidiously but devoutly, and in honor of the author
and finisher of their faith; and they have now
selected a name by which to designate their In-
stitution, at once scriptural and commemorative,
because ' the Disciples were called Christians first
in Antioch.1
"In some pavticiilirsof its aim and scope, this
College differs from most of the higher literary
institutions' of the country. It recognises the
claims of the female sex to equal opportunities of
education with the male, and these opportunities
it designs to confer. Its founders believe that la-
bors and expenditure-: for the higher education of
men will tend indirectly to elevate the character
of women; but they are certain that all wise ef-
forts for the improved education of women will
speed the elevation of the whole human race.
" It is designed, in this College, not only to give
marked attend >n to the study of the Laws of Hu-
man Health and Life, but to train up the pupils
in a systematic obedience to them."
Opening its halls under the direction of its well
known and efficient head, the college sprang at
once into a state of prosperity. In the second
year of its instruction in 1834, no less than four
hundred students were in daily attendance; of
these one third were females, who are admitted
to equal privileges in all the advantages of the in-
stitution. In the list of the Faculty, we notice
Miss li. M. Peunell, ''Professor of Physical Geo-
graphy, Drawing, Natural History, Civil History,
and Didactics." The Greek and Latin languages
are taught, and indeed all the usual branches of
an American collegiate education.
Mr. Loring, in his " Hundred Boston Orators,"
gives us this sketch of the personal appearance of
Mr. Maun. " lie is tall, very erect, and remark-
ably slender, with silvery grey hair, animatedand
expressive features, light complexion, and rapid
pace. As an orator, his smooth, Mowing style,
musical voice, and graceful manner, with fertility,
amplitude, and energy of diction, often adorned
with a graceful, rushing eloquence, that can be
measured only by the celerity of his movements
in the street, irresistibly captivate the breathless
audience."
BEALTn AND TEMPERANCE — FROM THOUGHTS FOP. A YOUNG MAN.
Were a young man to write down a list of his
duties, Health should be among the first items in the
catalogue. This is no exaggeration of its value ; for
health is indispensable to almost every form of hu-
man enjoyment; it is the grand auxiliary of useful-
ness ; and should a man love the Lord his God with
all his heart and soul and mind and strength, he
would have ten times more heart and soul and mind
and strength to love Him with, in the vigor of
health, than under the palsy of disease. Not only
the amount, but the quality of the labor which a
man can perform, depends upon his health. The
work savors of the workman. If the poet sickens,
his verse sickens; if black, venous blood flows to an
author's brain, it beclouds his pages; and the devo-
tions of a consumptive man scent of his disease as
Lord Byron's obscenities smell of gin. Not only
" lying ii|js," but a dyspeptic stomach, is an abomi-
nation to the Lord. At least in this life, so depen-
dent is mind upon material organization, — the
functions and manifestations of the soul upon the
VOL. II.— 15
condition of the body it inhabits, — that the mate-
rialist hardly states practical results too strongly,
when he affirms that thought and passion, wit,
imagination, and love, are only emanations from
exquisitely organized matter, just as perfume is the
effluence of flowers, or music the ethereal product
of an ^Eolian harp.
In regard to tne indulgence of appetite, and the
management of the vital organs, society is still in a
state of barbarism ; and the young man wdio is true
to his highest interests must create a civilization for
himself. The brutish part of our nature g- iverns the
spiritual. Appetite is Nicholas the First, and the
noble faculties of mind and heart are Hungarian
captives. Were we to see a rich banker exchanging
eagles for coppers by tale, or a rich merchant bar-
tering silk for serge by the pound, we should deem
them worthy of any epithet in the vocabulary of
folly. Yet the same men buy pains whose prime
cost is greater than the amplest fund of natural en-
joyments. Their purveyor and market-man bring
them home head-aches, and indigestion, and neural-
gia, by hamper-fulls. Their butler bottles up stone,
and gout, and the liver-complaint, falsely labelling
them sherry, or madeira, or port, and the stultified
masters have not wit enough to see through the
cheat. The mass of society look with envy upon
the epicure who, day by day, for four hours of luxu-
rious eating suffers twenty hours of sharp aching;
who pays a full price for a hot supper, and is so
pleased with the bargain that he throws in a sleep-
less and tempestuous night as a gratuity. English
factory children have received the commiseration of
the world, because they were scourged to work
eighteen hours out of the twenty-four; but there is
many a theoretic republican who is a harsher
Pharaoh to his stomach than this ; — who allows it
no more rcsting-time than ho does his watch ; who
gives it no Sunday, no holiday, no vacation in
any sense. Our pious ancestors enacted a law
that suicides should be buried where four roads
meet, and that a cart-load of stones should be
thrown upon the body. Yet, when gentlemen or
ladies commit suicide, not by cord or steel, but by
turtle-soup or lobster-salad, they may be buried in
consecrated ground, and under the auspices of the
church, and the public are not ashamed to read an
epitaph upon their tombstones false enough to make
the marble blush. Were the barbarous old law
now in force that punished the body of the suicide
for the offence which his soul had committed, we
should find many a Mount Auburn at the cross-
roads. Is it not humiliating and amazing, that men,
invited by the exalted pleasures of the intellect, and
the sacred atfeetions of the heart, to come to a ban-
quet worthy of the gods, should stop by the way-
side to feed on garbage, or to drink of the Circeau
cup that transforms them to swine!
If a young man, incited by selfish principles alone,
inquires how he shall make his appetite yield him
the largest amount of gratification, the answer is, by
Temperance. The true epicurean art consists in the
adaptation of our organs not only to the highest,
but to the longest enjoyment. Vastly less depends
upon the table to which we sit down, than upon the
appetite which we carry to it. The palled epicure,
who spends five dollars for his dinner, extracts less
pleasure from his meal than many a hardy laborer
who dines for a shilling. The desideratum is, not
greater luxuries, but livelier papilke ; and if the
devotee of appetite would propitiate his divinity
aright, he would not send to the Yellow-stone for
buffaloes' tongues, nor to France for pale de fois fffaa,
but would climb a mountain, or swing an axe.
With health, there is no end to the quantity or the
226
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
variety from which the palate can extract its plea- !
sures. Without health, no delicacy that nature or
art produces can provoke a zest. Hence, "when a
man destroys his health, he destroys, so far aB he is
concerned, whatever of sweetness, of flavor and of
savor, the teeming earth can produce. To him who
has poisoned his appetite by excesses, the luscious
palp of grape or peach, the nectareous juices of
orange or piue-npple, are but a loathing and a nau-
sea. He has turned gardens and groves of delicious
fruit into gardens and groves of ipecac and aloes.
The same vicious indulgences that blasted his health,
blasted all orchards and cane-fields also. Yerily,
the man who is physiologically " wicked" does not
live out half his days; nor is this the worst of his
punishment, for he is more than half dead while he
appears to live.
GEORGE BUSH,
Emixext as a theological writer, and for his ad-
vocacy of the doctrines of Swedenborg, was born
at Norwich, Vermont, June 12, 1796. He was a
graduate of Dartmouth, studied at Princeton |
Theological Seminary, took orders in the Presby- j
terian Church, and was for several years a mis- j
sionary in Indiana. In 1 S3] he became Professor
of Hebrew and Oriental Literature in the Uni-
versity of the city of New York, and at the same
period Superintendent of the Press of the Ameri-
can Bible Society. In 1S32 he published his L'fe
of Mahommedin Harper's Family Library. In this
work copious extracts from the false prophet's
revelations are interwoven with his personal
memoirs.
A Treatise on the Millennium appeared in
183'2. The main object of this work was to
show by a somewhat elaborate train of historical
and critical induction, that the prophetical period
technically termed the Millennium was past instead
of future ; that it was not a prosperous period of
the church, but the reverse ; and that the expected
era to which the name Millennium is given, is
really the New Jerusalem era developed in the
dosing chapters of the Apocalypse. An octavo
volume of Scripture Illustrations published at
this time by Dr. Push, was a compilation from
oriental tourists, archaeologists, and commentators,
with a view to cast light upon the sacred Scrip-
tures in the departments of topography, manners,
customs, costumes, arts, learning, usages of
speech, &c. In 1835 his Hebrew Grammar for
the use of schools, seminaries, and universities, ap-
peared ; and in 1840 the first of his series of
Notes on the Books of the Old Testament, which
have included Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Joshna,
and Judges. These were marked as well by the
ingenuity and boldness as by the learning of his
speculations. He gave further attention to the
sacred symbols and prophecy in the Hierophant,
a monthly magazine, which he commenced in
1844. It contained a series of articles on Pro-
fessor Stuart's canons of prophetical interpreta-
tion, which attracted considerable notice at the
time, as rather unusual specimens of a kind hut
caustic criticism.
In the same year he published his Anastasis;
or the Doctrine of the Resurrection of the Body
Rationally and Spiritually Considered, in which
he opposed the doctrine of the physical construc-
tion of the body in another world, with argu-
ments from rea?oa and revelation. The book met
with much opposition from the pulpit and re-
viewers, and the author replied in his work, The
Resurrection of Christ, in answer to the Question
whether lie rose in a Spiritual and Celestial, or
in a Material and Earthly Body, and The Soul,
an Inquiry into Scriptural Psychology.
After this Dr. Bush became connected with the
Swedenborgian church, as one of its preachers,
and devoted himself to the dissemination of the
writings of that philosopher, by translation of
his Diary and other works, and especially in his
editorship of the Kew Church Repository. In
1847 he published a work on the connexion of
the doctrines of Swedenborg and mesmerism.
In his personal character Dr. Bush is remarkable
for the kindness of his disposition. His love of
mysticism harmonizes well with the pursuits of
the gentle-minded scholar and ardent devotee of
learning.
JOHN G. C. BEAINAED.
Brain- ard, the gentle poet of the Connecticut, the
sylvan, placid stream which happily, symbolizes
his verse, was born in the state of that name at
New London, October 21, 1796. His father had
been a judge of the Superior Court, and the son
for a while, after his education at Yale was com-
pleted, pursued the stud)- of the law, but it was
little adapted to his tastes and constitution, and
after a brief trial of its practice at Middletown he
abandoned it in February, 1S22. for the editorship
of a weekly paper at Hartford, the Connecticut
Mirror. He is said to have neglected the poli-
tics of his paper, dismissing the tariff with a jest,
while he displayed his ability in the literary and
poetical department. His genius lay in the ami-
able walks of the belles-lettres, where the delicacy
of his temperament, the correspondence of the sen-
sitive mind to the weak physical frame, found its
appropriate home and nourishment, His country
needed results of this kind more than it did law
or politics ; and in his short life Brainnrd honored
his native land. His genius is a flower plucked
JOHN G. C. BRAINARD.
227
from the banks of the river which he loved, and
preserved for posterity.
Before entering on the Mirror Brain.ird wrote
a few pieces for a literary paper published by
Cornelius Tutliill at New Haven, called The Mi-
croscope. His compositions in the Mirror were
at once relished and appreciated. Though they
were mostly on trite and occasional subjects, such
as time out of mind hal occupied with little no-
tice the corner of the country newspaper, yet
they had a freshness of spirit infused in them, a
fine poetical instinct, which charmed the youths
and maidens of Connecticut. This instinct of
Brainard led him to the employment of the bal-
lad, in which he gave rare promise, as he embo-
died the patriotism or the superstition of the
country, in such poems as Fort Gristcold and the
Black Fox of Salmon River. The annual new
year carrier's address of tlie newspaper, in place
of the usual doggerel, became a poem in ins hands.
Even album verses assumed a hue of nature and
originality. He writes
TO THE DAUGHTER OF A FRIEND.
1 pray thee by thy mother's face.
And by her look and by her eye,
By every decent matron grace
That hovered round the resting-place
Where thy young head did lie ;
And by the voice that soothed thine car.
The hymn, the smile, the sigh, the tear.
That matched thy changeful mood ;
By every prayer thy mother taught,
By every blessing that she sought,
I pray thee to be good.
The humor of Brainard was the natural accom-
paniment of his sensibility. It is deeply inwrought
with his gentle nature.
In 1825 a first volume of Poems was published
by Brainard at New York, mostly made up from
the columns of his newspaper, which was favor-
ably received. Not long after, in 1827, the poet
was compelled by the inroad of consumption on
his constitution to retire from his editor-hip. He
went to the east end of Long Island fin- his health,
and has left a touching memorial of his visit to
the sea, in which the animation of his genius
overcomes the despondency of bis broken frame.
He suffered and wrote verses till his death at his
father's home, at Now London, September 26,
1828.
After his death a second edition of Brainard's
poems appeared in 1832, enlarged from the first,
with the title Literary Remains, accompanied by
a warmly written sketch of the poet's life by
Whittier. This has been since followed by a third
edition, with a portrait, an elegant and tasteful
volume, published by Edward Hopkins, at Hart-
ford, in 1842.
To the indications we have given of the poet's
genius we have only to add a few personal traits.
He was a small man, and sensitive on that score.
His friends noticed the fine expression of his
c mntenance when animated. Be was negligent
of his dress and somewhat abstracted. He wrote
rapidly, and was ready in conversation, with play-
ful repartee. His biographer, in the last edition
of his poems, gives an instance of his wit. A
preacher had come to New London, and labored
heavily through a discourse, complaining all the
time that Iris mind was imprisoned. When this
difficulty was urged in defence of his dulness Brai-
nard would not allow it, since " the preacher's
mind might easily have sworn out." At another
time ho replied to a critic, who had pronounced
the word "brine" in his verses on "The Deep,"
" to have no more business in sentimental poetry
than a pig in a parlor," that the objector, " though
liis piece is dated Philadelphia, lives at a greater
distance from the sea, and lias got his ideas of the
salt water from his father's pork barrel."*
ON CONNECTICUT RIVER.
From that lone lake, the sweetest of the chain
That links the mountain to the mighty main,
Fresh from the rock and swelling by the tree,
Rushing to meet and dare and breast the sea —
Fair, noble, glorious river! in thy wave
The sunniest slopes and sweetest pastures lave;
The mountain torrent, with its wintry roar.
Springs from its home and leaps upon thy shore : —
The promontories love thee — and for this
Turn their rough cheeks and stay thee for thy kiss.
Stern, at thy source, thy northern Guardians stand,
Rude rulers of the solitary land,
Wild dwellers by thy cold sequestered springs,
Of earth the feathers and of air the wings;
Their blasts have rocked thy cradle, and in storm
Covered thy couch and swathed in snow thy form —
Yet, blessed by all the elements that sweep
The clouds above, or the unfathomed deep,
The purest breezes scent thy blooming hills,
The gentlest dews drop on thy eddying rills,
By the mossed bank, and by the aged tree,
The silver streamlet smoothest glides to thee.
The young oak greets thee at the water's edge,
Wet by the wave, though anehore 1 in the ledge.
— 'Tis there the otter dives, the beaver feeds,
Where pensive oziers dip their willowy weeds,
And there the wild eat puis amid her brood,
And trains them, in the sylvan solitude,
* Memoir of Braiuard, p. 33.
228
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
To watch the squirrel's leap, or mark the mink
Paddling the water by the quiet brink ; —
Or to out-gaze the grey owl iu the dark,
Or hear the young fox practising to bark.
Dark as the frost nip'd leaves that strewed the
ground,
The Indian hunter here his shelter found ;
Here cut his bow and shaped his arrows true,
Here built his wigwam and his bark canoe,
Speared the quick salmon leaping up the fall,
And slew the deer without the ride balL
Here his young squaw her cradiing tree would
choose,
Singing her chant to hush her swart pappoose,
Here stain her quills and string her trinkets rude,
And weave her warrior's wainpuin in the wood.
— No more shall they thy welcome waters bless,
No more their forms thy moonlit banks shall press,
No more be heard, from mountain or from grove,
His whoop of slaughter, or her song of lovel
Thou didst not shake, thou didst not shrink when
late
The mountain-top shut down its ponderous gate,
Tumbling its tree-grown ruins to thy side,
An avalanche of acres at a slide.
Nor dost thou stay, when winter's coldest breath
Howls through the woods and sweeps along the
heath —
One mighty sigh relieves thy icy breast
And wakes thee from the ealmuess of thy rest.
Down sweeps the torrent ice— it may not stay
By rock or bridge, in narrow or in bay —
Swift, swifter to the heaving sea it goes
And leaves thee dimpling in thy sweet repose,
— Yet as the unharmed swallow skims his way,
And lightly drops his pinions in thy spray,
So the swift sail shall seek thy inland seas,
And swell and whiten in thy purer breeze,
New paddles dip thy waters, and strange oars
Feather thy waves and touch thy noble shores.
Thy noble shores! where the tall steeple shines,
At niidday, higher than thy mountain pines,
Where the white schoolhouse with its daily drill
Of sunburnt children, smiles upon the hili,
Where the neat village grows upon the eye
Decked forth in nature's sweet simplicity —
Where hard-won competence, the farmer's wealth,
Gains merit, honor, and gives labor health,
Where Goldsmith's self might send his exiled band
To find a new " Sweet Auburn" iu our land.
What Art can execute or Taste devise,
Decks thy fair course and gladdens in thine eyes —
As broader sweep the bendings of thy stream.
To meet the southern Sun's more constant beam.
Here cities rise, and sea-washed commerce hails
Thy shores and winds with all her flapping sails,
From Tropic isles, or from the torrid main —
Where grows the grape, or sprouts the sugar-cane —
Or from the haunts, where the striped haddock plaj-,
By each cold northern bank and frozen bay.
Here safe returned from every stormy sea,
Waves the striped flag, the mantle of the free,
— That 6tar-lit flag, by all the breezes curled
Of you vast deep whose waters grasp the world.
In what Arcadian, what Utopian ground
Are warmer hearts or manlier feelings found,
More hospitable welcome, or more zeal
To make the curious " tarrying" stranger feel
That, next to home, here best may he abide,
To rest and cheer him by the chimney -side ;
Drink the hale Farmer's eider, as he hears
From the grey dame the tales of other years.
Cracking his shagbarks, as the aged crone,
Mixing the true and doubtful into one.
Tells how the Indian scalped the helpless chill
And bore its shrieking mother to the wild,
Butchered the father hastening to his home,
Seeking his cottage — finding but his tomb.
How drums and flags and troops were seen on high,
Wheeling and charging in the northern sky,
And that she knew what these wild tokens meant,
When to the Old French War her husband went.
How, by the thunder-blasted tree, was hid
The golden spoils of far famed Robert Kidd ;
And then the chubby grand-child wants to know
About the ghosts and witches long ago,
That haunted the old swamp.
The clock strikes ten —
The prayer is said, nor uuforgotten then
The stranger in"thcir gates. A decent rule
Of Elders iu thy puritanic setiooL
When the fresh morning wakes him from his
dream,
And daylight smiles on rock, ami slope, and stream,
Are there not glossy curls and sunny eyes,
As brightly lit and bluer than thy skies,
Yoices as gentle as an echoed call,
And sweeter than the softened waterfall
That smiles and dimples in its whispering spray,
Leaping in sportive innocence away : —
And lovely forms, as graceful and as gay
As wild-brier, budding iu an April day;
— How like the leaves — the fragrant leaves it bears,
Their sinless purposes and simple cares.
Stream of my sleeping Fathers ! when the sound
Of coming war echoed thy hills around,
How did thy sons start forth from every glade,
Snatching the musket where they left the spade.
How did their mothers urge them to the fight,
Their sisters tell them to defend the right, — ■
How bravely did they stand, how nobly fall,
The earth their coffin and the turf their palL
How did the aged pastor light his eye,
When to his flock he read tne purpose high
And stern resolve, whate'er the toil may be,
To pledge life, name, fame, all — for Liberty.
— Cold is the hand that penned that glorious page —
Still in the grave the body of that sage
Whose lip of eloquence and heart of zeal,
Made Patriots act and listening Statesmen feel —
Brought thy Green Mountains down upon their foes,
And thy white summits melted of their snows,
While every vale to which his voice could come,
Rang with the fife and echoed to the drum.
Bold River ! better suited are thy waves
To nurse the laurels clustering round their graves,
Than many a distant stream, that soaks the mud,
Where thy brave sons have shed their gallant blood,
And felt, beyond all other mortal pain,
They ne'er should see their happy home again.
Thou had'st a poet once, — and he could tell,
Most tunefully, whate'er to thee befell,
Could fill each pastoral reed upon thy shore —
— But we shall hear his classic lays no more
He loved thee, but he took his aged way,
By Erie's shore, and Perry's glorious day, .
To where Detroit looks out amidst the wood,
Remote beside the dreary solitude.
Yet for his brow thy ivy leaf shall spread,
Thy freshest myrtle lift its berried head,
And our gnarled Charter oak put forth a bough,
Whose leaves shall grace thy Trumbull's honored
brow
JOHN G. C. BRAINARD.
229
SALMON KTVER.
Hie viridis tenera prsBtexit arnndine ripua
Mlncius. — Virgil.
Tis a sweet stream — ami so, 'tis true, are all
That undisturbed, save by the harmless brawl
Of mimic rapid or slight waterfall,
Pursue their way
By mossy bank, and darkly waving wood,
By rock," that since the deluge fixed has stood,
Showing to sun and moon their crisping flood
By night and day.
But yet there's something in its humble rank,
Something in its pure wave and sloping bank,
Where the deer sported, and the young fawn drank
With unseared look:
There's much in its wild history, that teems
With all that's superstitious — and that seems
To mutch our fancy And eke out our dreams,
In that small brook.
Havoc has been upon its peaceful plain,
And blood lias dropped there, like the drops of rain ;
The corn grows o'er the still graves of the slain —
And many a quiver,
Filled from the reeds that grew on yonder hill,
Has spent itself in carnage. Now 'tis still,
And whistling ploughbuys oft their runlets fill
From Salmon River.
Here, say old men, the Indian Magi made
Their spells by moonlight; or beneath the shade
That shrouds sequestered rock, or darkening glade,
Or tangled dell.
Here Philip came, and Miantonimo,
And asked about their fortunes long ago,
As Saul to Endor, that her witch might show
Old Samuel.
And here the black fox roved, and howled, and shook
His thick tail to the hunters, by the brook
Where they pursued their game, and him mistook
For earthly fox ;
Thinking to shoot him like a shaggy bea. ,
And his soft peltry, stript and dressed to wear,
Or lay a trap, and from his quiet lair
Transfer him to a box.
Such are the tales they tell. 'Tis hard to rhyme
About a little and unnoticed stream,
That few have heard of — but it is a theme
I chance to love;
And one day I may tune my rye-straw reed,
And whistle to the note of many a deed
Done on this river — which, if there be need,
I'll try to prove.
THE BLACK FOX OF SALMON UTTER.*
How cold, how beautiful, how bright,
The cloudless heaven above us shines ;
But 'tis a howling winter's night —
'Twould freeze the very forest pines.
" The winds are up, while mortals sleep ;
The stars look forth when eyes are shut ;
The bolted snow lies drifted deep
Around our poor and lonely hut.
" With silent step and listening ear,
With bow find arrow, dog and gun,
We'll mark his track, for his prowl we hear.
Now is our time — come on, come on."
* These lines nre founded on a legend that is as well authen-
ticated as any superstition of the kind; and as current in the
place where it originated, as could be expected of ouc that
possesses so little interest. — Aut/wr's Note.
O'er many a fence, through many a wood,
Following the dog's bewildered scent,
In anxious haste and earnest mood,
The Indian and the white man went.
The gun is cocked, the bow is bent,
The dog stands with uplifted paw,
And ball and arrow swift are sent,
Aimed at the prowler's very jaw.
—The ball, to kill that fox, is run
Not in a mould by mortals made !
The arrow which that fox should shun,
Was never shaped from earthly reed !
The Indian Druids of the wood
Know where the fatal arrows grow —
They spring not by the summer flood,
They pierce not through the winter snow!
Why cowers the dog, whose snuffing nose
Was never once deceived till now i
And why, amid the chilling snows,
Does either hunter wipe his brow ?
For once they see his fearful den,
"Tis a dark cloud that slowly moves
By night around the homes of men,
By day — along the stream it loves.
Again the dog is on his track,
The hunters chase o'er dale and hill,
They may not, though they would, look back,
They must go forward — forward still.
Onward they go, and never turn,
Spending a night that meets no day;
For them shall never morning sun
Light them upon their endless way.
The hut is desolate, and there
The famished dog alone returns;
On (he cold steps he makes his lair,
By the shut door he lays his bones.
Now the tired sportsman leans his gun
Against the ruins of the site,
And ponders on the hunting done
By the lost wanderers of the night.
And there the little country girls
Will stop to whisper, and listen, and look,
And tell, while dressing their sunny curls,
Of the Black Fox of Salmon Brook.
THE SEA BIRD'S 60NG.
On the deep is the mariner's danger,
On the deep is the mariner's death,
Who to fear of the tempest a stranger
Sees the last bubble burst of his breath ?
'Tis the iea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
Lone looker on despair,
The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
The only witness there.
Who watches their course, who so mildly
Careen to the kiss of the breeze?
Who lists to their shrieks, who so wildly
Are clasped in the arms of the seas?
'Tis the sea-bird, &c.
Who hovers on high o'er the lover,
And her who has clung to his neck?
Whose wing is the wing that can cover,
With its shadow, the foundering wreck ?
'Tis the sea-bird, die.
My eye in the light of the billow,
My wing on the wake of the wave ;
I shall take to my breast for a pillow,
The shroud of the fair and the brave.
I'm a sea-bird, tfec.
230
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
My foot on the iceberg has lighted,
When hoarse the wild winds veer about ;
My eye, when the bark is benighted,
Sees the lamp of the Light-House go out.
I'm the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
Lone looker on despair ;
The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
The only witness there.
STANZAS,
The dead leaves strew the forest walk,
And withered are the pale wild flowers ;
The frost ha.igsblack'ning on the stalk,
The dew-drops fall in frozen showers.
Gone are the Spring's green sprouting bowers,
Gone Summer's rich and mantling vines,
And Autumn, with her yellow hours,
On hill and plain no longer shines.
I learned a clear and wild-toned note,
That rose and swelled from yonder tree —
A gay bird, with too sweet a throat,
There perched and raised her song for me.
The winter comes, and where is she ?
Away — where summer wings will rove,
Where buds are fresh, and every tree
Is vocal with the notes of love.
Too mild the breath of Southern sky,
Too fresh the flower that blushes there,
The Northern breeze that rushes by,
Finds leaves too green, and buds too fair;
No forest tree stands stripped and bare,
No stream beneath the ice is dead,
No mountain top with sleety hair
Bends o'er the 6nows its reverend head.
Go there with all the birds — and seek
A happier clime, witli livelier flight,
Kiss, with the sun, the evening's cheek,
And leave me lonely with the night.
— I'll gaze upon the cold north light,
And mark where all its glories shone — •
See — that it all is fair and bright,
Feel — that it all is cold and gone.
GEOEGE TICKNOE,
Tite distinguished historian of Spanish litera-
ture, was born in the city of Boston, Mass.,
August 1, 1791. He was prepared for college at
home, entered Dartmouth, and received his de-
gree there at the early age of sixteen. He oc-
cupied himself the nest three years in Boston
with a diligent study of the ancient classics, when
he engaged in the study of the law, and was ad-
mitted to the bar in 1813. The tastes of the
scholar, however, prevailed over the practice of
the profession, and in 1815Mr. Ticknor sailed for
Europe to accomplish himself in the thorough
course of instruction of a German university.
He passed two years at Gottingen in philological
studies, which he continued during a residence of
two j'ears more in various capitals, as Paris, Ma-
drid, Lisbon, Borne, and Edinburgh, making the
acquaintance of eminent scholars on the continent
and Great Britain, among others of Sir Walter
Scott and Robert Southey, who admired his
scholarship, and stock of curious Spanish lore.
In 1819 he visited Abhotsford with Dr. J. G.
Cogswell, " another well accomplished Yankee,"
as Scott makes mention of the young American
scholars in a letter to Southey."* Mr. Ticknor
* Lockbart's Scott, ch. 44.
had already at that time become a proficient in
the romance dialects of the Provencal, and col-
lected many of the curiosities of Castilian litera-
ture. It "was probably these out-of-the-way
acquisitions, which lay in the path of Scott's
favorite studies, which led him, in the same letter,
to note his visitor as " a wondrous fellow for ro-
mantic lore and antiquarian research." With
Southey, Mr. Ticknor held and continued to hold
till the death of the poet, the most intimate re-
lations of friendly correspondence and association,
in similar pursuits of learning and scholarship.
During this absence Mr. Ticknor was appointed
in 1817 the first incumbent of a new professor-
ship founded at Harvard, of the French and
Spanish Languages and Literature, and of the
Belles Lettres — in fact, a general Professorship of
Modern Literature. Well qualified for the work
he returned to America, and became actively en-
grossed in its dutie-, delivering lectures on French
and Spanish Literature ; on particular authors, as
Dante and Goethe ; on the English poets, and
other kindred topics. " We well remember,"
says Mr. Prescott the historian, in an article in
the North American Review,* "the sensation
produced on the first delivery of these lectures,
which served to break down the barrier which
had so long confined the student to a converse
with antiquity; they opened to him a.free range
among those great masters of modern literature,
who had hitherto been veiled in the obscurity of
a foreign idiom. The influence of this instruc-
tion was soon visible in the higher education as
well as the literary ardor shown by the graduates.
So decided was the impulse thus given to the po-
pular sentiment, that considerable apprehension
was felt lest modern literature was to receive a
disproportionate share of attention in the scheme
of collegiate education."
0V~
After fifteen vears passed in these liberal duties
at Harvard, Mr. Ticknor, in 1835, resigned his
professorship, and with his family paid a second
visit to Europe. He passed three years there at
* January, 1S50.
GEOEGE TICKNOR.
231
this time in England and the Continent ; collect-
ing books on Spanish literature, with the assist-
ance of a scholar well known for his aid to
American authors, Don Pasoual do Gayangos, Pro-
fessor of Arabic in the University of Madrid.
In 18i0, after his return to America, com-
pletely armed by his studies in Europe, the mental
experience of his previous course of lectures, and
with the rich resources of an unexampled collec-
tion of Castilian literature in his library, Mr.
Ticknor commenced his important work on
Spanish literature. It had been his intention at
first to prepare an edition of his lectures; but
these he soon laid aside for his more comprehen-
sive undertaking.
The History of Spanish Literature was pub-
lished in three volumes in 18-t'J, in London and
New York; being stereotyped under the author's
careful supervision at the Harvard University Press
at Cambridge. The book at once took its position
among scholars, and those best cpialitied to weigh
its merits, on both sides of the Atlantic, as a stan-
dard contribution to the history of literature — a
department which from some neglect, or from the
inherent difficulties of such themes, has secured
comparatively few classic productions. Though
Spain had received more attention in this way
than some other countries in the works of Bou-
terwek and Sismondi ; yet from the partial at-
tempts of these eminent writers, and from the
hitherto unexplored fields of investigation now
opened by Mr. Ticknor, the book of the latter
was essentially a new production. The extent of
its research was universally admired, and not less
the extreme faithfulness with winch the author
had disclosed to the reader in the text and notes
the exact means of information. There is cer-
tainly no work of the kind which surpasses this
in diligent, conscientious research. The style was
no less an indication of this faithful habit of
mind. At once modest and dignified, and as-
sociated with a sound judgment, it followed the
subject without prejudice, or those affectations
which arc the besetting and almost inevitable sins
of writers on taste.
The History of Spanish Literature is divided
by the author into three periods: from the first
appearance of the present written language, to
the early part of the reign of the Emperor Char-
les the Fifth, or from the end of the twelfth cen-
tury to the beginning of the sixteenth ; from the
accession of the Austrian family to its extinction,
to the end of the seventeenth century; and from
the accession of the Bourbon family to the inva-
sion of Bonaparte, or from the beginning of the
eighteenth century to the early part of the nine-
teenth. To the first belong a valuable essay on
the Origin of the Spanish Language ; the early
literature of the ballad, including the national
poems of the Cid, the chronicle, the romance, and
the drama, topics all of curious historical as well
as literary interest, opening many points of learned
and philosophical investigation. The second
period introduces us to the glories of the Casti-
lian, the theatre of Lope de Vega and Calderon,
the novels of Cervantes, the historical and lyric
schools — with the varied development of a rich,
fertile, original literature. The third is the
broken age of decline under historic influences
which are skilfully traced.
In addition to the research and display of cri-
tical powers required in such a work, Mr. Ticknor
had on his hands no inconsiderable care in transla-
tion both in prose and poetry. Here his labore
are acknowledged to be exact and felicitous. He
renders a dramatic sketch or a ballad poem with
elegance and spirit.
In fine, to adopt the authority of a most com-
petent judge of the whole matter, Mr. Prescott,
" Mr. Ticknor's history is conducted in a truly
philosophical spirit. Instead of presenting a bar-
ren record of books, which, like the catalogue of
a gallery of paintings, is of comparatively little
use to those who have not previously studied
them, he illustrates the work by the personal his-
tory of their authors, and this, again, by the
history of the times in which they lived; afford-
ing, by the reciprocal action of one and the other,
a complete record of Spanish civilization, both
social and intellectual. It would he difficult to
find a work more thoroughly penetrated witii the
true Castilian spirit, or to which the general stu-
dent, or the student of civil history, may refer to
no less advantage than one who is simply inter-
ested in the progre:-s of letters."* The History
of Spanish Literature has been translated into
Spanish and German.
The literary productions of Mr. Ticknor, be-
sides this work, have been few. In 1837 ho
edited The Remains of Nathaniel Appleton
Haven., loith a Memoir of his Life ; a tribute to
the memory of an accomplished friend, of estima-
ble character, who died the year previously at
the early age of thirty-six, after he had given
proofs of ability in several departments of literary
effort.! Mr. Ticknor also published in 18'2o, in
the North American Eeview, to which be was a
contributor, a life of Lafayette, which, after being
enlarged, passed through several edition* in the
United States and England, and was translated in
France and Germany. Mr. Ticknor was also an
early contributor to the Monthly Anthology.
In his character and pursuits, he is in the best
sense of the word a liberal scholar, freely render-
ing his information to others, and assisting in the
literary and benevolent or refined social move-
ments of the day.J
THE AUTHOR'S KET-NOTE TO SPANISH" LITERATURE.
There are two traits of the earliest Spanish litera-
ture which are 60 separate and peculiar, that they
must be noticed from the outset, — religious faith and
knightly loyalty, — traits which are hardly less ap-
parent in the " Partidas" of Alfonso the Wise, in the
stories of Don John Manuel, in the loose wit of the
Archpriest of Ilita, and in the worldly wisdom of
the Chancellor Ayala, than in the professedly de-
vout poems of Berceo, and in the professedly ohival-
* North American Review, January, lSoO. An admirable.
analysis of the whole work.
t N. A. Haven was born in Portsmouth, N. IT., January 14,
1700, of an eminent family in the state. He was educated at
Harvard, studied law, became versed in history and literature,
and appeared as an orator on several public occasions. In 1814
be delivered a Fourth of July Oration at Portsmouth, the next
year visited turopc, and settled on his return at. Portsmouth.
In 181(3 he delivered a Phi Beta Kappa Address at Dartmouth.
Between 1821 and 1525 he edited "The Portsmouth Journal."
He delivered an oration at Portsmouth, May 21, 1S28, on the
second Centennial celebration of the landing or the fii-st settlers.
lie wrote on several philanthropic topics, papers which are in-
cluded in tile Remains. He died at Portsmouth, June 3,1826.
% Men of the Time, 1862.
232
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAS" LITERATURE.
rous chronicles of the Cid and Fernan Gonzalez.
Tliey arc, therefore, from the earliest period, to be
marked among the prominent features in Spanish
literature.
Nor should we be surprised at this. The Spanish
national character, as it has existed from its first
development down to our own days, was. mainly
formed in the earlier part of that solemn contest
which began the moment the Moors landed beneath
the rock of Gibraltar, and which cannot be said to
have ended, until, in the time of Philip the Third,
the last remnants of their unhappy race were
cruelly driven from the shores which their fathers,
nine centuries before, had so unjustifiably invaded.
During this contest, and especially during the two
or three dark centuries when the earliest Spanish
poetry appeared, nothing but an invincible religious
faith, and a no less invincible loyalty to their own
princes, could have sustained the Christian Span-
iards in their disheartening struggle against their in-
fidel oppressors. It was, therefore, a stern necessity
which made these two high qualities elements of the
Spanish national character, — a character all whose
energies were for ages devoted to the one grand
object of their prayers as Christians and their hopes
as patriots, the expulsion of their hated invaders.
But Castilian poetry was, from the first, to an ex-
traordinary degree, an outpouring of the popular
feeling and character. Tokens of religious submis-
sion and knightly fidelity, akin to each other in their
birth, and often relying on each other for strength
in their trials, are, therefore, among its earliest at-
tributes. We must not, then, be surprised, if we
hereafter find, that submission to the Church and
loyalty to the king constantly break through the
mass of Spanish literature, and breathe their spirit
from nearly every portion of it, — not, indeed, with-
out such changes in the mode of expression as the
changed condition of the country in successive ages
demanded, but still always so strong in their origi-
nal attributes as to show that they survive every
convulsion of the state, and never cense to move on-
ward by their first impulse. In truth, while their
very early development leaves no doubt that they
are national, their nationality makes it all but ine-
vitable that they should become permanent.
SPANISH LOVE BALLAD — FROM TnE E0MANCER0 OF PEDKO
FLOEES. 1594.
Her sister Miguela
Once chid little Jane,
And the words that she spoke
Gave a great deal of pain.
" You went yesterday playing,
A child like the rest ;
And now you come out,
More than other girls dressed.
" You take pleasure in sighs,
In sad music delight ;
With the dawning }-ou rise.
Yet sit up half the night.
" Alien you t:ike up your work,
You look vacant and stare,
And gaze on your sampler.
But miss the stitch there.
"You 're in love, people say,
Your actions all show it :—
New ways we shall have,
When mother shall know it.
" She '11 nail up the windows,
And lock up the door ;
Leave to frolic and dance
She will give us no more.
" Old aunt will be sent
To take us to mass,
And stop all our talk
With the girls as we pasp.
" And when we walk out,
She will bid our old shrew
Keep a faithful account
Of what our eyes do.
" And mark who goes by,
If I peep through the blind,
And be sure and detect us
In looking behind.
" Thus for your idle follies
Must I suffer too,
And, though nothing I've done,
Be punished like you."
" O, sister Miguela,
Your chiding pray spare ; —
That I've troubles you guess,
But not what they are.
" Young Pedro it is,
Old Juan's fair youth ;
But he's gone to the wars,
And where is his truth ?
" I loved him sincerely,
I loved all he said ;
But I fear he is fickle,
I fear he is fled !
" He is gone of free choice,
Without summons or call,
And 'tis foolish to love him,
Or like him at all."
" Nay, rather do thou
To God pray above,
Lest Pedro return,
And again you should love,"
Said Miguela in jest,
As she answered poor Jane ;
" For when love has been bought
At cost of such pain,
" What hope is there, sister,
Unless the soul part,
That the passion you cherish
Should yield up your heart ?
" Your years will increase,
But so will your pains,
And this you may learn
From the proverb's old strains : —
" ' If, when but a child,
Love's power you own,
Pray, what will you do
When you older are grown ? ' "
HYMN ON THE ASCENSION — FROM THE SPANISH OF LUIS DB
LEON.
And dost thou, holy Shepherd, leave,
Thine unprotected flock alone,
Here, in this darksome vale, to grieve,
While thou aseeud'st thy glorious throne?
O, where can they their hopes now turn,
Who never lived but on thy love?
Where rest the hearts for thee that burn,
When thou art lost in light above?
How shall those eyes now find repose
That turn, in vain, thy smile to see ?
What can they hear save mortal woes,
Who lose thy voice's melody ?
GEORGE TICKNOR.
232
And who shall lay his tranquil hand
Upon the troubled ocean's might?
Who hush the winds by hi9 command?
Who guide us through this starless night ?
For Thou art gone I — that cloud so bright,
That bears thee from our love away,
Springs upward through the dazzling light,
And leaves us here to weep and pray !
DON QUIXOTE.
This honor, if we may trust the uniform testimony
of two centuries, belongs, beyond question, to his
Don Quixote, — the work which, above all others,
not merely of his own age, but of all modern times,
bears most deeply the impression of the national
character it represents, and has, therefore, in return,
enjoyed a degree and extent of national favor never
granted to any other. When Cervantes began to
write it is wholly uncertain. For twenty years pre-
ceding the appearance of the First Part he printed
nothing; and the little we know of him, during that
long and dreary period of his life, shows only how
he obtained a hard subsistence for himself and his
family by common business agencies, which, we
have reason to suppose, were generally of trifling im-
portance, ami which, we are sure, were sometimes
distressing in their consequences. The tradition,
therefore, of his persecutions in La Mancha, and his
own averment that the Don Quixote was begun in
a prison, are all the hints we have received concern-
ing the circumstances under which it was first ima-
gined ; and that such circumstances should have
tended to such a result is a striking fact in the his-
tory, not only of Cervantes, but of the human mind,
and shows how different was his temperament from
that commonly found in men of genius.
His purpose in writing Don Quixote has some-
times been enlarged by the ingenuity of a refined
criticism, until it has been made to embrace the
whole of the endless contrast between the poetical
a id the prosaic in our natures, — between heroism
and generosity on one side, as if they were mere il-
lusions, and a cold selfishness on the other, as if it
were the truth and reality of life. But this is a
metaphysical conclusion drawn from views of the
work at once imperfect and exaggerated ; a conclu-
sion contrary to the spirit of the age, which was
not given to a satire so philosophical and generaliz-
ing, and contrary to the character of Cervantes him-
self, as we follow it from the time when he first be-
came a soldier, through all his trials in Algiers, and
down 1o the moment when his warm and trusting
heart dictated the Dedication of " Persiles and Sigis-
munda" to the Count de Lemos. His whole spirit,
indeed, seems rather to have been filled with a cheer-
ful confidence in human virtue, and his whole bear-
ing in life seems to have been a contradiction to that
discouraging and saddening scorn for whatever is
elevated and generous, which such an interpretation
of the Don Quixote necessarily implies.
Nor does he himself permit us to give to his ro-
mance any such secret meaning : for, at the very
beginning of the work, he announces it to be Ids sole
purpose to break down the vogue and authority of
books of chivalry, and at the end of the whole, he
declares anew, in his own person, that " he had no
other desire than to render abhorred of men the
false and absurd stories contained in books of chi-
valry ;" exulting in his success, as an achievement
of no small moment. And such, in fact, it was; for
we have abundant proof that the fanaticism for
these romances was so great iu Spain, during the
sixteenth century, - as to have become matter of
jlarm to the more judicious. Many of the distin-
guished contemporary authors speak of its mischiefs,
and among the rest the venerable Luis de Granada,
and Malon de Chaide, who wrote the eloquent " Con-
version of Mary Magdalen." Guevara, the learned
and fortunate courtier of Charles the Fifth, declares
that " men did read nothing iu his time but such
shameful books as ' Amadis de Gaula,' ' Tristan,'
' Primaleon,' and the like ; the acute author of the
" Dialogue on Languages," says that " the ten years
he passed at court he wasted in studying ' Flori-
sando,' ' Lisuarte,' * The Knight of the Cross,' and
other such books, more than he can name;" and
from different sources we know, what, indeed, we
may gather from Cervantes himself, that many who
read these fictions took them for true histories. At
last, they were deemed so noxious, that, in 1553,
they were prohibited by law from being printed or
sold in the American colonies, and in 1555 the same
prohibition, and even the burning of all copies of
them extant in Spain itself, was earnestly asked for
by the Cortes. The evil, in fact, had become formi-
dable, and the wise began to see it.
To destroy a passion that had struck its roots so
deeply in the character of all classes of men, to
break up the only reading which at that time could
be considered widely popular and fashionable, was
certainly a bold undertaking, and one that marks
anything rather than a scornful or broken spirit, or
a want of faith in what is most to be valued in our
common nature. The great wonder is, that Cervan-
tes succeeded. But that he did there is no question.
No book of chivalry was written after the appear-
ance of Don Quixote, in 1605 ; and from the same date,
even those already enjoying the greatest favor ceased,
with one or two unimportant exceptions, to bo re-
printed ; so that, from that time to the present, they
have been constantly disappearing, until they are
now among the rarest of literary curiosities; — a
solitary instance of the power of genius to destroy,
by a single well-timed blow, an entire department,
and that, too, a flourishing and favored one, in the
literature of a great and proud nation.
The general plan Cervantes adopted to accomplish
this object, without, perhaps, foreseeing its whole
course, and still less all its results, was simple as well
as original. In 1605, he published the First Part of
Don Quixote, in which a country gentleman of La
Mancha — full of genuine Castilian honor aid enthu-
siasm, gentle and dignified in his character, trusted
by his friends, and loved by his dependants — is re-
presented as so completely crazed by long reading
the most famous books of chivalry, that lie believes
them to be true, and feels himself called on to be-
come the impossible knight-errant they describe, —
nay, actually goes forth into the world to defend the
oppressed and avenge the injured, like the heroes of
his romances.
To complete his chivalrous ecpupment — which he
had begun by fitting up for himself a suit of armor
strange to his century — he took an esquire out of his
neighborhood; a middle-aged peasant, ignorant and
credulous to excess, but of great good-nature; a
glutton and a liar; selfish and gross, yet attached to
Ins master; shrewd enough occasionally to see the
folly of their position, but always amusing, and
sometimes mischievous, in his interpretations of it.
These two sally forth from their native village in
search of adventures, of which the excited imagina-
tion of the knight, turning windmills into giants,
solitary inns into castles, and galley-slaves into op-
pressed gentlemen, finds abundance, wherever he
goes; while the esquire translates them all into the
plain prose of truth with an admirable simplicity,
quite unconscious of its own humor, and rendered the
more striking by its contrast with the lofty and
234
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
courteous dignity and magnificent illusions of the
superior personage. There could, of course, be but
one consistent termination of adventures like these.
The knight and his esquire Buffer a series of ridi-
culous discomfitures, and are at last brought home
like madmen, to their native village, where Cervan-
tes leaves them, with an intimation that the story
of tlieir adventures is by no means ended. * * *
This latter half of Don Quixote is a contradiction of
the proverb Cervantes cites in it, — that second parts
were never yet good for much. It is, in fact, better
than the first. It shows more freedom and vigor ;
and if the caricature is sometimes pushed to the
very verge of what is permitted, the invention, the
style of thought, and, indeed, the materials through-
out, are richer, and the finish is more exact. The
character of Samson Carrasco, for instance, is a very
happy, though somewhat bold, addition to the origi-
nal persons of the drama; and the adventures at the
castle of the duke and duchess, where Don Quixote
is fooled to the top of his bent ; the managements of
Sancho as governor of his island ; the visions and
dreams of the cave of Mo:itesinos; the scenes with
Roque Guinart, the freebooter, and with Gines de
Passamoiite, the galley-slave and puppet-show man ;
together with the mock-heroic hospitalities of Don
Antonio Moreno at Barcelona, and the final defeat
of the knight there, are all admirable. In truth,
every thing in this Second Part, especially its general
outline and tone, show that time and a degree of
success he had not before known, had ripened and
perfected the strong manly sense and sure insight
into human nature which are visible everywhere in
the works of Cervantes, and which here become a
part, as it were, of his peculiar genius, whose
foundations had been laid, dark and deep, amidst
the trials ami sufferings of his various life.
But throughout both parts, Cervantes shows- the
impulses and instincts of an original power with
most distinctness in his development of the charac-
ters of Don Quixote and Sancho ; characters in
whose contrast and opposition is hidden the full
spirit of his peculiar humor, and no small part of
what is most characteristic of the entire fiction.
They are his prominent personages. He delights,
therefore, to have them as much as possible in the
front of his scene. They grow visibly upon his
favor as he advances, and the fondness of his liking
for them makes him constantly produce them in
lights and relations as little foreseen by himself as
they are by his readers. The knight, who seems to
have been originally intended for a parody of the
Amadis, becomes gradually a detached, separate,
and wholly independent personage, into whom is in-
fused so much of a generous and elevated nature,
6uch gentleness and delicacy, such a pure sense of
honor, and such a warm love for whatever is noble
and good, that we feel almost the same attachment
to him that the barber and the curate did, and are
almost as ready as his family was to mourn over his
death.
The case of Sancho is again very similar, and per-
haps in some respects stronger. At first, he is in-
troduced as the opposite of Don Quixote, and used
merely to bring out his master's peculiarities in a
more striking relief. It is not until we have gone
through nearly half of the First Part that he utters
one of those proverbs which form afterwards the
staple of his conversation and humor; and it is not
till the opening of the Second Part, and, indeed, not
till he comes forth, in all his mingled shrewdness
ami credulity, as governor of Barataria, that his
character is quite developed and completed to the
full measure of its grotesque, yet congruous propor-
tions.
Cervantes, in truth, came at last, to love these
creations of his marvellous power, as if they were
real, familiar personages, and to speak of them and
treat them with an earnestness and interest that
tend much to the illusion of his readeis. Both Don
Quixote and Sancho are thus brought before us, like
such living realities, that at this moment, the figures
of the crazed, gaunt, dignified knight, and of his
round, selfish, and most amusiLg esquire, dwell
bodied forth in the imaginations of more, among all
conditions of men throughout Christendom, than any
other of the creations of human talent. The great-
est of the great poets — LTomer, Dante, Shakespeare,
Milton — have no doubt risen to loftier heights, and
placed themselves in more imposing relations with
the noblest attributes of our nature ; but Cervantes
— always writing under the unchecked impulse of
his own genius, and instinctively eoncentratit g in his
fiction whatever was peculiar to the character of his
nation — has shown himself of kindred to all times
and all lands'; to the humblest degrees of cultiva-
tion as well as to the highest ; and has thus, beyond
all other writers, received in return a tribute of
sympathy and admiration from the universal spirit
of humanity. * * * The romance, however,
which he threw so carelessly from him, and which,
I am persuaded, he regarded rather as a bold effort
to break up the absurd taste of his time for the
fancies of chivalry than as auy thing of more serious
import, has been established by an uninterrupted,
and, it may be said, an unquestioned, success ever
since, both as the oldest classical specimen of ro-
mantic fiction, and as one of the most remarkable
monuments of modern genius. But though this may
be enorgh to fill the measure of human fame and
glory, it is not all to which Cervantes is entitled ;
for, if we would do him the justice that, would have
been dearest to his own spirit, and even if we would
ourselves fully comprehend and enjoy the whole
of his Don Quixote, we should, as we read it, bear
in mind, that this delightful romance was not the
result of a youthful exuberance of feeling and a
happy external condition, nor composed in his best
years, when the spirits of its author were light and
his hopes high ; but that — with all its unquenchable
and irresistible humor, with its bright views of the
world, and his cheerful trust in goodness and virtue
— it was written in his old age, at the conclusion of
a life nearly every step of which had been marked
with disappointed expectations, disheartenirg strug-
gles, and sore calamities; that he began it in a pri-
son, and that it was finished when he felt the hand
of death pressing heavy and cold upon his heart.
If this be remembered as we read, we may feel, as
we ought to feel, what admiration and revel ence are
due, not only to the living power of Don Quixote,
but to the character and genius of Cervantes ; — if
it be forgotten or underrated, we shall fail in regard
to both.
LA DAMA DIJIiNDE OP CALDEHON.
"The Fairy Lady," is another of Calderon's dra-
mas that is full of life, spirit, and ingenuity. Its
scene is laid on the day of the baptism of Prince
Balthasar, heir-apparent of Philip the Fourth, which,
as we know, occurred on the -1th of November,
1629 ; and the piece itself was, therefore, probably
written and acted soon afterwards. If we may
judge by the number of times Calderon compla-
cently refers to it, we cannot doubt that it was a
favorite with him ; and if we judge by its intrinsic
merits, we may be sure it was a favorite with the
public.
Doiia Angela, the heroineof theintrigue, a widow,
young, beautiful, and rich, lives at Madrid, in the
WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT.
235
Wise of her two brothers ; but, from circumstances
connected with her affairs, lier life there is so retired,
that nothing is known of it abroad. Don Manuel, a
friend, arrives in the city to visit one of these bro-
thers; and, as he approaches the house, a lady
strictly veiled stops him in the street, and conjures
him, if lie be a cavalier of honor, to prevent her
from being further pursued by a gentleman already
close behind. Tins lady is Dona Angela, and the
gentleman is her brother, Don Luis, who is pursuing
her only because lie observes that she carefully con-
ceals herself from him. The two cavaliers not
being acquainted with each other, — for Do i Manuel
ha 1 come to visit the other brother, — a dispute is
easily excited, and a duel follows, which is inter-
rupted by the arrival of this other brother, and an
explanation of his friendship for Don Manuel.
Don Manuel is now brought home, and established
in the house of the two cavaliers, with all the cour-
tesy due to a distinguished guest. His apartments,
ho we per, are connected with those of Dona Angela
by a secret door, known only to herself and her con-
fidential maid; and finding she is thus unexpectedly
brought near a person who has risked his life to
save her, she determines to put herself into a myste-
rious communication with him.
But Dona Angela is young and thoughtless. When
she enters the stranger's apartment, she is temple 1 to
be mischievous, and leaves behind marks of her wild
humor that are not to be mistaken. The servant of
Don Manuel thinks it is an evil spirit, or at best a
fairy, that playssuch fantastic tricks; disturbing the
private papers of his master, leaving notes on his
table, throwing the fur littire of the room into con-
fusion, and— from an accident — once jostling its oc-
cupants in the dark. At last, the master himself is
confounded ; and though he once catches a glimpse
of tiie mischievous lady, as she escapes into her own
part of the house, he knows not what to make of
the apparition. lie says : —
Fhe glided like a spirit, and tier light
Did all fantastic seem. But still herform
Was human : I touched and felt its substance,
And she had murtal fears, and, w man-like,
Shrunk back again with dainty modesty.
At Inst, like an illusion, all dissolved,
And, like a phantasm, melted quite away
If, then, to my conjectures I jrive rein,
By heaven above, I neither know nor cruess
What I must doubt or what I may believe.
But the tricksy lady, who has fairly frolicked herself
in love with the handsome young cavalier, is tempted
too far by her brilliant successes, and, being at last
detected lu the presence of her astonished brothers,
the intrigue, which is one of the most complicate'!
and gay to be found on any theatre, ends with an
explanation of her fairy humors and her marriage
with Don Manuel.
WILLIAM II. PEESCOTT.
William IIickunis Presoott, the historian, is
the son of William Prescott, n distinguishedjurist,
who died at Boston in 18-14, and the grandson of
Colonel William Prescott, who commanded at
Bunker Hill on the memorable 17th of June,
1775. The father of Mr. Prescott, who was one
. of the wisest and best as well as one of the ablest
men that New England has produced, was a na-
tive of Peppered in Massachusetts, but lived in
Salem from 1789 to 1808; and there the Histo-
rian was born, May 4, 1796 : his mother being
the daughter of Thomas Hiekling, who for nearly
half a century held Washington's commission as
Consul at St. Michael's. But Mr. Prescott's fami-
ly having removed to Boston when he was hard-
ly twelve years old, his literary training was
chiefly in that city and in Cambridge, where he
was graduated in 1814 with honors suited to the
classical tastes he had cultivated with much more
than common success, both during his University
course and earlier.
His original intention was, to devote himself to
the profession which his father's eminence had
naturally made attractive to him. But, just as
he was closing his academical career in Harvard
College, an accident deprived him instantly of the
use of one eye ; and the other, after much suffer-
ing, became so enfeebled and impaired, that it
was soon plain that he could devote himself to
no course of life in which his occupations would
not be controlled more or less by the results of
this infirmity. He. struggled against it, however,
as well as he might. Two years he spent in tra-
velling through England, France, and Italy, and
in endeavors to procure alleviations for his mis-
fortune from the great oculists of Londi in and Pa-
ris ; but it was all in vain. His general health,
indeed, was strengthened and his character deve-
loped by it; but the infirmity from which ho
sought relief was b.\yond the reach of remedies,
and had been so, no doubt, from the first.
Soon after his return home, therefore, he look-
ed round to see what course was still open to
him for that active period of life on whose thres-
hold lie then stood; and with a deliberation of
purpose rare in one so young, he determined to
become a historian. But first he went through
a careful course of intellectual discipline in the
classics of antiquity which had always been his
favorite study, and in the literatures of France,
Italy, and Spain, which followed them in natural
sequence. To this task, he devoted, on a well
considered plan, ten years; and, except that he
often suffered severely from inflammations o ' the
debilitated organ of sight, and that Ids reading
and studies of all kinds were carried on to much
disadvantage from the necessity of using the eyes
of others rather than his own, they were years of
great happiness to him. His industry never flag-
ged ; his courage never faltered ; his spirits, buoy-
ant by nature, never sank under the burdens
imposed upon them. It was the period when he
laid deep and sure the foundations of his coming
success.
His next task was to choose a subject. In this,
be was eminently fortunate. Sixty years bad just
elapsed since, in 1769, Dr. Robertson had succeed-
ed in fastening the attention of the world on the
reign of Charles V., when the power of Spain was
greater than it ever was before or than it lias
ever been since, and when that wide European
system was consolidated, which was first broken
up by Buonaparte and which Buonaparte's con-
querors have so imperfectly reconstructed. But
Robertson did not. go far enough back in the an-
nals of Spain to make his work all that it should
have been. The central point in the history of
modern Spain is the capture of Grenada, and lie
should have embraced it in the plan of a work
intended to present that country in its entrance
upon the grand theatre of European affairs. All
before that decisive epoch, for eight centuries, had
been, as it were, preparation ; till that has hap-
pened since, for four centuries, has been results
and consequences. The power which had been
236
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
created by the Moorish wars, and which had been
exclusively concentrated upon them for so long a
period, was then first let loose upon the rest of
Europe, while, almost at the same moment, the
discovery of America and its boundless wealth
came in to give that power a life and efficiency
which it never before possessed, and which, be-
yond the Pyrenees, had hardly been suspected or
thought of; turning all the gentlemen of Spain
into soldiers and sending them forth upon adven-
ture to fight wherever the spirit of loyalty might
call them, either for the glory of their monarchs
or for the advancement of the Catholic faith.
Robertson, indeed, in his elaborate and philoso-
phical introduction to his history,has endeavored
to supply this deficiency in his plan; but that
Essay, a noble portico to his work, is rather an
account of the state of things in the rest of Eu-
rope, out of which grew what is most distinctive
in the character of more recent times, than an ex-
planation of the previous condition of Spain itself,
on which Charles V. established his va4 power,
and on whose basis Philip II. endeavored to build
up an empire wider than the Roman, because it
was to embrace the New World as well as the
Old.
Mr. Prescott,no doubt, perceived this, and chose
for the subject of his first work, The Reign of
Ferdinand and Isabella ; the grand consolidation
of Spain into one compact monarchy ; the final
overthrow of Moslem power in Western Europe,
and the discover)' of America and its wealth. It
was a noble subject, imposing in each of its greater
divisions, and interesting alike to both hemi-
spheres. "With what ability he treated it,is known
on the other side of the Atlantic no less than on
this, for the original work, which after nearly ten
years of faithful labor upon it first appeared in
1838, has not only been printed and reprinted in
the United States, in England and France, but has
been translated into Spanish, Italian, and German,
and is familiar, as one of the world's classics,
wherever history is studied.
On looking again for a subject, Mr. Prescott
may have been anew partly influenced by the im-
perfect success of Dr. Robertson, and partly or
chiefly by the direction given already to his own
inquiries in that portion of his Ferdinand and Isa-
bella which relates to America. At any rate,
Robertson's History of America, published in
1777, is entirely unequal to the claims it makes.
Simancas was closed to him, and the admirable
collection at the Lonja of Seville was not yet ima-
gined, so that he had not the materials needful
for his task ; besides which his plan was not only
too vast, but, in its separate parts, was ill propor-
tioned and ill-adjusted. The great result-, how-
ever, upon Spain, and indeed upon all Europe, ef
the conquests on the American continent made
by Spanish adventurers, follow, by an almost in-
evitable succession, accounts such as Mr. Prescott
had already given of its discovery. He there-
fore naturally turned his thoughts in this direc-
tion, and skilfully confining his labors to the two
portions of the newly discovered countries
that had the most influence on the fates and for-
tunes of Spain and of Europe,instead of extending
them as Robertson had done over the whole of
North and South America, he gave the world
successively his Conquest of Mexico in 1843 and
his Conquest of Peru in 1S47. Both of these
works are written largely from manuscript mate-
rials obtained in Spain. The first, from the ve"ry
nature of its subject, is the most effective and po-
pular, comprehending that marvelk.us series of
military adventures, which read more like a
cruel romance than the results of sober his-
tory; while the last, so full of philosophy in its
accounts of the early traditions of Peru, and so
full of wisdom in its explanation of the healing
government of Gasca, is no less important for its
teachings to the world. Both are written in Mr.
Prescott's most attractive and brilliant style, and
were followed by the amplest and most honorable
success alike in Europe and America, and in their
translations made on both sides of the Atlantic,
and especially in Mexico, where two have ap-
peared.
Mr. Prescott had now shown how the military
power of Spain, which had been developed in a
manner so extraordinary by the Moorish wars,
had begun to spread its victories over Europe and
America; and how the wealth found in its golden
colonies was sustaining further and wider con-
quests that were soon destined to disturb all
Christendom. We almost regret, therefore, that
he had not continued the History of Spain and
her foreign wars and conquests from the point
where he left them at the end of the reign of Fer-
dinand and Isabella. Certainly, on one side, this
is the view that immediately presents itself; for
the work of Robertson on Charles V., important
as it has been, cannot, we conceive, be regarded
as the final record of the great and stirring period
it embraces ; so imperfect is his knowledge of the
deep and complicated movements in Germany
that belong to it, and so much is he wanting in a
clear comprehension of Spain and of the Spanish
character at the time they were becoming pre-
ponderant in Europe. Mr. Prescott, we are per-
suaded, would have treated this most attractive
subject with the hand of a master, and so have
rendered a new service to the History of the
World at one of the turning points in its desti-
WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT.
237
nies. But it is understood that lie has modestly
decided otherwise, and that leaving Dr. Robert-
son in undisputed possession of the reign of
Charles V., he is about to give the public the
History of Philip II.
Here, no doubt, he has a field both ample and
free; for, saving the slight history of Dr. Wat-
son, which, since 1777, when it was published,
has been good-naturedly received by the world
as an account of the times of Philip II., Mr. Pres-
cott will find no work on the subject worth nam-
ing, either in Spain or out of it. And yet such
a subject might well have claimed, long since, the
most earnest efforts of the highest talent. At
home — in Spain we mean — its details are full of in-
terest and of grave teachings. They begin with
the solemn farce of the Cloister life of Charles V.
by which all the elder historians have been duped,
but which, thanks to Mr. Stirling, M. Mignet, and
M. Gachard, can now be placed where it belongs
and be exhibited as what it really was. N jxt, we
have the dark death of the miserable and unwor-
thy Don Carlo-;, of which his father may never
be convicted, but from which he never can be
absolved ; and which after being turned into
poetry by Schiller and so many others, among
whom Lord John Russell should not have per-
mitted himself to be placed, ought at last to be
reduced to the plain prose of exact history. Later,
we have the murder of Escovedo and the conse-
quent shameful persecution of that brilliant ad-
venturer, Antonio Perez, which Mignet againhas
set in its true light, as the heartless work of Phi-
lip, in order to conceal his own hand in a murder
committed by his own orders. And above all
and everywhere on the soil of Spain, or wher-
ever Spanish power reached, we have the In qui-
sitio 1 and the Church stretching up like a black
cloud between heaven and earth, and casting their j
blight over even the patriotism avid loyalty of the
Spanish people; allying their love of country to
bigotry, and making their devotion to despotism, I
as it were, a part of their religions humility. All
this, too, has never been explained as it ought to
be, nor made the solemn warning to the world, i
which, in Mr. Prescott's hands, it will assuredly
become.
Abroad, out of Spain, his subject is yet more
striking. It embraces all Europe and its interests.
The old wars against the Moors come up again;
the siege of Malta; the cruel contest in the Al-
puxarras; but, above all, Don John of Austria,
the most romantic of military captains, and his
victory at Lepanto, by which the hated Moslem
Was, for the second time, driven back from West-
ern Europe by Spanish valor and enthusiasm ; — ■
how they rise before us, as if they belonged to
the earlier period of Spanish history, and connect
us with its heroic adventures. Then, to coun-
terbalance them, come the conquest of Portugal,
which, when Don Sebastian had mysterious-
ly perished in Africa, fell an easy prey to his
crafty cousin : the troubles with France in the
days of the three last Henries, and during the
struggles of French Protestantism, not forget-
ting the battle of St. Quentin, where a character-
istic vow of Philip, breathed perhaps in personal
fear, built the no less characteristic E-curial; the
ruinous war of the Netherlands ending with their
loss; and the strange relations with England,
both when Philip reigned there with Mary, and
when in the time of Elizabeth he undertook that
bold conquest of the island which would have
added the possession of North to that of South
America — aye, and perhaps even that of all India
beyond the Cape of Good Hope. Each of these
subjects, we mean to say, is worthy of the highest
historical talent, while all taken together and kept
in their respective positions and proportions by
the wary, inflexible, and unscrupulous genius of
Philip himself — -always in the foreground of his
own affairs — always the master-spirit, whatever
is done or proposed — and always carefully adjust-
ing his projects into the vast framework of his
own ambition to establish an Universal Monarchy,
whose seat should be in the South of Europe, and
whose foundations should be laid in the Faith of
the Church of Rome; — these grand materials,
thus grouped together, constitute a subject for
history which the great masters of ancient or
of modern times might well envy to Mr. Pres-
cott. That it will — even more than anything he
has yet done — insure him a place at their side,
we do not doubt.
Since the appearance of Ferdinand and Isabella
in 1838, literary bodies, at home and abroad, have
showered on Mr. Prescott their higher honors ;
beginning with Columbia College in New York,
which gave him the degree of Doctor of Laws in
1840, and ending, so far as we have observed,
with a similar degree from the ancient Universi-
ty of Oxford in 1830; when, on a visit to Eng-
land, he was received in a manner the most flat-
tering by whatever is most distinguished in so-
ciety and letters. In this interval, however (we
think it was in 1845), ho received the yet higher
distinction of being elected a corresponding mem-
ber of the class of Moral and Political Philosophy
in the French Institute, as successor to Navar-
rete, the Spanish historian. The vacancy was
certainly well and appropriately filled.
Except his great historical works, we believe
that Mr. Prescott has published only a volume of
Miscellanies, chiefly reviews from the North Ame-
rican, which appeared first in 1815, and ha; since
been reprinted both in England and the United
States.*
THE RETURN OF COLtJMRrS AFTER HIS FIRST VOYAGE — FROM
THE HISTORY OF FERDINAND AND ISABELLA.
In the spring of 1493, while the court was still
at Barcelona, letters were received from Christopher
Columbus, announcing his return to Spain, and the
successful achievement of his great enterprise, by the
discovery of laud beyond the western ocean. The
delight and astonishment, raised by this intelligence,
were proportioned to the skepticism with which his
project had been originally viewed. The sovereigns
were now filled with a natural impatience to ascer-
tain the extent and other particulars of the important
discovery : and they transmitted instant instructions
to the admiral to repair to Barcelona, as soon as he
should have made the preliminary arrangements for
the further prosecution of his enterprise.
The great navigator had succeeded, as is well
known, after a voyage the natural difficulties of
which had been much augmented by the distrust
and mutinous spirit of his followers, in descrying
* Wo are indebted for this memoir to the perj of ilr. Georjo
Ticknor.
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
land 0:1 Friday, tie 12th of October, 1-192. After
some months spent m exploring the delightful re-
gions, now for tiie first time thrown open to the eyes
of a European, he embarked in the month of Jauu-
ai'3', 1493, for Spain. One of his vessels had pre-
viously foundered, and another had deserted him;
so that he was left alone to retrace his course across
the Atlantic. After a most tempestuous Voyage, he
was compelled to take shelter in the Tagus, sorely
against his inclination. He experienced, however,
the most honorable reeeption from the Portuguese
monarch, John the Second, who did ample jusliee to
the great qualities of Columbus, although he had
failed to profit by them. After a brief delay, the
admiral resumed his voyage; and crossing the bar
of Snltes entered the harbor of Palos about noon,
ou the 15th of March, 1493, being exactly seven
months and eleven days since his departure from
that port.
Great was the agitation in the little community
of Palos, as they beheld the -well-known vessel of
the admiral reentering their harbor. Their de-
sponding imaginations had lo:g since consigned him
to a watery grave ; for, in addition to the preterna-
tural horrors which hung over the voyage, they had
experienced the most stormy and disastrous winter
within the recollection of the oldest mariners.
iMost of them had relatives or friends on boa:d.
They thronged immediately to the shore, to assure
themselves with their own eyes of the truth of their
return. W'hen they beheld their faces once more,
and saw them accompanied by the numerous evi-
dences which they brought back of the success of
the expedition, they burst forth in acclamations of
joy and gratulation. They awaited the landing of
Columbus, when the whole population of the place
accompanied him and his crew to the principal
church, where solemn thanksgivings were offered up
for their return ; while every bell in the village sent
forth a joyous peal in honor ol the glorious event.
The admiral was too desirous of presenting himself
before the sovereigns, to protract his stay long at
Palos. lie took with him on his journey specimens
of the multifarious products of the newly discovered
regions. lie was accompanied by several of the
native islanders, arrayed in their simple barbaric
costume, and decorated, as lie passed through the
principal cities, with collars, bracelets, and other
ornaments of gold, rudely fashioned ; he exhibited
also considerable quantities of the same metal in
dust, or in crude masses, numerous vegetable
exotics, possessed of aromatic or medicinal virtue,
and several kinds of quadrupeds unknown in Europe,
and birds, whose varieties of gaudy plumage gave a
brilliant effect to the pageant. The admiral's
progress through the country was everywhere im-
peded by the multitudes thronging forth to gaze at
the extraordinary spectacle, and the more extraor-
dinary man, who, in the emphatic language of that
time, which has now lost its force from its familiarity,
first revealed the existence of a " New World." As
he passed through the busy, populous city of Seville,
every window, balcony, and housetop, which could
afford a glimpse of him, is described to have been
crowded with spectators. It was the middle of
April before Columbus reached Barcelona. The
nobility and cavaliers in attendance on the court,
together with the authorities of the city, came to
the gates to receive him, and escorted him to the
royal presence. Ferdinand and Isabella were
seated, with their son, Prince John, under a superb
canopy of state, awaiting his arrival. On his ap-
proach, they rose from their seats, and extending
their hands to him to salute, caused him to be seated
before them. These were unprecedented marks of
condescension to a person of Columbus's rank, in the
haughty and ceremonious court of Castile. It was,
indeed, the proudest moment in the life of Columbus.
He had fully established the truth of his long-con-
tested theory, in the face of argument, sophistry,
sneer, skepticism, and contempt. He had achieved
this, not by chance, but by calculation, supported
through the most adverse circumstances by consum-
mate conduct. The honors paid him, which had
hitherto been reserved only for rank, or fortune, or
military success, purchased by the blood and tears of
thousands, were, in his case, a homage to intellectual
power, successfully exerted in behalf of the noblest
interests of humanity.
After a brief interval, the sovereigns requested
from Columbus a reeital of his adventures. His
manner was sedate and dignified, but warmed by
the glow of natural enthusiasm. He enumerated
the several islands which he had visited, expatiated
on the temperate character of the climate, and the
capacity of the soil for every variety of agricultural
production, appealing to the samples imported by
him, as evidence of their natural fiuitfulness. He
dwelt more at large on the precious metals to bo
found in these islands, which he inferred, less front
the specimens actually obtaine 1, than from the uni-
form testimony of the natives to their abundance in
the unexplored regions of the interior. Lastly, he
pointed out the wide scope afforded to Christian
zed, in the illumination of a race of men, whose
minds, far from being wedded to any system of ido-
latry, were prepared by their extreme simplicity for
the reception of pure and uncorrupted doctrine.
The last consideration touched Isabella's heart most
sensibly ; and the whole audience, kindled with va-
rious emotions by the speaker's eloquence, filled up
the perspective with the gorgeous coloring of their
own fancies, as ambition or avarice, or devo'ional
feeling predominated in their bosoms. When Co-
lumbus ceased, the king and queen, together with
all present, prostrated themselves on their knees in
grateful thanksgivings, while the solemn strains of
the Te Deum were poured forth by the choir of the
royal chapel, as in commemoration of some glorious
victory.
QUEEN ISABELLA — FROM THE SAME.
Her person was of the middle he:ght, and well
proportioned. She had a clear, fresh complexion,
with light blue eyes and auburn hair, — a style of
beauty exceedingly rare in Spain. Her features
were regular, and universally allowed to be uncom-
monly handsome. The illusion which attaches to
rank, more especially when united with engaging
manners, might lead us to suspect some exaggera-
tion in the encomiums so liberally lavished on her.
But they would seem to be in a great measure justi-
fied by the portraits that remain of her, which com-
bine a faultless symmetry of features with singular
sweetness and intelligence of expression.
Her manners were most gracious and pleasing.
They were marked by natural dignity and modest
reserve, tempered by an affability which flowed
from the kindliness of her disposition. She was the
last person to be approached with undue familiarity ;
yet the respect which she imposed was mingled with
the strongest feelings of devotion and love. She
showed great tact in accommodating herself to the
peculiar situation and character of those around her.
She appeared in arms at the head of her troops, and
sliruk from none of the hardships of war. During
the reforms introduced into the religious houses, she
visited the nunneries in person, taking her needle-
work with her, and passing the day in the society
of the inmates. AYhen travelling in Galicia, she at-
WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT.
239
tirerl herself in the costume of the country, borrow-
ing for that purpose the jewels and other ornaments
of the ladies there, ami returning them with liberal
additions. By this condescending and captivating
deportment, as well as by her higher qualities, she
gained an ascendency over her turbulent subjects,
which no king of Spain could ever boast.
y She spoke the Castilian with much elegance and
correctness. She had an easy fluency of discourse,
which, though generally of a serious complexion,
was occasionally seasoned with agreeable sallies,
some of which have passed into proverbs. She was
temperate even to abstemiousness in her diet.seldom
or never tasting wine ; and so frugal in her table,
that the daily expenses for herself and family did
not exceed the moderate sum of forty ducats. She
was equally simple and economical in her apparel.
On all public occasions, indeed, she displayed a
royal magnificence ; but 6he had no relish for it
in private, and she freely gave away her clothes
and jewels, as presents to her friends. Naturally of
a sedate, though cheerful temper, she had little taste
for the frivolous amusements which make up so much
of a court life ; and, if she encouraged the presence
of minstrels and musicians in her palace, it was to
wean her young nobility from the coarser and less
intellectual pleasures to which they were addicted.
Among her moral qualities, the most conspicuous,
perhaps, was her magnanimity. She betrayed no-
thing little or selfish, in thought or action. Her
6ehem.es were vast, and executed in the same noble
spirit, in which they were conceived. She never
employed doubtful agents or sinister measures, but
the most direct and open policy. She scorned to
avail herself of advantages offered by the perfidy of
others. Where she had once given her confidence,
she gave her hearty and steady support ; and she was
scrupulous to redeem any pledge she had made to
those who ventured in her cause, however un-
popular. She sustained Ximenes in all his obnox-
ious, but salutary reforms. She seconded Columbus
in the prosecution of his arduous enterprise, and
shielded him from the calumny of his enemies. She
did the same good service to her favorite, Gonsalvo
de Cordova; and the day of her death was felt, and,
as it proved, truly felt by both, as the last of their
good fortune. Artifice a id duplicity were so ab-
horrent to her character, and so averse from her do-
mestic policy, that when they appear in the foreign
relations of Spain, it is certainly not imputable to
her. She was incapable of harboring any petty dis-
trust, or latent malice; and, although stern in the
execution ami exaction of public justice, she made
the most generous allowance, and even sometimes ad-
vances, to those who had personally injured her.
But the principle, which gave a peculiar coloring
to every feature of Isabella's mind, was piety. It
shone forth from the very depths of her soul with a
• heavenly radiance, which illuminated her whole
character. Fortunately, her earliest years had been
passed in the rugged school of adversity, under the
eye of a mother who implanted in her serious mind
such strong principles of religion as nothing in after
life had power to shake. At an early age, in the
flower of youth and beauty, she was introduced to
her brother's court ; but its blandishments, so daz-
zling to a young imagination, had no power over
hers ; for she was surrounded by a moral atmosphere
of purity,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt.
Such was the decorum of her manners, that, though
encompassed by false friends and open enemies, not
the slightest reproach was breathed on her fair
name in this corrupt and calumnious court.
T1IE DEATH OF MONTEZUMA — FEOM TnE CONQUEST OF MEXICO.
The Indian monarch had rapidly declined, since
he had received his injury, sinking, however, quite
as much under the anguish of a wounded spirit, as
under disease. He continued iu the same moody
state of insensibility as that already described ; hold-
ing little communication with those around him,
deaf to consolation, obstinately rejecting all medical
remedies as well as nourishment. Perceiving his
end approach, some of the cavaliers present in the
fortress, whom the kindness of his manners had per-
sonally attached to him, were anxious to save the
soul of the dying prince from the sad doom of those
who perish in the darkness of unbelief. They ac-
cordingly waited on him, with father Olmedo at
their head, a id iu the most earnest manner implored
him to open his ej-es to the error of his creed, and
consent to be baptized. But Montezuma — whatever
may have been suggested to the contrary — seems
never to have faltered in his hereditary faith, or to
have contemplated becoming an apostate ; for surely
he merits that name in its most odious application,
who, whether Christian or Pagan, renounces his re-
ligion without conviction of its falsehood. Indeed,
it was a too implicit reliance on its oracles, which had
led him to give such easy confidence to the Span-
iards. His intercourse with them had, doubtless,
not sharpened his desire to embrace their commu-
nion ; and the calamities of his country he might
consider as sent by his gods to punish him for his
hospitality to those who had desecrated and de-
stroyed their shrines.
When father Olmedo, therefore, kneeling at his
side, with the uplifted crucifix, affectionately be-
sought him to embrace the sign of man's redemption,
he coldly repulsed the priest, exclaiming, " I have
but a few moments to live ; and will not at this hour
desert the faith of my fathers." One thing, how-
ever, seemed to press heavily on Montezuma's mind.
This was the fate of his children, especially of three
daughters, whom he had by his two wives ; fir there
were certain rites of marriage, which distinguished
the lawful wife from the concubine. Calling Cortes
to his bedside, he earnestly commended these chil-
dren to his care, as " the most precious jewels that
he could leave him." He besought the general to
interest his master, the emperor, in their behalf, and
to see that they should not be left destitute, but be
allowed some portion of their rightful inheritance.
" Your lord will do this," he concluded, " if it were
only for the friendly offices I have rendered the
Spaniards, and for the love I have shown them, —
though it has brought me to this condition ! But
for this I bear them no ill-will." Such, according to
Cortes himself, were the words of the dying monarch.
Not long after, on the 30th of June, 1520, he expired
in the arms of some of his own nobles, who still re-
mained faithful in their attendance on his person.
"Thus," exclaims a native historian, one of his ene-
mies, a Tlascalan, " thus died the unfortunate Mon-
tezuma, who had swayed the sceptre with such con-
summate policy and wisdom ; and who was held in
greater reverence and awe than any other prince of
his lineage, or any, indeed, that ever sat on a throne
in this Western World. With him may be said to
have terminated the royal line of the Aztecs, and
the glory to have passed away from the empire,
which under him had reached the zenith of its pros-
perity." " The tidings of his death," says the old
Castilian chronicler, Diaz, " were received with real
grief by every cavalier and soldier in the army who
had had access to his person ; for we all loved him
as a father, — and no wonder, seeing how good he
was." This simple, but emphatic, testimony to his
desert, at such a tim*e, is in itself the best refutation
■240
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
of the suspicions occasionally entertained of his fide-
lity to the Christians.
It is not easy to depict the portrait of Montezuma
in its true colors, since it has been exhibited to us
under two aspects, of the most opposite and contra-
dictory character. In the accounts gathered of him
by the Spaniards, on coming into the country, he
■was uniformly represented as bold and warlike, un-
scrupulous as to the means of gratifying his ambi-
tion, hollow and perfidious, the terror of his foes,
with a haughty bearing which made him feared
even by his own people. They found him, on the
contrary, not merely affable and gracious, but dis-
posed to waive all the advantages of his own posi-
tion, and to place them on a footing with himself;
making their wishes his law ; gentle even to effemi-
nacy in his deportment, ai.d constant in his friend-
ship, while his whole nation was in arms against
them. Yet these traits, so contradictory, were truly
enough drawn. They are to be explained by the
extraordinary circumstances of his position.
When Montezuma ascended the thione he was
scarcely twenty-three years of age. Young, and
ambitious of extending Ins empire, he was continu-
ally engaged in war, and is said to have been pre-
sent himself in nine pitched battles. He was greatly
renowned for his martial prowess, for he belonged
to the Quackictin, the highest military order of his
nation, and one into which but few even of its sove-
reigns had been admitted. In later life, he preferred
intrigue to violence, as more consonant to his cha-
racter and priestly education. In this lie was as
great an adept as any prince of his time, and, by
arts not very honorable to himself, succeeded in
filching away much of the territory of his royal
kinsman of Tezeuco. Severe in the administration
of justice, he made important reforms in the arrange-
ment of the tribunals. He introduced other inno-
vations in the royal household, creating new offices,
introducing a lavish magnificence and forms of court-
ly etiquette unknown to his ruder predecessors. He
was, in short, most attentive to all that concerned
the exterior and pomp of royalty. Stately and de-
corous, he was careful of his own dignity, and might
be said to be as great an " actor of majesty" among
the barbarian potentates of the New World, as Louis
the Fourteenth was among the polished princes of
Europe.
He was deeply tinctured, moreover, with that
spirit of bigotry, which threw such a shade over the
latter days of the French monarch. He received
the Spaniards as the beings predicted by his oracles.
The anxious dread, with which he had evaded their
proffered visit, was founded on the same feelings
which led him so blindly to resign himself to them
on their approach. He felt himself rebuked by their
superior genius. He at once conceded all that they
demanded, — his treasures, his power, even his per-
Bon. For their sake, he forsook his wonted occupa-
tion, his pleasures, his most familiar habits. He
might be said to forego his nature ; and, as his sub-
jects asserted, to change his sex and become a wo-
man. If we cannot refuse our contempt for the
pusillanimity of the Aztec monarch, it should be
mitigated by the consideration, that his pusillani-
mity sprung from his superstition, and that super-
stition in the savage is the substitute for religious
principle in the civilized man.
It is not easy to contemplate the fate of Monte-
zuma without feelings of the strongest compassion ;
— to see him thus borne along the tide of events be-
yond his power to avert or control ; to see him, like
some stately tree, the pride of his own Indian for-
ests, towering aloft in the pomp and majesty of its
branches, by its very eminence a mark for the thun-
derbolt, the first victim of the tempest which was to
sweep over its native hills! When the wise king of
Tezeuco addressed his royal relative at his coiona-
tion, he exclaimed, "Happy the empire, which is
now in the meridian of its prosperity, for the sceptre
is given to one whom the Almighty has in his keep-
ing; and the nations shall hold him in reverence!"
Alas! the subject of this auspicious invocation lived
to see his empire melt away like the winter's wreath ;
to see a strange race drop, as it were, from the
clouds on his land ; to find himself a prisoner in the
palace of his fathers, the companion of those who
were the enemies of his gods and his people ; to be
insulted, reviled, trodden in the dust, by the mean-
est of his subjects, by those who, a few months pre-
vious, had trembled at his glance ; drawing his last
breath in the halls of the stranger, — a lonely outcast
in the heart of his own capital ! He was the sad
victim of destiny, — a destiny as dark and irresistible
in its march, as that whieh broods over the mythic
legends of Antiquity!
Montezuma's way op eife — from the conquest or Mexico.
The domestic establishment of Montezuma was on
the same scale of barbaric splendor as every thing
else about him. He could boast as many wives as
are found in the harem of an Eastern sultan. They
were lodged in their own apartments, and provided
with every accommodation, according to their ideas,
for personal comfort and cleanliness. They passed
their hours in the usual femiiine employments of
weaving and embroidery, especially in the graceful
feather-work, for which such rich materials were
furnished by the royal aviaries. They conducted
themselves with strict decorum, under the supervi-
sion of certain aged females, who acted in the re-
spectable capacity of duennas, in the same manner
as in the religious houses attached to the teocallis.
The palace was supplied with numerous baths, and
Montezuma set the example, in his own person, of
frequent ablutions. He bathed at least once, and
changed his dress four times, it is said, every day.
He never put on the same apparel a second tin.e, but
gave it away to his attendants. Queen Elizabeth,
with a similar taste for costume, showed a less
princely spirit in hoarding her discarded suits.
Her wardrobe was, probably, somewhat moie costly
than that of the Indian emperor.
Besides his numerous female retinue, the halls and
antechambers were filled with nobles in constant
attendance on his person, who served also as a sort
of body-guard. It had been usual for plebeians of
merit to fill certain offices in the palace. But the
haughty Montezuma refused to be waited upon by
any but men of noble birth. They were not unfre-
quently the sons of the great chiefs, and remained
as hostages in the absence of their fathei s ; thus serv-
ing the double purpose of security and state.
His meals the en pe:or took alone. The well-
matted floor of a huge saloon was covered with
hundreds of dishes. Sometimes Montezuma himself,
but more frequently his steward, indicated those
which he preferred, and which were kept hot by
means of chafing-dishes. The royal bill of fare com-
prehended, besides domestic animals, game from the
distant forests, and fish which, the day before, was
swimming in the Gulf of Mexico! They were dressed
in manifold ways, for the Aztee artistes, as we have
already had occasion to notice, had penetrated deep
into the mysteries of culinary science.
The meats were served by the attendant nobles,
who then resigned the office of waiting on the mo-
narch to maidens selected for their personal grace
and beauty. A screen of richly gilt and carved
wood was drawn around him, so as to conceal him
WILLIAM H. PEESCOTT.
241
from vulgar eyes during the repast. He was seated
on a cushion, and the dinner was served on a low
table covered with a dedicate cotton cloth. The
dishes were of the finest ware of Cholula. He had
a service of gold, which was reserved for religious
celebrations. Indeed, it would scarcely have com-
ported with even his princely revenues to have used
it on ordinary occasions, when his table equipage
was not allowed to appear a second time, but was
given away to his attendants. The saloon was light-
ed by torches made of a resinous wood, which sent
forth a sweet odor and, probably, not a little smoke,
as they burned. At his meal, he was attended by
five or six of his ancient counsellors, who stood at a
respectful distance, answering his questions, and oc-
casionally rejoiced by some of the viands with which
he complimented them from his table.
This course of solid dishes was succeeded by an-
other of sweetmeats and pastry, for which the Aztec
cooks, provided with the important requisites of
maize-flour, eggs, and the rich sugar of the aloe,
were famous. Two girls were occupied at the fur-
ther end of the apartment, during dinner, in prepar-
ing fine rolls and wafers, with which they garnished
the board from time to time. The emperor took no
qther beverage than the chvcolatl, a potation of cho-
colate, flavored with vanilla and other spiees, and so
prepared as to be reduced to a froth of the consist-
ency of honey, which gradually dissolved in the
mouth. This beverage, if so it could be called, was
served in golden goblets, with spoons of the same
metal or of tortoise-shell finely wrought. The em-
peror was exceedingly fond of it, to judge from the
quantity, — no less than fifty jars or pitchers being
prepared for his own daily consumption ! Two thou-
sand more were allowed for that of his household.
The general arrangement of the meal seems to
have been not very unlike that of Europeans. But
no prince in Europe could boast a dessert which
could compare with that of the Aztec emperor. For
it was gathered fresh from the most opposite climes;
and his board displayed the products of his own
temperate region, and the luscious fruits of the tro-
pics, plucked, the day previous, from the green
groves of the iicrra calliente, and transmitted with
the speed of steam, by means of couriers, to the ca-
pital. It was as if some kind fairy should crown our
banquets with the spicy products that but yesterday
were growing in a sunny isle of the far-oil' Indian
seas!
After the royal appetite was appeased, water was
handed to him by the female attendants in a silver
basin, in the same manner as had been done before
commencing his meal ; for the Aztecs were as con-
stant in their ablutions, at these times, as an}' nation
of the East, Pipes were then brought, made of a
varnished and richly gilt wood, from which he in-
haled, sometimes through the nose, at others through
the mouth, the fumes of an intoxicating weed, "called
tobacco" mingled with liquid-amber. While this
Boothing process of fumigation was going on, the
emperor enjoyed the exhibitions of his mountebanks
and jugglers, of whom a regular corps was attached
to the palace. No people, not even those of China
or Hindostan, surpassed the Aztecs in feats of agility
and legerdemain.
Sometimes he amused himself with his jester; for
the Indian monarch had his jesters, as well as his
more refined brethren of Europe, at. that day. In-
deed, he used to say, that more instruction was to be
gathered from them than from wiser men, for they
dared to tell the truth. At other times, he witnessed
the graceful dances of his women, or took delight in
listening to music, — if the rude minstrelsy of the
Mexicans deserve that name, — accompanied by a
VOL. II. — 16
chant, in a slow and solemn cadence, celebrating
the heroic deeds of great Aztec warriors, or of his
own princely line.
When he had sufficiently refreshed his spirits with
these diversions, he composed himself to sleep, for in
his siesta he was as regular as a Spaniard. On
awaking, he gave audience to ambassadors from for-
eign states, or his own tributary cities, or to such
caciques as had suits to prefer to him. They were
introduced by the young nobles in attendance, and,
whatever might be their rank, unless of the blood
royal, they were obliged to submit to the humilia-
tion of shrouding their rich dresses under the coarse
mantle of ncquai, and entering barefooted, with
downcast eyes, into the presence. The emperor
addressed few and brief remarks to the suitors, an-
swering them generally by his secretaries ; and the
parties retired with the same reverential obeisance,
taking care to keep their faces turned towards the
monarch. AVell might Cortes exclaim, that no court,
whether of the Grand Seignior or any other infidel,
ever displayed so pompous and elaborate a cere-
monial !
Besides the crowd of retainers already noticed, the
royal household was not complete without a host of
artisans constantly employed in the erection or re-
pair of buildings, besides a great number of jewel-
lers and persons skilled in working metals, who found
abundant demand for their trinkets aniens the dark-
eyed beauties of the harem. The imperial mum-
mers and jugglers were also very numerous, and the
dancers belonging to the palace occupied a particu-
lar district of the city, appropriated exclusively to
them.
The maintenance of this little host, amounting to
Bome thousands of individuals, involved a heavy ex-
penditure, requiring accounts of a complicated, and,
to a simple people, it might well be, embarrassing
nature. Every thing, however, was conducted witli
perfect order; and all the various receipts arid dis-
bursements were set down in the picture-writii g of
the country. The arithmetical characters were of
a more refined and conventional sort than those for
narrative purposes ; and a separate apartment was
filled with hieroglyphieal ledgers, exhibiting a com-
plete view of the economy of the palace. The care
of all this was intrusted to a treasurer, who acted
as a sort of major-domo in the household, having a
general superintendence over all its concerns, 'this
responsible office, on the arrival of the Spaniards,
was in the hands of a trusty cacique named Tapia.
Such is the picture of Montezuma's domestic esta-
blishment and way of living, as delineated by the
Conquerors and their immediate followers, who had
the best means of information ; too highly colored,
it may be, b}' the proneness to exaggerate, which
was natural to those who first witnessed a spectacle
so striking to the imagination, so new and unex-
pected. I have thought it best to present, the full
details, trivial though they may seem to the reader,
as affording a curious picture of manners, so superior
in point of refinement to those of the other Aborigi-
nal tribes on the North American continent. Kor
are they, in fact, so trivial, when we reflect, that, in
these details of private life, we possess a surer mea-
sure of civilization, than in those of a public nature.
In surveying them we are strongly reminded of
the civilization of the East; not of that higher, in-
tellectual kind which belonged to the more polished
Arabs and the Persians, but that semi-civilization
which has distinguished, for example, the Tartar ra-
ces, among whom art, and even science, have made,
indeed, some progress in their adaptation to material
wants and sensual gratification, but little in refer-
ence to the higher and more ennobling interests of
242
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
humanity. It is characteristic of such a people, to
find a puerile pleasure in dazzling and ostentatious
pageantry ; to mistake show for substance ; vain
pomp for power ; to hedge round the throne itself
with a barren and burdensome ceremonial, the coun-
terfeit of real majesty.
Even this, however, was an advance in refinement,
compared with the rude manners of the earlier Az-
tecs. The change may, doubtless, be referred in
some degree to the personal influence of Montezuma.
In his younger days, lie had tempered the fierce ha-
bits of the soldier with the milder profession of reli-
gion. In later life, he had withdrawn himself still
more from the brutalizing occupations of war, and
his manners acquired a refinement tinctured, it may
he added, with an effeminacj', unknown to Ms mar-
tial predecessors.
CHAELES FOLLEN.
Chaki.es Theodore Christian Follen was born
September 4th, 1796, at Romrud, in the Grand
Duchy of Hesse Darmstadt. He lost his mother
when lie was three years old, but her place was
supplied, so far as possible, by the tender care of
his father's second wife. His intercourse with
both these parents was always of the most affec-
tionate nature, and maintained after his separation
from them by frequent correspondence. He was
educated at the college or pedogogbim, and after-
wards at the University of Giessen, and chose the
law as his profession. While he was at the Uni-
versity the German War of Liberation broke out,
and Charles Follen, with his brothers, enlisted,
but was never in active service. On his return to
the University he took a leading part in efforts
for the improvement of the clubs of the students,
endeavoring to impart to these associations a na-
tional in place of a sectional character. In March,
1818, ho received his diploma as Doctor of Civil
Law, and in the summer of the same year was
employed in a case of national importance.
C T<rW>
Hsr\,
During the twenty years' continuance of the
French wars the " communities" or municipal as-
semblies of the towns and villages of the province
of Hesse, having to bear the brunt of the contest
without assistance from the government of the
Grand Dukedom, had, with the consent of the
government, contracted large debts. The interest
was regularly paid, and the creditors were satis-
fied, but advantage was taken of the circumstance
after the peace, to deprive these corporations of
the right of self-government on the plea that their
expenditures had been extravagant. A law to
this effect was published July 9. The communi-
ties applied to Follen to draw up a petition to the
Grand Duke for its repeal. He did so ; the docu-
ment was presented, and at the same time made
public through the press, and caused so strong an
expression of public opinion that the law was soon
repealed. He next drew up a petition asking for
the fulfilment of the promise of a constitutional
government made at the Congress of Vienna.
These acts were so distasteful to those in author-
ity that Follen was obliged to remove to Jena,
where lie delivered a course of lectures in the
winter of 181S-19 on- the Pandects of Justinian.
In March the assassination of Kotzebue by Sand
aroused the country. Follen was arrested in May
as an accomplice, examined and discharged ; but
again arrested in October, confronted with Sand
at Mannheim and acquitted, but forbidden to lec-
ture at Jena. He retired to Giessen, but hearing
that fresh persecutions were impending from the
government, resolved to leave Germany. He es-
caped to Strasburg, where he passed some time in
the study of architecture with his uncle Muller, who
was employed by the government to make draw-
ings of the Roman remains extant in the town.
He visited Paris and became acquainted with
La Fayette, but in consequence of the decree
which followed the assassination of the Due de
Berri, expelling foreigners not engaged in spe-
cified pursuits from the country, was obliged to
remove to Switzerland. He received an invita-
tion from the Countess of Benzel Sternau, who
sympathized with his opinions, to visit her at her
country-seat on the lake of Zurich ; and accepting
the proffered hospitality, remained in this beau-
tiful place until he accepted an appointment as
teacher in the cantonal school at Chur in the Gri-
sons. Ho resigned this charge within a year, in
consequence of the complaints which were made
that his religious teachings did not accord with
the prevailing Calvinism of the place. He imme-
diately received the appointment of Professor of
Civil and Ecclesiastical Law at Basle, and fulfilled
his duties until, by the influence of the other Eu-
ropean powers, the authorities were induced to
order his arrest. He hurried through France to
Havre, embarked in the Cadmus, which a few
months before had brought La Fayette to Ame-
rica, and landed at New York December 19, 1824.
He wrote to La Fayette, then at Washington, on
his arrival, and received from him introductions
to Mr. Du Ponceau and Professor George Ticknor,
by whose influence he was appointed teacher of
German in Harvard University in the autumn of
1825. During the winter he accepted invitations
to deliver a course of lectures on Civil Law, and
in 1826 opened a school for gymnastics in Boston.
1 In the winter of 1826 and '7 he was introduced,
by the lady whom he afterwards married, to Dr.
Channing, with whom he soon after commenced
a preparation for the ministry. He commenced
preaching in July, 1828, and shortly after was made
teacher of Ecclesiastical History and Ethics in the
CHARLES FOLLEN.
2±3
Theological School of Harvard, a temporary pro-
vision for five years having been made for the
support of Iiis German course. On the fifteenth
of September of the same year he was married
to Mi-s Eliza Lee Uabot of Boston.
His German Grammar was published about the
same time. In 1830 he resigned his post in the
divinity school, and gave a course of lectures on
Moral Philosophy in Boston. In 1831 he was in-
augurated Professor of German Literature at Har-
vard, on which occasion he pronounced an elabo-
rate Inaugural Address. In the winter of 1832 he
delivered a series of lectures on Schiller. In
these, after a brief account of the life of the author,
a critical analysis is given of each of his dramas,
with numerous illustrative extracts translated by
the lecturer in a happy manner. The course
closes with a comparison between Schiller and his
great contemporary Goethe. In 1834 the sub-
scription for the German professorship expired, and
was not renewed by the University in conse-
quence, it is said, of Dr. Follen having identified
himself prominently with the Abolition party.
He was therefore obliged to withdraw. In 1836
he published a tract, Religion and the Church,
designed to be the first of a series, but meeting
with no support he abandoned the work. In the
same year he accepted an invitation to take charge
of a Unitarian congregation. He remained in
this position until May, 1838, when he returned
to Boston. In May, 1839, he received a call to a
congregation at East Lexington, Massachusetts.
In December of the same year he visited New
York to deliver a course of lectures on German
literature. He embarked on his return in the
steamboat Lexington, January 13, 1840, ami was
one of the many who perished by the conflagra-
tion of that vessel in Long Island Sound.
Dr. Follen's works were collected and pub-
lished in five volume-, in 1841. The first of these
contains his life by his widow, with a selection
from his poetical productions in the German
language; the second, his sermons; the third,
Lectures on Moral Philosophy, and an unfinished
work on Psychology; the fourth, a portion, all
that were written out, of his lectures on Schiller;
the fifth, miscellaneous reviews and addresses.
SCHILLERS LOVE OF LIBERTY — FROM THE LECTURES ON
6CUILLER.
In what, now, I would ask, consists the individual
literary character of Scliiller as a dramatic poet?
Goethe, in speaking of the individual tendency of
Schiller's poetic nature and his own, said, " Schiller
preached the gospel of freedom ; I would not allow
the rights of nature to be encroached upon." The
word freedom is to be taken here in the sense of
Kant's philosophy, as synonymous with the moral
nature of man. His enthusiasm for freedom was
manifested in his resistance against all kinds of un-
natural and unreasonable restraint; freedom from
oppression, from fear, from prejudice, and from sin.
His love of liberty and hatred of oppression had
taken root early in the unnatural discipline of the
diaries Academy ; it had grown by his experience
of active life and the study of history. It appears
as a wild, untamable impulse in Charles Moor.
" The law has never formed a great man," he says,
" but liberty hatches wonders and extremes."
" Who is the greater tyrant," asks Fieseo, " he who
shows the intention, or he who has the power, to
become a tyrant ?" " I hate the former, I fear the
latter," answers Verrina ; " let Andrea Doria die!"
" Chains of iron or chains of silk, — they are chains,"
savs Burgogaino ; " let Andrea Doria die!"
" Restore to man his lost nobility ; let no duty
bind him except the equally venerable rights of his
fellow-men." These are the words of Posa to the
tyrant king. To the queen, when he commits to
her his last message to his friend Carlos, he sa3Ts,
" Tell him he shnll realize the bold dream of a new
state, the divine offspring of friendship!" It lias
been justly observed (by Menzel) that Schiller's Posa
maintains the rights of mankind; his Maid of Or-
leans fights for the rights of nations; the rights of
the individual are asserted by William Tell.
The second kind of freedom which I have men-
tioned, freedom from prejudice, appears in its
healthiest, purest, and highest form, in the truly
philosophic mind of Posa, while the same tendency
appears in its perversion and state of insanity in the
atheist, Francis Moor, who, by the chemical force
of his wit, sublimates the whole substance of the
moral world, respect and love, conscience and reli-
gion, into vapid prejudices, which he thinks he can
blow away by the breath of his mouth.
Freedom from prejudice in a more confined
sphere, and more practical form, appears in Ferdi-
nand Walter and Louisa Miller, contending for the
sacred rights of the heart, against the aristocracy of
Ferdinand's father and Lady Milford.
The same principle appears in that scene of
'■' William Tell," in which Rudenz, after his political
conversion by Bertha, enters the house after his
uncle's death, a:,d, after being reaeived by Walter
Furst and others as their future feudal lord, aspires
after the higher privilege of being considered by
them as a friend of the friends of his country.
When Melehtlial refuses to give Rudenz hLs hand,
Walter Furst says,
Give him your hand ! his returning heart
Deserves confidence.
Jf li-htliftL You hare never respected
The husbandman ; say. what shall we expect from yon 'i
Rwlenz. O do not remember the error of my youth !
M> I'Mlutl. Here is lny hand !
Tiie farmer's hand, my nohte Sir. is also
A pledge o. honor. What, without us, is
The knight 'l And our rauk is older than yours.
Freedom from fear, is another element of Schiller's
poetry. Courage, in its lower form, is the inspiring
principle in " Walleustein's Camp," while it appears
as manly greatness in him who is the idol of the
camp, who, when nil his supports from without have
dropped off, and left him a leafless trunk, feels and
announces that now his time has come, — for,
It must be night for Friedland's stars to shine.
The same principle appears in William Tell, as a
devoted trust in. God, and in the goodness of hi3
bow, his arm, and his conscience. It appears as
elevated resignation in Mary Stuart, and as heroic
inspiration in the Maid of Orleans.
The highest form of freedom, freedom from debas-
ing immorality, purity of heart, is so characteristic
of Schiller's poetry, that we may apply to it with
peculiar truth the words of Klopstock, in describing
German poetry. Schiller's poetry is a chaste virgin
looking up to heaven. It is this which gives, to Ids
great dramatic pictures, the highest ideal beauty,
the beauty of holiness. It is the consciousness of
holy innocence which gives to the simple daughter
of the musician, Miller, a s-'nse of rank which out-
shines all earthly distinctions, and will appear
brightest where all these walls of partition must
fall. "Then, mother," she says, " when every en-
velope of rank bursts, when men are nothing but
244
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
men, — I shall bring 'with me nothing but my inno-
cence. But my father says, ornaments and splendid
titles will become cheap when God comes, and
hearts rise in value. There, tears are accounted as
triumphs, and beautiful thoughts as ancestors.
Then I shall be a lady, ni3r mother. And what ad-
vantage will lie then have over his faithful girl?"
This is the brightest jewel in the diadem of the
Spanish Queen, Elizabeth, as the Marquis of Posa
describes her to his friend.
Arrayed in nature's unassuming glory,
"With careless unconcern, all unacquainted
"With calculating, school-taught etiquette,
Equally free from boldness and from fear.
With calm, heroic step she moves along
The narrow, middle path of modesty;
Knows not that she exacted adoration,
When she was far from dreaming of applause.
It is the consciousness of the purity of his purpose,
which enables the single-hearted hunter of the Alps
to bend his peaceful bow to works of blood. It was
' that purity which makes the simple wise, that en-
abled Bertha, of Bruneck, to open the eyes of her
deluded lover to the deception of which he was the
object, and to his own true destiny and duty. — The
Maid of Orleans, the pure virgin, was intrusted with
the standard of Heaven : it was the faith in her own
purity which made the sword invincible in her
hand. — But the power and beauty of this moral
principle, the prophetic wisdom of childlike inno-
cence, is most fully and gloriously displayed in Max
and Thekhi. When Max is wavering between the
two ways, one of which leads to the possession of
his Thekla, and is recommended to his heart by the
filial gratitude he owes to her father,— while the
other, pointed out by his conscience, is darkened by
the treachery of his own father, and still more, by
the certain loss of his highest hope in life, — it is in
this moment of fearful doubt, that he says,
"Where is the voice of truth which T dare follow ?
It speaks no longer in my heart. Yv'o all
But utter what our passionate wishes dictate ;
O that an angel would descend from heaven.
And scoop for me the right, the uncorrnpted,
With a pure hand from the pure Fount of Light.
(///* eye* glance on Tkrfda.)
What other angel seek I ? To.this heart,
To this unerring heart will I submit it ;
Will ask thy love which has the power to hless
The hippy man alone, averted ever
From the disquieted and guilty, — canst thou
Still love me if I stay ? Say that thou canst,
Aud I am the Duke's % j. % # ^
********
Speak and let thy heart decide it.
Thelda. O thy own
Hath long aire decided. Follow thou
Thy hearts first feeling.
********
Being faithful
To thine own self, thou art faithful too to me.
If our fates part, our hearts remain united.
A bloody hatred will divide for ever
The houses Piccolomini and Friedland :
But we belong not to our houses ; — Go !
Tims, when conflicting passions, interests, and
fears have darkened the way of duty before us, it is
the inward light, it is purity of heart which reveals
the narrow path. The pure in heart see the truth,
because it is they alone that see God.
Schiller's enthusiasm for liberty was not a nega-
tive or destructive principle. He manifested in his
poetry a striving after freedom from oppression,
from fear, from prejudice, and sin, from all earthly
and unreasonable restraints, that the spiritual prin-
ciple of human nature might unfold itself purely and
fully in the individual and in society. His love of
freedom is only a manifestation of the spirit of love,
of that pure delight in perfection, the love of na-
ture, of man, and of God, which is the life of his
poetry.
" Quiet kingdom of plants I in thy silent wonder's
I hear the steps of the Deity ; thy meritless excel-
lence carries my inquiring mind upward to the
highest understanding ; in thy still mirror I see his
divine image reflected. Man troubles the silver
stream ; where man walks, the Creator disappears."
That Schiller loved in nature what excites most
deeply those powers and passions which are peculiar
to man, might be shown by many other passages.
Who does not remember the sunset on the banks of
the Danube, in " The Robbers" ? " Thus is a hero's
death adorable. When I was a boy, it was my
favorite thought to live like the sun, to die like him.
It was a boyish thought. There was a time when I
could not sleep if I' had forgotten my evening
prayers. 0 my innocence ! See, all have gone
forth to sun themselves in the peaceful beam of
spring ; — why must I alone inhale infernal in-
fluences from the joys of heaven ? All is so linppy ;
all beings related to each other by the spirit of
peace, the whole world one family, and one Father
above ! not my father; — I alone rejected, alone ex-
cluded fro. n the ranks of the pure. Not to me the
sweet name of child, — not to me the languishing
look of the loved one, — never, never the embrace
of a bosom friend."
Who does not remember the impression of the
sunrise over Genoa upon the ambitious Fiesco, and
that of the sunrise in the Alps upon the united
Swiss ? These are the words of Fiesco.
" This majestic city! mine! to rise upon it like
the royal day, to brood over it with a monarch's
power! One moment of royalty absorbs all the
marrow of human existence. Split the thunder into
its elementary syllables, and it becomes a lullaby
for babes ; join them together into one sudden peal,
and the royal sound moves the eternal heavens."
In the Riitli, Rossclman, the priest, says, when he
sees the morning place its glowing sentries on the
mountain tops —
By tins pure liirht which greets us first of all
The nations thar arc dwelling far below,
Heavily breathing in the smoke of cities.
Let us swear the oath of our new covenant.
We will be one nation of brothers, never
To separate in danger or distress.
We will be free, free as our fathers were,
And rather die than live in servitude.
Wre '11 put our trust upon the highest God,
And thus we will not fear the power of men.
The Swiss fisherman sees, in the fearful agitation
of the lake, the power of the angel of diyine ven-
geance, that has stirred up the deep waters against
the tyrant that is floating upon them.
Judgments of God ! yes, it is he himself
The haughty Landvogt, — there he sails along,
And with him, in his ship, he bears his crime.
O swiftly the Avenger's arm has found him 1
Now o'er himself he knows a stronger master.
The waves hoed not his bidding ;
These rocks will not bow down their heads before
His hat. Nay, do not pray, my boy, do not
Attempt, to stay the arm of the Avenger.
The restless, homesick spirit of the Queen of Scot-
land soars beyond her prison, and embarks in the
clouds, flitting overhead.
Hastening clouds I ye sailors on high (
With you I would wander, with you I would fly.
Greet for me sweetly the land of my youth !
Doomed in this land of bondage to tarry,
Ah ! I have no one my message to carry.
Free in the air is your lofty way.
Par beyond this Queen's imperious sway.
In " The Misanthrope," the disappointed lover of
man seeks consolation in nature.
" Man, noble, lofty phenomenon, most beautiful
of all the thoughts of the Creator. How rich, how
perfect did you proceed from his hands ! What.
CALVIN COLTON: WALTER COLTON.
245
melodies slept in your breast before your passion
destroyed the golden play ! All beings around you
seek and attain the beautiful stature of perfection ;
you alone stand unripe and misshapen in the fault-
less plan. Discerned by no eye, admired by no un-
derstanding, the pearl in the silent shell, the crystal
in the depth of the mountain, strive after the most
perfect form. Gratefully all the children of nature
present the ripened fruits to the contented mother;
wherever she has sowed, she finds a harvest ; you
alone, her dearest, her most favored son, are not
among them ; only what she gave to you she finds
no more, she knows it no mure in its disfigured
beauty.
" Be perfect! Harmonies without number are
slumbering in you, to awake at your bidding ; call
them forth by your excellence. To bless you is the
coronal after which all beings are aspiring; your
wild passion opposes this kind intention ; you forci-
bly pervert the beneficent objects of nature. Ful-
ness of life she haa spread around you, and you
extract death from it. Your hatred sharpened the
peaceful iron into a sword ; your avarice charges
with crimes and curses the innocent gold ; on your
intemperate lip the life of the vine becomes poison.
That which is perfect serves your crimes, but your
crimes do not infect it. You can rob it of its des-
tination, but of the obedience with which it serves
you, you cannot deprive it. Be humane, or be
a barbarian ; with equally suitable pulsation the
loyal heart will accompany your hatred or your
gentleness."
The most vast and sublime illustration of the
moral nature and destiny of man by the nature of
God's creation, is to be found in the address of l'osa
to the Spanish King.
Look round
On God's beautiful world 1 Lo ! it is founded
On freedom ; and behold 1 bow rich it i i
Through freedom. He, the great Creator, throws
Into a drop of dew. an insect, and allows
That even in the dread realms of corruption
Desire should find delight, Your world, how narrow,
How poor 1 The rustling of a leaf affrights
The lord of Christendom. Yon, Sire, must tremble
At every virtue, lie, rather than preclude
The beautiful phenomenon of freedom,
Even allows the dreadful host of evil
To raire in his creation. Him, the artist,
You see not; modestly he disappears
Behind eternal laws ; — and the freethinker
Sees these, but sees not Him. "Why does it need
A God ? he says ; the world is self-sufficient.
And never Christian's worship lias extolled Him,
Better than that freethinker's blasphemy.
To these passages, selected front the dramatic
compositions of Schiller, many others might be
added from his various works, to show how his love
of nature was characterized by the prevailing ten-
dency of his mind. He loved nature for herself, in
all her various shapes and moods ; but he loved
best those things in nature which call forth most
effectually the energies, the strong and tender emo-
tions and high aspirations of the soul, all that
reminds man of his sublime destiny, and aids him in
attaining it. He saw in her the true friend of man,
exercising over him, according to the different states
of his mind, an exhilarating or consoling, inspiriting
or tranquillizing influence ; again he saw in her a
salutary enemy of man, rousing his active powers to
constant watchfulness and brave resistance ; finally,
he found in her a prophet, that is sent to man
to solve the dark enigmas of his own being and
destiny.
Free lorn and love, the two elements of our moral
nature, of true humanity, are the living springs of
Schiller's poetry. The history of his dramatic
genius, winch I have endeavored to set before you,
shows how this spirit of freedom and love grew in
him, to the end of bis course. This spirit, which in
" The Robbers," and other productions of his early
life, which might well be called the heroic age of
his genius, appears in the shape of Hercules, with
the club and the lion-skin, going about to free the
earth from tyrants and monsters; the same spirit
appears in his " Carlos," and his later productions,
in his " Maid of Orleans," his " Mary Stuart," his
" William Tell." It is the instinct of liberty war-
ring against the tyranny of circumstances and arbi-
trary institutions. In " The Conspiracy of Fiesco,"
it appears in the character of Fiesco* himself,
united with the ruling passion of ambition ; while
in that of Verrina it assumes the austere grandeur
of a Roman and a Stoic. In "Intrigue and Love,"
all the imperfe tons of European governments are
unsparingly exposed. The old Adam of the feudal
world, with all his imperfections and deformities, is
brought before the confessional of sound reason and
enlightened philanthropy.
His poetry is, indeed, essentially a revelation of
moral beauty ; all bis dramatic pro ructions prove
his faith, that while all other created beings are
confined by necessary laws to a finite mode of exist-
ence, man alone possesses a creative power, being
able to form his own character, and capable of infi-
nite advancement. The freedom, the moral nature
of man, is the native soil of his poetry ; every good
principle loves to grow in it, and, for this very
reason, does not appear as the forced production of
rigid self-control, but as springing up from the
abundance of the heart with living grace and ideal
beauty.
Mes. Follex, after the death of Iter husband,
undertook the entire charge of the education of
their only son, a boy about ten years oil. To
facilitate this and other objects, she received into
her house a few other pupils, all of whom she
fitted for matriculation at Harvard. In addition
to the Memoir of her husband, this lady is the
author of Sketches of Married Life ; The Skeptic,
a tale ; a volume of Poems on Occasional Topics,
published in 1839, and a number of magazine
tales and sketches.
The following is from her volume of poems.
ON TnE DEATH OF A BEAUTIFTTL GIRL.
The young, the lovely, pass away,
Ne'er to be seen again ;
Earth's fairest flowers too soon decay
Its blasted trees remain.
Full oft, we see the brightest thing
That lifts its head on high,
Smile in the light, then droop its wing,
And fade away, and die.
And kindly is the lesson given;
Then dry the falling tear:
They came to raise our hearts to Heaven ;
They go to call us there.
CALVIN COLTON.
Calvin Colton was born at Long Meadow, Mas-
sachusetts. He was graduated at Yale College in
1812; and after completing a course of divinity
at Andover, was ordained a Presbyterian cler-
gyman in 1815. He became a minister of a
congregation at Batavia, New York, a position
he retained until compelled in 1826, by the
failure of his voice, to abandon preaching; af-
ter which, he employed himself by contribut-
216
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURR
ing to various religious and literary periodi-
cals. In the summer of 1831, after having
made a long tour through the states and terri-
tories of the American Union, he visited Lon-
don as a correspondent of the New York Obser-
ver. During his residence in England he pub-
lished in 1832, A Manual for Emigrants to Ame-
rica, and The History and Character of American
Revivals of Religion, which passed through two
or three editions : in 1833, incited by the constant
attacks by the British press on everything con-
nected with the people of this country, he pub-
lished a spirited defence entitled The Americans
by an American in London, and during the same
year, T7ie American Cottager, a popular religious
story; A Tmir of the American Lakes and among
the Indians of the Korth West Territory, in two
volumes, and Church and State in America, a
defence of the voluntary system, in reply to some
remarks of the Bishoo of London.
/(r? . 5^-£^
Soon after his return to New York in 1835, he
published Four Years in Great Britain ; and in
1830, an anonymous work entitled Protestant
Jesuitism, in which he reviewed the intriguing
and intolerant course of many of the prominent
religious and benevolent organizations of the coun-
try with openness and severity. His nest work,
Thoughts on the Religious State of the Country,
and Reasons for preferring Episcopacy, presented
the causes of his recent step in taking Episcopal
orders.
Mr. Colton next devoted his attention to politi-
cal topics. In 1838, he published, Abolition a
Sedition, and Abol.tinn and Colonization Con-
trasted; in 1831), A Voice from America to Eng-
land by an American Gentleman, a work some-
what similar to his Americans; in 184-0, The
Crisis of the Country, American Jacobinism, and
One Presidential Term, a series of tracts with the
signature of "Junius" which were very widely,
circulated by the Whig party, and were supposed
to have exerted a powerful influence on the elec-
tion of General Harrison. In 1842, he edited a
paper at Washington called the True Whig, and
in 1843 and '4 published a new series, ten in num-
ber, of the Junius Tracts.
In November, 1844, he visited Henry Clay at
Ashland, to collect materials for a Life of the great
statesman ; for whose elevation to the Presidency
he had, in common with so great a multitude of
his countrymen, labored long and arduously. Mr.
Clay permitted free access to his papers, and the
work was completed and published in the spring
of 1844, in two octavo volumes.
In the same year he published The Rights of
Labor, a work in defence of a protective tariff.
It was followed by a second and more extensive
work on political economy in 1848, entitled Pub-
lic Economy for the United States, in which he
advocates the protective system. His last work
is a volume entitled The Genius and Mission of
the Protestant EpAscopal Church in the United
States, in which his aim is to show the descent of
that body from the Apostolic age, independent of
the church of Rome ; its purification from error
at the Reformation and emancipation from state
control at the American Revolution, with its sub-
sequent rapid progress and consequent incumbent
duties.
Mr. Colton was a few years since appointed
professor of Political Economy in Trinity College,
Hartford, a position which he still retains.
WAI/TEE COLTON
Was born in Rutland, Vt., in 1 797. He was gra-
duated from Yale College in 1 822, and after a three
years' course at Andover, was ordained a Congre-
gational clergyman. He became a teacher in an
academy at Middletown, Conn. ; and while thus
occupied, wrote a prize essay on Duelling, and a
number of articles in prose and verse, with the
signature of "Bertram," for various journals.
In 1S28, he became editor of the American
Spectator, a weekly political paper at AVashing-
ton, and an intimate friend of General Jackson,
who in 1830, on a sea voyage being recommend-
ed for the benefit of Mr. Colton's health, offered
him a consulship or a chaplaincy in the navy.
He accepted* the clerical post, and joined the West
India squadron. A characteristic anecdote is re-
lated of his self-possession while on the station.
He had occasion to comment with severity on the
conduct of the police during an affray between
several American sailors and a party of Spaniards,
in which several of the former were killed. The
mayor of the place, a Spaniard, rushed on the
chaplain with a long knife, but being met "by the
other with a drawn pistol and a threat to shoot if
he advanced a step, desisted.
On his return, he was appointed to the Constel-
lation frigate, and made a three years' cruise in
the Mediterranean, during which he derived the
materials for his Ship and Shore, and Visit to
Constantinople and Athens, volumes published in
1835 and 1836. He was next appointed Historio-
grapher to the Exploring Expedition ; but in con-
sequence of the reduction of the force originally de-
signed to be sent did not accompany it, but was
stationed at Philadelphia as chaplain of the Navy
Yard, and afterwards of the Naval Asylum. He
also edited in 1841 and 1842, the Philadelphia
North American, and wrote articles for other
journals.
In 1844, he delivered a poem entitled The
Sailor at the Commencement of the University of
Vermont, which is still in manuscript. In 1846
he was married, and soon after ordered to the
squadron for the Pacific. A short time after his
arrival at Monterey he was appointed Alcalde of
the city, an office which he discharged during the
Mexican war with efficiency. He also established
the Californian, the first newspaper printed in
California, which was afterwards transferred to
San Francisco, and entitled the Alta California.
He was also the builder of the first school-house
in the present state ; and in a letter published in
the- Philadelphia North American, ihe first to
make known the discovery of California gold to
the residents of the Atlantic states. During his
residence on the Pacific he wrote Deck and Port
and Three Tears in California.
HUGH SWINTON LEGARE.
247
He returned to Philadelphia in the summer of
1850, and was busily engaged in the preparation
of additional volumes of his travels, when in con-
sequence of exposure on a visit to Washington he
took a violent cold, which led to a dropsy, of
which he died on the 22d of January, 1851.
Two additional volumes from his pen, Land and
Lee and The Sea and the Sailor, Notes on France
and Italy, and other Literary Remains, appeared
shortly after his decease ; the last, accompanied
by a Memoir of the author, from his friend the
Iiev. Henry T. Cheever.
The style of Mr. Colton's volumes is lively and
entertaining. He has also his serious vein, is fond
of sentiment, which often advances from prose into
simple but harmonious verse. The long series of
volumes to which his wanderings have extended,
furnishes in this a proof of their popular accepta-
tion.
HUGH SWINTON LEGAEE.
Hugh Swinton Legake, one of the ablest and
. most accomplished scholars the country has pro-
duced, was born in Charleston, South Carolina,
January 2, 1797. As his name, in connexion
with the place of his nativity, imports, he was of
Huguenot ancestry. On his mother's side, from
whom he derived the name of Swinton, he was
of Scotch descent. His father dying left him en-
tirely dependent, at an early age, upon his mother,
a lady everyway qualified for the discharge of her
duties. In his fourth year it was deemed neces-
sary to inoculate the child with the small-pox.
The virus acted with unusual power upon the sys-
tem, and finally concentrated its force in large
sores on the elbows and knees. He was thus
compelled to lie on his back for some three
months, and was reduced from a hearty state of
health to a mere skeleton, being carried about on
a pillow in his mother's arms. The tumors were
linally healed, but produced a lasting effect on his
growth, so that for eight or nine years he made
scarcely any perceptible advance in stature. After
that period he suddenly shot up, but the growth
was almost entirely in the upper part of the body,
leaving him with limbs of dwarfed proportions.
The defects of his body, however, contributed in
some measure to the development of his mind, by
forcing him to seek employment and pleasure in
intellectual rather than athletic exercises.
His education commenced at an early age, for
he learnt to read while carried about, as we have
related, in his mother's arms. He was sent to
school before his sixth year, and passing through
the hands of successive teachers — man}7 of whom,
themselves persons of distinguished abilities, ex-
pressed prognostications of his future eminence —
entered the then recently established University
of South Carolina at Columbia in his fourteenth
year. His favorite studies during his collegiate
career were the classics and philosophy. The other
departments of the course were, however, not neg-
lected, as he was graduated at the head of his class.
He then commenced the study of the law under
the charge of one of his former teachers, Mr.
Mitchell King,* who had in the meantime become
* Mr. King was a man of great benevolence as well as ability.
At a subsequent period he accepted, at great loss and incon-
venience, tiio office of Eecorder and City Judge of Charleston,
I a leading practitioner of Charleston. After three
; years of diligent preparation he was, on arriving
| at the age of twenty-one, fully qualified for ad-
| mission to the bar, but instead of presenting him-
self for examination he determined to pursue his
legal studies at the European Universities.
In May, 1818, he sailed from Charleston to Bor-
deaux, and at once proceeded to Paris, where he
remained several months. His previous study of
many of the modern languages had qualified him
to appear with advantage in continental society,
but the chief portion of his time was devoted to
the study of the law and of the languages, with
which he had not as yet become thoroughly con-
versant, k
From Paris he removed to Edinburgh instead
of, as he originally proposed, Gottingen. On his
arrival he entered the classes of civil law, natural
philosophy, and mathematics, of the University,
which were in the charge of Irving, Playfair, and
Murray. He also attended the private class of the
Professor of Chemistry, Dr. Murray. His chief
attention was given to the law, but the testimony
of his associate, Mr. Preston, proves him to have
'been a hard student in the other departments as
well. " He gave three hours a day to Playfair,
Leslie, and Murray, in the lecture-room. From
eight to ten were devoted to Ileineccius, Cujacius,
and Terrasson ; side by side with whom lay upon
his table, Dante and Tusso, Guicciardini, Davila,
and Machiavelli. To this mass of labor he ad-
dressed himself with a quiet diligence, sometimes
animated into a sort of intellectual joy. On one
occasion he found himself at breakfast, Sunday
morning, on the same seat where he had break-
fasted the day before — not having quitted it
meantime."
At the conclusion of his course in Edinburgh
he passed a year in travelling in Scotland, Eng-
land, France, Belgium, the Rhine, and Switzer-
land, returning to Charleston by way of New
York and Washington. His first attention on his
return home was given to the affairs of his mo-
ther's plantation on John's Island near Charleston,
which had suffered for want of efficiency in its
management. He was elected from this district
in the autumn after his arrival, a member of the
Lower House of the General Assembly of the
State for a term of two years, from 1820 to 1822.
At the close of this period he became, in conse-
quence of the requirements of his profession, a re-
sident of Charleston, where the mother and son,
being unwilling to he separated, the remainder of
the family soon followed him.
His extensive erudition seems, as is sometimes
the case, to have acted unfavorably to his success.
Clients supposed him more at home in the study
than the court-room. " Sir," said he, in answer
to a query addressed to him at that time, " do you
ask how I get along? Do you inquire what my
trade brings me in? I will tell you. I have a
variety of cases, and, by the bounty of Provi-
dence, sometimes get a fee; but in general, sir, I
practise upon the old Koman plan ; and, like Ci-
and performed its duties gratuitously, in order that the previ-
ous incumbent. Judge Axson, incapacitated by paralysis, might
still continue in the receipt of his official emoluments. He
continued these gratuitous services during the life of Judgo
Axson, and for a few months after his decease f*>r the benefit of
his surviving family.
248
CYCLOP /EDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
cero's, ray clients pay mo what they like — that
is, often, nothing at all."
In 1824 he was again elected a member of the
state legislature, where he remained until chosen
by it Attorney-General of the state. During the
stormy discussions of this period he was an advo-
cate of the doctrine of states rights, but opposed
to nullification.
On the organization of the Southern Review in
1827, he gave efficient aid in the plan and prose-
cution of the work, contributing on more than one
occasion more than half the matter of a number.
The increase of his professional practice, and his
appointment finally as State Attorney, compelled
him, after a few years, to cea^e his contributions,
and the Review, deprived of his powerful aid, was
soon after discontinued.
While State Attorney he was called to argue a
case before the Supreme Court at Washington.
The ability he displayed attracted universal admi-
ration, and led to his intimate acquaintance with
Mr. Livingston, then Secretary of State, whose
eminence in the department of civil law rendered
him competent to appreciate the talents and learn-
ing displayed by the pleader in the same field.
The Secretary soon after tendered Legare the ap-
pointment of Charge d'Affaires at the Court of
Brussels for the express purpose of enabling him
to carry his study of the civil law still further
with a view to qualify himself for the discus-
sion of the question, as to what extent the incor-
poration of the system into that of the United
States might be desirable. The appointment was
accepted, and Legare at once entered on its duties.
These were slight, leaving him ample time for
study, which he improved by a course of civil law
under Savigny, and the acquisition of the Dutch,
German, and Romaic languages. He remained in
his mission for four years, returning in the sum-
mer of 1836 to New York, where he was met by
the offer, earnestly pressed upon his acceptance,
of a nomination for Congress. He was elected,
and entered the House of Representatives at the
commencement of the Van Buren administration.
At the extra session in September he delivered
a masterly speech in opposition to the policy of
the sub-treasury. His opinions were those of the
minority in his state, and at the next election he
was defeated.
He returned with renewed ardor to his pro-
fessional career, and distinguished himself greatly
in the conduct of several important cases. He
also entered warmly into the presidential contest
of 1840, and delivered eloquent speeches at Rich-
mond and New York. His article on Demos-
thenes, for the New York Review, was written
about the same time.
In 1841 Legare was appointed, by Mr. Tyler,
Attorney-General of the United States. It was
an office for which he was eminently qualified, and
in which he eminently distinguished himself.
After the withdrawal of Mr. Webster on the rati-
fication of the Ashburton treaty, in the composi-
tion of which, especially in the portion regarding
the right of search, Mr. Legare bad rendered im-
portant service, he discharged for some time the
duties of the Department of State.
In January, 1843, he sustained a severe do-
mestic affliction in the death of his mother, to
whom he was devotedly attached. They were
soon, however, to be united in death as they had
been in life. In the following June the President
and cabinet visited Boston to take part in the ce-
remonies attending the completion of the Bunker
Hill Monument. Mr. Legare was seized, on his
arrival in Boston, with a disease of the bowels
which had, during the previous autumn, produced
such extreme suffering as to cause the declaration
to his sister, that if it pleased God he would ra-
ther die than live in such torment. He was una-
ble to take part in the celebration of the following
day, Saturday, and on Sunday yielded to the soli-
citations of his friend, Professor George Ticknor,
and was removed to his residence in Park street,
where he died on the morning of the tweutieth of
the same month.
His writings were collected by his sifter and
published at Charleston in 1846, with a memoir.*
They form two large octavo volumes, and contain
his journals during his diplomatic residence abroad,
filled with lively details of court gossip, his stu-
dies and observations, public and private corres-
pondence, speeches and articles for the New
York and Southern Reviews. These articles are
for the most part on classical or legal subjects, the
remainder being devoted, with few exceptions, to
authors of the day. They display thorough eru-
dition, and are admirable as models of hearty
scholarship and finished composition.
CHARACTERISTICS OF LORD BYRON.t
Lord Byron's life was not a literary, or cloistered
and scholastic life. He had lived generally in the
* Writings of Husrh Swinton Legare, late Attorney-General,
Acting Secretary of State of the I'nitefl States; consisting of a
Diary of Brussels, and Journal of the Bhine ; extracts from his
Private and iplnmatic Correspondence; Orations and Speech-
es, and Contributions to the New York and Southern Reviews;
Prefaced by a Memoir of his Life. Edited by bis Sister.
Charleston. S. C. : Bnrges &. James. lS4f>.
t From an article uu Moore's Life of Byron in the Southern
Review. \
DAVID J. M'CORD.
249
world, and always and entirely for the world. The
amat nanus etfugit urbes, which has been predicated
of the whole tuneful tribe, was only in a qualified
Bense a characteristic of his. If he sought seclusion,
it was not for the retired leisure or the sweet and
innocent tranquillity of a country life. His retreats
were rather like that of Tiberius at Caprere — the
gloomy solitude of misanthropy and remorse, hiding
its despair in darkness, or seeking to stupify and
drown it in vice and debauchery. But, even when
he fled from the sight of men, it was only that he
might be sougat after the more, and, in the depth of
his hiding places, as was long ago remarked of Ti-
mon of Athens, lie could not live without vomiting
forth the gall of his bitterness, and sending abroad
most elaborate curses in good verse to be admired
of the very wretches whom, he affected to despise.
He lived in the world, and for the world — nor is it
often that a career so brief affords to biography so
much impressive incident, or that the folly of an un-
disciplined and reckless spirit has assumed such a
motley wear, and played off, before God and man,
so many extravagant and fantastical antics.
On the other hand, there was, amidst all its irre-
gularities, somethi. g strangely interest!; g, some-
thing, occasionally, even grand and imposing in Lord
Byron's character and mode of life. His whole be-
ing was, indeed, to a remarkable degree, extraordi-
nary, fanciful, and fascinating. All that drew upon
him the eyes of men, whether for good or evil — his
passions a id his genius, his enthusiasm and his woe,
his triumphs and his downfall — sprang from the
same source, a feverish temperament, a burning, dis-
tempere 1, insatiable imagination ; and these, in their
turn, acted most powerfully upon the imagination
and the sensibility of others. We well remember a
time — it is not more than two lustres ago — when
we could never think of him ourselves but as an
ideal being — a creature, to use his own words, " of
loneliness and mystery" — moving about the earth
like a troubled spirit, and even when in the midst
of men, not of them. The enchanter's robe which
he wore seemed to disguise his person, and like an-
other famous sorcerer and sensualist —
he hurled
TTis dazzling spells into tin- spunky air.
Of power to cheat the eye with ble,ar illusion
And.give it f'Jse presentments.
It has often occurred to us, as we have seen Sir "Wal-
ter Scott diligently hobbling up to his daily task in
the Parliament House at Edinburgh, and still more
when we have gazed upon him for hours seated down
at his clerk's desk, with a countenance of most de-
mure and business-like formality, to contrast him, in
that situation, with the only man, who had not been,
at the time, totally overshadowed and eclipsed by
his genius. It was, indeed, a wonderful contrast!
Never did two such men — competitors in the high-
est walks of creative imagination and deep pathos —
present such a strange antithesis of moral character,
and domestic habits and pursuits, as Walter Scott at
home, and Lord Byron abroad. It was the differ-
ence between prose and poetry — between the dull-
est realities of existence and an incoherent, though
powerful and agitating romance — between a falcon
trained to the uses of a domestic bird, and, instead
of " towering in her pride of place," brought to stoop
at the smallest quarry, and to wait upon a rude
sportsman's bidding like a menial servant — and some
savage, untamed eagle, who, after struggling with
the bars of his cage, until his breast was bare and
bleeding with the agony, had flung himself forth,
once more, upon the gale, and was again chasing
before him the " whole herd of timorous and flock-
ing birds," and making his native Alps, through all
their solitudes, ring to his boding and wild scream.
Lord Byron's pilgrimages to distant and famous
lands — especially his first — heightened this effect of
his genius and of his very peculiar mode of existence.
Madame de Staiil ascribes it to his good fortune or
the deep policy of Napoleon, that he had succeeded
in associating his name with some of those objects
which have, through all time, most strongly im-
pressed the imaginations of men, with the Pyramids,
the Alps, the Holy Laud, &a. Byron had the same
advantage. His muse, like Horace's image of Care,
mounted with him the steed and the gondola, the
post-chaise, and the packet-ship. His poems are, in
a manner, the journals and common-place books of
the wandering Childe. Thus, it is stated or hinted
that a horrible incident, like that upon which the
Giaour turns, had nearly taken place within Byron's
own observation while in the East. His sketches of
the sublime and beautiful in nature seem to be
mere images, or, so to express it, shadows thrown
down upon his pages from the objects which he
visited, only colored and illumined with such feel-
ings, reflections, and associations, as they naturally
awaken in contemplative and susceptible minds. His
early visit to Greece, and the heartfelt enthusiasm
with which he dwelt upon hsr loveliness even "in
her age of woe" — upon the glory which once adorn-
ed, and that which might still await her — have
identified him with her name, in a manner which
subsequent events have made quite remarkable.
His poetry, when we read it over again, seems to
breathe of •' the sanctified phrensy of prophecy and
inspiration." He now appears to have been the
herald of her resuscitation. The voice of lamenta-
tion, which he sent forth over Christendom, was as
if it had issued from all her caves, fraught with the
woe and the wrongs of ages, and the deep vengeance
which at length awoke — and not in vain! In ex-
pressing ourselves as we have done upon this sub-
ject, it is to us a melancholy reflection that our lan-
guage is far more suitable to what wc have felt, than
to what we now feel, in reference to the life and
character of Lord Byron. The last years of that
life — the wanton, gross, and often dull and feeble
ribaldry of some of his latest productions, broke the
spell which he had laid upon our souls ; and we are
by no means sure that we have not since yielded
too much to the disgust and aversion which follow
disenchantment like its shadow.
DAVID J. M-C0I1D
"Was born near M'Cord's Ferry, South Carolina,
January, 17'J7, and was educated at the College
at Columbia, in that state; where, among his
class-mates and intimates, were the late Hugh S.
Legare and Professor II. J. Kott.
In 1818 Mr. M'Cord was admitted to the bar,
and soon acquired a large practice. Among his
associates in the profession were the late Chan-
cellor Harper, the Hon. W. C. Preston, Professor
Nott, the Hon. W. F. De Saussure, Colonel Blind-
ing, Colonel Gregg, and the Hon." A. P. Butler,
since of the United States Senate. In connexion
with Mr. Nott, he published two volumes of Law
Reports of South Carolina, known as Nott and
M'Cord's Reports, and afterwards, unassisted, four
volumes of Law Reports and two of Chancery
Reports. In connexion with Colonel Blanding,
he published also one volume of the " South Ca-
rolina Law Journal."
In May, 183'J, Mr. M'Cord was appointed by
the Governor to publish the " Statutes at Large
of South Carolina ;" a work which had been coin-
250
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
menced under the authority of the state, by his
friend the late Dr. Thomas Cooper. Dr. Cooper's
death occurring before the completion of the
fourth volume of the work, it was transferred to
Mr. M'Cord, by whom ft was completed. The
work is in ten volumes octavo, including a gene-
ral index.
Mr. M'Cord, in addition to these literary labors
of the law, was a frequent writer of various perio-
dicals, chiefly on subjects of the science of govern-
ment and political economy. He was a writer
for both series of the Southern Review, under
the editorship of Mr. Stephen Elliott and Mr.
Simins.* In these articles he was an eloquent
supporter of Southern institutions, and an earnest
and able advocate of free trade.
Mr. M'Cord was for several }'ears a representa-
tive of the district of Eichland in the Legisla-
ture of South Carolina, and was Chairman of the
Committee of Federal Eolations, an important
position at the time. To his exertions are princi-
pally due the abolition of the late Court of Ap-
peals (composed of three judges), and the establish-
ment of a system which, improved by subsequent
suggestions of Mr. Pettigru, is now in force. Mr.
M'Cord retired from the practice of the law in
1836, and after 1840 occupied himself almost
entirely as a cotton planter.
He died after a brief illness, at his residence at
Columbia, May 12, 1855.
The warm personal tribute to his memory in a
notice of his merits at the bar and in society, ap-
peared the following week in a newspaper at
Columbia, from the pen of his friend and former
law associate, the Hon. W. C. Preston. It is also
a genial account of the higher social and literary
society of Columbia — and, we may add, a happy
reflection of the generous nature and accomplish-
ments of the writer. We present it entire from
the South Carolinian of May 17.
Messrs. Editors: In the announcement of the
death of Mr. M'Cord, in your paper of the 9th
instant, you intimate an expectation that some one
will furnish a notice of the life and character of that
gentleman. Pending the performance of this pious
office by some friend capable of executing it fitly,
let me cast a glove into his grave, and place a sprig
of cypress upon it. Such a work of tenderness I
had loudly hoped to have received at his hand, in-
stead of being called upon out of the ordinary
course of nature to offer it at his tomb.
Many will bring tributes of sorrow, of kindness
and affection, and relieve a heaving bosom by utter-
ing words of praise and commendation ; for in
truth, during many years he has been the charm and
delight of the society of Columbia, and of that so-
ciety, too, when, in the estimation of all who knew
it, it was the rarest aggregation of elegant, intellec-
tual, and accomplished people that have ever been
found assembled in our village. Thirty years since,
amidst the cordial and unostentatious cordiality
* Among Ills contributions to the Review were — Political
Economy, Manufactures, April, 1&4G; Memphis Convention,
October, 1S40 : Lieber's Political Ethics, October, 1S4T ; The
Federal Constitution, November, 164S; Industrial Exchanges,
July, 1S49; Navigation Laws, January and Apt II, 1860; Califor-
nia Gold, April, 1-52 ; Lite of a Negro Slave, Jan., 1853 : Civil
Liberty and Self Government, April, 1S54; Africans at Home,
July, 1:54; Elements of Government. October, 1£54.
For De Eow's Review at New Orleans, lie wrote, How the
South is affected by her Institutions, January, 1&52 ; What is
fair and equal Reciprocity, November, 1S53 ; American Insti-
tutions, the Monroe Doctrine, &c, December, 1653.
which characterized it, at a dinner party, for ex-
ample, at Judge De Saussure's, eight or ten of his
favorite associates wanted to do honor to some
distinguished stranger — for such were never per-
mitted to pass through the town without a tender
of the hospitality of that venerable and elegant
gentleman — whose prolonged life exhibited to an-
other generation a pattern of old gentility, combined
with a conscientious and effective performance of
not only the smaller and more graceful duties of
life, which he sweetened and adorned, but also of
those graver and higher tasks which the confidence
of his state imposed upon his talents and learning.
To his elegant board naturally came the best and
worthiest of the land. There was found, of equal
age with the judge, that very remarkable man, Dr.
Thomas Cooper, replete with all sorts of knowledge,
a living encyclopaedia — " Multurn Me et terris jacta-
tus et alto'' — good-tempered, joyous, and of a kindly
disposition. Th re was Judge Jvott, who brought into
the social circle the keen, shrewd, and flashing intel-
lect which distinguished him on the bench. There
was Abram Blanding, a man of affairs, very eminent
in his profession of the law, and of most interesting
conversation. There was Professor Robert Heniw,
with his elegant, accurate, and classical scholarship.
There were Judges Johnston and Harper, whom we
all remember, and lament, and admire.
These gentlemen and others were called, in the
course of a morning walk of the Chancellor, to meet
at dinner, it might be, Mr. Calhoun, or Captain Basil
Hull, or Washington Irvii g, and amongst these was
sure to be found David J. M'Cord, with his genial
vivacity, his multifarious knowledge, and his inex-.
haustible store of amusmg and apposite anecdotes.
He was the life and pervadii g spirit of the circle —
in short, a universal favorite. He was then in large
practice at the bar, and publishing his Reports as.
State Reporter. His frank and fine manners were
rendered the more attractive by an uncommonly
beautiful physiognjmy, which gave him the appear-
ance of great youth.
M'Cord entei ed upon his profession in co-partner-
ship with Henry Junius Nott ; and when a year or
two subsequently this gentleman, following the bent
of his inclination for literature, quitted the profession,
Mr. M'Cord formed a connexion with \V. C. Preston
— thus introducing this gentleman, who had then
but just come to Columbia, into practice. The busi-
ness of the office was extensive, and the connexion
continued until their diverging paths of life led
them away from the profession. The association
was cordial and uninterrupted throughout, whether
professional or social ; and the latter did not cease until
the grave closed upon M'Cord. While in the law, how-
ever, although assiduously addicted to the study of
it, his heart acknowledged a divided allegiance with
literature ; which he seemed to compromise at length
by addicting himself to cognate studies — of political
economy, the jural sciences, and political ethics.
When he left the bar, and retired from the more
strenuous pursuits of life, he found occupation and
delight in these favorite studies — stimulated and
enhanced by the vigorous co-operation and warm
sympathy of his highly accomplished wife, who not
only participated in the taste for, but Ehared in the
labors of, these studies — and amidst these congenial
and participated pursuits the latter years of his life
were passed.
Through life he had a passion for books. He
loved them as friends — almost as children. He was
always in the midst of them, and had one in his
hand or in his pocket. The publication and editing
of the Law Reports was a genial occupation for him.
When the compilation of our statutes was con-
LOUISA S. M'CORD.
251
fided by the state to Dr. Cooper, this gentleman, then
feeling some touch of age, found a hearty eo-laborer
in M'Cord — who worked con amore ; and, indeed,
what with his love for the work and his friendship
for Dr. Cooper, a large portion of the aehievement
was performed by him ; and the last volume — the
Index,! think — was exclusively his '; thus furnishing
at onee a monument of his willingness to labor in a
praiseworthy work, and the kindliness of his tem-
per to do a favor to a friend.
He was conspicuous for spirit, candor, and friend-
ship. He was faithful and true, fearless and warm-
hearted ; loved learning and philosophy — the learn-
ing which is consonant with the business and bosoms
of men — the philosophy which is not " harsh and
crabbed, as dull fools suppose," but gjnial and dif-
fusive, running over into and permeating the affairs
of life. As his early life was ami 1st struggle and
bustle — the fit mum strepitumque of the public arena
— so his latter years were amidst the repose of an
elegant, and lettered retirement, in his well cultivat-
ed fields, and amongst his books. His last moments
were solaced by the tender assiduities of his congenial
help-mate, of his children, and of his old and long-
familiar friends.
It was a somewhat curious coincidence, that the
disease which terminated his existence, struck him
in the Library of the College, whither his tastes ami
habits led him habitually.
To this we may here appropriately add an ac-
knowledgment of the friendly services of the late
Colonel M'Cord to the present work on American
literature. We are indebted to his pen for much
information of value relative to his literary as^-
ciates at Columbia, the affairs of the college of
which he was a trustee, ami particularly for a
sketch of his conversations with the late eminent
Judge Cooper, with whom he was intimate — an
interesting paper, which will be found in the ap-
pendix to the present volume.
Louisa S. M'Cord, the widow of Colonel
M'Cord, a lady of strong natural powers, who '
has cultivated with success both poetry and phi-
losophy, is a resident of Columbia, South Caro-
lina. She is the daughter of the eminent politi-
cian, the Hon. Langdou Cheves,* and wras born
in South Carolina, in December, 1810. In 1840
she was married to Colonel David J. M'Cord. Her
winter residence is the plantation of Fort Mott, the
scene of a heroic adventure in the revolution-
ary annals of the state, in which Mrs. Mott made
herself, famous by the voluntary sacrifice of her
property.
The literary productions of Mrs. M'Cord are a
volume of poems, My Dreams, published in Phi-
ladelphia in 1818 ; Sophisms of the Protective
Policy, a translation from the French of Bastiat,
issued by Putnam, New York, the same year ;
Cains Gracchus, printed at New York in 18-31,
and numerous contributions to the Southern
Quarterly Review, De Bow's Review, and the
Southern Literary Messenger, from 1849 to the
present tinie.t These review papers, written
with spirit and energy, are of a conservative
character, with resources derived from the study
of political economy, mainly treating the question
of southern slavery in reference to the diversity
of races, its comparison with the white laboring
class, with a rather sharp handling of the novel
of Mrs. Stowe.J Mrs. M'Cord has also discussed
the woman's rights movements of the day with
pungency and good sense. In one of these arti-
cles in reply to a proposition of the Westminster
Review, that "a reason must be given why any-
thing should be permitted to one person and in-
terdicted to another," she exclaimed, " A reason!
— a reason why man cannot drink tire and breathe
* The Hon. Lnngdon Cheves, the venerable contemporary
of the Revolution, was born in Abbeville, S. C, September,
17, 17To. A lawyer by profession, lie was elected to Congress
ia the winter oi' 1810-11, and became a member of the cele-
brated " war mess," as the coadjutors, Messrs. Cheves, Clay,
Loundes, Calhouu, and Bibb, were termed, who carried the
declaration of war in 1512; His speech on the "Merchants'
Bonds1' in December, 1811, was justly characterized by Mr.
Clay, then Speaker of the Mouse, as "a splendid exhibition of
eloquence." His speeches on the Loan and Navy Bills in tho
beginning of 1812, gained him much distinction. Mr. Cheves
was always opposed to the restrictive system. He succeeded
Mr. Clay as Speaker of the House, and during his tenure of
that offic ■ (which was till he left Congress, declining a re-
election in March, 1815), not a single decision of his was ever
reversed by that body. On leaving Congress, Mr. Cheves was
chosen one of the Superior Judges of the Courts of Law of
South Carolina, and in ]sl9 1 ecame President of the Bank of
the United States at Philadelphia, the affairs of which he
managed with great ability at an important crisis of its history.
He held this arduous office for three years, and continued to
re-side for some time further in Pennsylvania, when he re-
turned to South Carolina.
As a literary man, Mr. Cheves is known by his speeches in
Congress, as well as by divers occasional papers; among others,
his essays on the subject of the Bank, published witli the sig-
nature of "Say,"1 which attracted much attention. At a later
period, his "occasional reviews," opposing nullification and ad-
vocating a Southern Confederacy, as a check upon the advanc-
ing movement of the non-slave-holding states: his letter on
the same subject to the people of Columbia in 1880 ; his letter
to the people of Pendleton ; his letter to the "Charleston Mer-
cury" on Southern Wrongs in 1S44; his speech at the Nash-
ville Convention, and other letters, show his accustomed qua-
lities of power, vigor, and eloquence.
+ The papers in the /Southern Quarterly Review, are " Jus-
tice and Fraternity," July, 1849 ; " The Right to Labor," Octo-
ber, 1S49; "Diversity of the Races, its bearing upon Negro
Slavery," April, 1851; "Negro and White Slavery, wherein
do tbey differ," July, 1851: Enfranchisement of Women,"
April, 1852 : " Uncle Tom's Cabin," January. 1S53 ; " Carey on
the Slave Trade," January, 1854. In De Bowk R ri-eui, " Ne-
gro Mania," May. 1852 ; "'Woman and her Needs," September,
1852; "British 'Philanthropy and American Slavery," March,
1858. Southern Literary Messenger, the paper, "Charity
which does not begia at home," April. 1853.
I The " Uncle Tom" movement a'so railed forth from Mrs.
M'Cord, "A Letter to the Duchess of Sutherland from a Lady
of South Carolina. July 3a, 1853," published in the "Charles-
ton Mercury," and reprinted in several northern papers.
252
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
water! A scientific answer about Irydrogen and
oxygen will not answer the purpose. These are
facts, not reasons. Why? Why? Why is any-
thing on God's earth what it is? Can Miss Mar-
tineau tell? We cannot. God has made it so,
and reason, instinct, and experience, teach us
its uses. Woman, Nature teaches you yours."
Again she writes in reference to the demand for
opportunities: "Even at her own fireside, may
woman find duties enough, cares enough, troubles
enough, thought enough, wisdom enough, to fit a
martyr for the stake, a philosopher for life, or a
saint for heaven."
Mrs. M'Cord herself illustrates her views of
female life by her own daily example. She con-
ducts the hospital on her own large plantation,
attends to the personal wants of the negroes, and
on one occasion perfectly set a fracture of a
broken arm. Thoroughly accomplished in the
modern languages of Europe, she employs her
leisure in the education of her children.
The poetry of Mrs. M'Cord is simply and
clearly uttered, and is the expression of a health}'
nature. Her tragedy of Caius Gracchus, a dra-
matic poem for the closet, is balanced in its philo-
sophy and argument, Cornelia wisely tempering
the democratic fervor of her son. Many sound,
pithy aphorisms of conduct may be extracted
from this piece; all expressed with purity and
precision. The character of Cornelia is well
sustained.
THE VOICE OF TEAES.
It floated by, on the passing breeze,
The voice of years:
It breathed o'er ocean, it wandered through earth,
It spoke of the time when words had birth,
When the spirit of God moved over the sea,
When earth was only a thiug — to be.
And it sighed, as it passed on that passing breeze,
The voice of years.
From ocean it came on a murmuring wave,
The voice of years :
And it spoke of the time ere the birth of light;
When earth wTas hushed, 'neath the ocean's might,
And the waters rolled, and the dashing roar.
Of the angered surge owned not jet the power,
Which whispers in that murmuring wave
The voice of years.
From earth it came, from her inmost deep,
The voice of years :
It murmured forth with the bubbling stream,
It came like the sound of a long-past dream —
And it spoke of the hour ere Time had birth,
When living thing moved not yet on earth,
And, solemnly sad, it rose from the deep,
The voice of years.
From heaven it came, on a beam of light,
The voice of years :
And it spoke of a God who reigned alone,
Who waked the stars, who lit the Sun.
As it glanced o'er mountain, and river, and wood,
It spoke of the good and the wonderful God ;
And it whispered to praise that God of Light,
The voice of years.
It howled in the storm as it threatening passed,
The voice of years :
And it spoke of ruin, and fiercest might;
Of angry fiends, and of things of night;
But raging, as o'er the Earth it strode,
I knelt and I prayed to the merciful God,
And methought it less angrily howled as it passed,
The voice of years.
And it came from yon moss-grown ruin gray,
The voice of years :
And it spoke of myself, and the years which were
gone,
Of hopes which were blighted, and joys which were
flown ;
Of the wreck of so much that was bright and was
fair;
And it made me sad, and I wept to hear,
As it came from you moss-grown ruin gray,
The voice of years.
And it rose from the grave, with the song of death,
the voice of years:
And I shuddered to hear the tale it told,
Of blighted youth, and hearts grown cold ;
And anguish and sorrow which crept to the grave,
To hide from the spoiler the wound which he gave.
And sadly it rose from that home of death,
The voice of years.
But again it passed on the passing breeze,
The voice of years :
And it spoke of a God, who watched us here,
Who heard the sigh, and who saw the tear;
And it spoke of mercy, and not of wo ;
There was love and hope in its whispering low ;
Aud I listened to catch, on that passing breeze,
The voice of years.
And it spoke of a pain which might not last,
That voice of years :
And it targht me to think, that the God who gave
The breath of life, could wake from the grave;
And it taught me to see that this beautiful earth,
Was not only made to give sorrow birth ;
And it whispered, that mercy must reign at last,
That voice of years.
And strangely methought, as it floated by,
That voice of years
Seemed fraught with a tone from some higher sphere,
It whispered around me, that God was near;
He spoke from the sunbeam ; He spoke from the
wave ;
He spoke from the ruin ; He spoke from the grave;
'Twas the voice of God, as it flonted by,
That voice of years.
CORNELIA AND GRACCHUS.
[AcL iii. Scene 1.]
Gracchus.
Wolves breed not lambs, nor can the lioness
Rear fawns among her litter. You but chide
The spirit, mother, which is born from you.
Cornelia,
Curb it, my son ; and watch against ambition!
Half demon and half god, she oft misleads
With the bold face of virtue. I know well
The breath of discontent is loud in Rome ;
And a hoarse murmuring vengeance smoulders there
Against the tyrannous rule which, iron shod,
Doth trample out man's life. The crisis comes,
But oh ! beware my son, how you shall force it !
Gracchus,
Xay, let it come, that dreaded day of doom,
When by the audit of his cruel wrongs
Heaped by the rich oppressor on the crowd
Of struggling victims, he must stand condemned
To vomit forth the ill-got gains which gorge
His luxury to repletion. Let it come !
The world can sleep no longer. Reason wakes
To know mau's rights, and forward progress points.
HENRY JUNIUS NOTT.
253
Cornelia.
By reason led, and peaceful wisdom nursed,
All progress is for good. But tlie deep curse
Of bleeding nations follows in the track
Of mad ambition, which doth cheat itself
To find a glory in its lust of rule ;
Which piling "private ill on public wrong,
Beneath the garb of patriotism hides
Its large-mawed cravings ; and would thoughtless
plunge
To every change, however riot waits,
With feud intestine, by mad uproar driven,
And red-eyed murder, to reproach the deed.
Death in its direst forms doth wait on such.
Man lives to die, and there's no better way
To let the shackled spirit find its freedom
Than in a glorious combat 'gainst oppression.
I would not grudge the breath lost in the struggle.
Cornelia.
Nor I, when duty calls. I am content,
May but my son prove worthy of the crisis;
Not shrinking from the trial, nor yet leaping
Beyond the marked outline of licensed right;
Curbing his passions to his duty's rule ;
Giving his country all, — life, fortune, fame,
And only clutching back, with miser's care,
His all untainted honor. But take heed !
The world doth set itself on stilts, to wear
The countenance of some higher, better thing.
'Tis well to seek this wisely; but with haste
Grasping too high, like child bej^ond its reach
It trips in the aspiring, and thus falls
To lowlier condition. Rashness drags
Remorse and darkest evil in her train.
Pause, ere the cry of suffering pleads to Heaven
Against this fearful mockery of right ;
This license wild, which smothers liberty
While feigning to embrace it.
Gracchus.
Thought fantastic
Doth drapery evil thus with unsketched ills.
No heart-sick maid nor dream-struck boy am I
To scare myself with these. There's that in man
Doth long to rise by nature. Ever he
Couching in lethargy, doth wrong himself.
Cornelia.
Most true and more. - I reverence human mind;
And with a mingled love and pride I kneel
To nature's inborn majesty in man.
But as I reverence, therefore would I lend
My feeble aid, this mighty power to lead
To its true aim and end. Most often 'tis
When crowds do wander wide of right, and fall
To foul misuse of highest purposes,
The madness of their leaders drags them on.
I would not check aspiring, justly poised ;
But rather bid you " on" — where light is clear
And your track plainly marked. I scorn the slang
Of " greedy populace, and " dirty crowd,"
Nor slander thus the nature which I bear.
Men in the aggregate not therefore cease
Still to be men ; and where untaught they fall,
It is a noble duty, to awake
The heart of truth, that slumbers in them still.
It is a glorious sight to rouse the soul,
The reasoning heart that in a nation sleeps!
And Wisdom is a laggard at her task
When but in closet speculations toiling
§he doth forget to share her thought abroad
And make mankind her heir.
HENKY JUNIUS NOTT
Was the sou of the Hon. Abrani Nott (a distin-
guished judge of the South Carolina Bench), and
was born on the borders of Pacolet river, Union
District, South Carolina, November 4th, 1797.
At a very early age he showed great fondness for
poetry and old songs, reciting endless collections
of verses, hymns, and corn-shucking catches. In
180G his father removed to Columbia, where, at
the "South Carolina College," young Nott was
educated. While at college he was by no means
distinguished for attention to the regular course
of studies, yet few boys of his class had a higher
reputation for talents or acquirements. lie read
much and never forgot anything. In 1818 he
came to the Bar in Columbia, where he soon ac-
quired a high standing and a good practice. This
was in competition with a Bar distinguished for
many years for its ability and learning. While
engaged in the practice of the law Mr. Nott, in
conjunction with his intimate friend D. J. M'Cord,
published two volumes of Law Reports.
In 1821 preferring the pursuits of literature to
the law, Mr. Nott abandoned his profession and
took up his abode in France and Holland, the bet-
ter to pursue his studies. Before his return, the
professorship of Belles Lettres was established in
the College of South Carolina, and he was elected,
while still absent in Europe, to till this position.
On his return, about January, 1824, he com-
menced the fulfilment of its-duties. His extensive
reading, wonderful memory, and facility of quota-
tion, united with a sprightly mind, ready wit, and
amiable temper, rendered him an exceedingly
popular lecturer.
A few years before his death Mr. Nott pub-
lished in 1834 two volumes of tales called Novel-
let/es of a Traveller; or, Odds and Ends from
the Kno/psaok of Thomas Singularity, Journey man
Printer. These are taken from life (many of the
incidents being at the time well known about Co-
lumbia), and exhibit in a style of much humor,
the happy faculty possessed by Mr. Nott of catch-
ing every odd trait of character that presented
itself. This peculiarity, with his various acquire-
ments and accomplishments, rendered him a most
agreeable companion.
Prof. Nott was a good Greek and Latin scholar,
as well as master of several modern languages.
While in Holland he met Prof. Gaisford of Oxford,
for whom he contracted a high esteem, which
was we presume mutual.
^Mr. Nott wrote several articles for the " South-
ern Quarterly," of which we are enabled to men-
tion the following: — Life of Wyttenbaeh, May,
1828; Life of Erasmus, February, 1829; Paid
Louis Courier, February, 1830 ; Woolrych's Life
of Judge Jeffrey, August, 1831 ; D'Agnesseau,
February, 1832. These with a MS. novel (a pi-
rate story founded upon historical events in the
history of South Carolina) left at his death, and
which has never been published, are all that wo
have of his literary productions.
Mr. Nott and his wife were lost in the wreck
of the unfortunate steamer "The Home " off the
coast of North Carolina 13th Oct. 1837, leaving
an only daughter, now Mrs. W. McKenzie Parker
of St. Andrews, S. C. We have been told by eye-
witnesses of the fearful tragedy of the wreck in
which he perished, that Mr. Nott might easily
254
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
have saved himself, but, with generous devotion
refusing to separate from his wife, he perished
with her. No one in the community in which he
dwelt was ever more beloved, and none could
have been more deeply regretted.
As a specimen of his writing we extract the
character of Mr. Hunt, from the story of Thomas
Singularity.*
Though in nil cases a prudent, gain-saving kind of
a man, Mr. Hunt's bowels for once yearned with
pity, and he pleaded with his spouse that, inasmuch
as their marriage-bed was barren, they should at
least give the little unfortunate a domicil till they
could make due perquisition about it. This request
was proposed in a singularly bland tone, but witli
that peculiar propriety and force of emphasis he was
wont to use when lie might not be gainsaid.
From day to day the foundling increased in the
affection of his protector, to whom, strange as it may
seem, lie exhibited a prodigious likeness. This was
enough, in the present generation, to excite the sur-
mises and gibes of wicked fancies and slanderous
tongues, although it was well known that Zcphaniah
came from the land of steady habits, and was then
a burning and a shining light of orthodox faith.
True it was, that " in life's merry morn" he had cut
his gambols as wildly as an ass's colt, but he had
long ago eschewed his youthful follies, and especially
since entering the holy bands of wedlock, had been
of staid, I had almost said of saintly, demeanor.
He was regular every Sunday, or, as he always
termed it, Sabbath, in, attending morning and eve-
ning service, at the latter of which, of a verity, he
' generally took a comfortable snooze ; — belonged to
the Tract Society, Missionary Society, Peace Society,
Temperance Society, Abolition Society, and the So-
ciety for the Promotion of Psalmody, whereof he
led the bass. But as the bard of Avon has said or
suig, "Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow,
thou shalt not escape calumny" — various young men
that prowled about when honest people should be at
home abed and asleep, intimated, in what might be
called Irish hints, that they had espied the worthy
Mr. Hunt at irregular places and at irregular hours.
The censorious, too, had expressed their suspicions
that as his helpmate was a good ten years older than
himself, and had brought a substantial dowry, his
match had proceeded more from a love of filthy
lucre than from that etherial flame which wanned
the bosom of chivalry or inspired the lay of the
troubadour. The perfect " counterfeit presentment"
that the foundling exhibited to the honest man, was
a constant theme with those who wished to bring
him to shame, and was eventually whispered by
some kind friend into the ears of his spouse. Now
although she had a " pretty considerable" belief in
Zephaniah's marital faith and seraphic piety, still it
must be confessed that she was but a woman, and
the monster, whom poets portray as green-eyed,
communicated a beryl tinge to the cat-like visual
ray of Mrs. Hunt, that rapidly assumed the deepest
hue of the emerald. She boldly upbraided her hus-
band for contaminating the sanctuary of married
life with the unholy fruits of his wayward propen-
sities, and required that the bantling should forth-
with be sent a-paeking, as one roof could no longer
cover both of them. Mr. Hunt, after expressing
some astonishment at this outrageous and unmerited
attack, replied with marvellous mildness and compo-
sure that, as for turning out of doors a helpless in-
fant, east, as it were, by Providence under his pro-
tection, he could not and would not do it; but that
* Novellettes of a Traveller, i. 7.
as for her staying under the same roof he, as a Chris-
tian, did not think himself authorized to employ any
compulsion over one he had ever considered his
equal, and that therefore she was at liberty to go,
when and where to her seemed meet. Upon this
she burst into a flood of tears, calling him a cruel,
perjured man, with many other such endearing epi-
thets, accompanied by loud screams and violent kicks.
As I have before noticed, he was a man of won-
drously composed temperament, and not liking scenes
of this kind, he slipped off easily into the shop,
where he drank a pint of Philadelphia beer, quali-
fied with a gill of New England rum, then putting
a quid of pigtail tobacco in his mouth, he bid his
clerk to keep a tight eye on the shop, and walked
off to attend a meeting of the Magdalen Society.
Meanwhile the afflicted fair one, stealthily opening
an eye, perceived that she was alone; and foreseeing
that nothing was to be gained by a further contest,
got up, wiped off her tears with the corner of her
apron, and made up her mind to remain rather by
her own cosy fireside, than to run the risk of going
further and fariiig worse. Yet for a long tract of
time she continued in the dumps, and poured forth
her sorrows to the neighboring gossips, by all of
whom her lord and master was vilipended as a bar-
barous husband and most salacious old heathen.
He perhaps thinking, according to the proverb, that
the least said is soonest mended, held "the noiseless
tenor of his way," with as much composure as a
veteran porker amid the impotent attacks of a nest
of hornets, until, persuaded by his sober carriage,
one half of his enemies began to doubt, and the
other, turning fairly round, declared his wife a jea-
lous, weak-minded body, and him an injured saint.
STEPHEN OLIN, '
Trre President of the "\Yesleyan University, was
born in Leicester, Vermont, March 2, 1797, of a
family which first settled in Rhode Island in 1078.
His father, Henry Olin, who attained the dignity
of judge of the Supreme Court in Vermont, was
a man of force of character and of genuine hu-
mor. He directed his son's education, and inspired
it with his own vigorous example. At seventeen
Stephen taught a village school, then entered a
lawyer's office at Middlebury, from which he
transferred himself to the College at that place,
where he completed his course in 1820. Ill his
twenty-fourth year, while engaged as a teacher in
a newly founded seminary in South Carolina, he
became a Methodist preacher. In 1826 he he-
X^^-l/
'i-£<^ s^/
came Professor of Belles Lettres in Franklin Col-
lege at Athens in Georgia, and in 1832 President
of a Methodist institution, the Randolph Macon
• College in Virginia, in which he undertook the
1 departments of Mental and Moral Science, Belles
Lettres, and Political Philosophy. In 1837, driven
: thither by ill health, he visited Europe and the
; East, on a protracted journey of several years;
and, on his return, published in 1843 his Travels
in Egypt, AraJiia Petrma, and the Holy Land.
His last post of duty, varied by another visit to
Europe, during which he was delegate to the
Evangelical Alliance in London in 1840, was the
Presidency of the Wesleyan University in Middle-
KATHARINE AUGUSTA WARE ; NATHANIEL GREENE ; ROBERT S. COFFIN.
255
town, Connecticut. He died August 16, 1851, at
the age of fifty-four.
Besides the book of travels alluded to, he pub-
lished a series of Sermons and Lectures and Ad-
dresses, which were collected in a posthumous
publication of his works by the Harpers in 1852.
A large collection of his correspondence was also
published in his Life and Letters in 1853, two vo-
lumes of Memoirs composed of the joint contribu-
tions of Dr. McClintock, the able editor of the
Methodist Quarterly Review, Dr. Holdich, and
other faithfol friends.
The academic discourses of Dr. Olin disclose a
well trained mind, seeking constantly for the
principle to test the fact, and insisting upon the
development of mental discipline before the mere
accumulation of knowledge. He was a sound
conservative in the cause of education, distrusting
many of the pretentious expedients of the day.
He appreciated the study of the classics in a
course of instruction. His religious discourses
were of a practical character, and maintain a high
rank in Christian precept. His character and
teachings gave him great influence with his stu-
dents.
In person Dr. Olin was over six feet in height, :
of a large frame and broad shoulders, and a tine
head. His voice was of great power and com- |
pass, while his gestures were stiff and con-
strained.
KATIIAPJNE AUGUSTA WARE.
Tms lady, the daughter of Dr. Rhodes of Quincy,
Mass., and wife of Charles A. Ware, of the Navy,
is the author of a volume entitled Power of the
Passions, and other Poems, published by Pickering
in London in 1812. She was born in 1797, was
married in 181!), wrote occasional poems for the
papers, edited The Sneer of Taste in Boston, and
visiting Europe in 183!) died at Paris in 1813.
She was a relative of Robert Treat Paine, and at
the age of fifteen wrote some verses on his
death.
VOICE OF THE 6EAS0NS.
There is a voice in the western breeze,
As it floats o'er Spring's young roses,
Or sighs among the blossoming trees,
"Where the spirit of love reposes.
It tells of the joys of the pure and young,
E'er they wander life's 'wildering paths among.
There is a voice in the Summer gale,
Which breathes among regions of bloom,
O." murmurs soft through the dewy vale,
In moonlight's lender gloom.
It tells of hopes unblighted yet,
And of hours the soul can ne'er forget
There is a voice in the Autumn blast,
That wafts the falling leaf,
When the glowing scene is fading fast,
For the hour of hloom is brief;
It tells of life — of its sure decay,
And of earthly splendors that pass away
There is a voice in the wintry storm,
For the blasting spirit is there,
Sweeping o'er every vernal charm,
O'er all that was bright and fair ;
It tells of death, as it moans around,
And the desolate hall returns the sound
And there's a voice — a small, still voice,
That comes when the storm is past;
It bids the sufferer's heart rejoice,
In the haven of peace at last!
It tells of joys beyond the grave,
And of Him who died a world to save.
NATHANIEL GREENE.
Natitantet, Greexe was born at Boscawen, N.H.,
May 20, 1797. By the death of his father, a
lawyer of the town, he was thrown at the age of
ten on his own exertions, and at first found occu-
pation in a country store. The perusal of the
autobiography of Franklin inspired him with the
desire to become an editor, which led him, when
Isaac Hill established the New Hampshire Pa-
triot at Concord, to offer himself as an apprentice
in the printing-office. This he did on the fourth
of July of that year, and was accepted. He re-
mained two years in this mechanical pursuit,
when, at the early age of fifteen, he was placed in
charge, as editor, of the Concord Gazette, of which
he was the sole conductor till 1814, when he be-
came engaged on the New Hampshire Gazette, at
Portsmouth. In 1815 he removed to Haverhill,
Mass., and edited the Gazette at that place. With
tin's juvenile experience he started a new Demo-
cratic journal, TJie Essex Patriot, on his own ac-
count, in 1817, which he continued till he com-
menced The Boston Statesman in 1821, a paper
which, as it grew from a semi-weekly to, a tri-
weekly and daily, vigorously supported the De-
mocratic policy and the election of General
Jackson. In 1829 he became postmaster of Bos-
ton, and disposed of his newspaper interest to his
brother, the present able and witty editor of the
Boston Post, Mr. Charles G. Greene.
Besides his writings as editor, Mr. Greene has
employed the leisure of official life in the prepa-
ration of several works, chiefly versions from the
German of popular tales. His tales and sketches
translated from the Italian, German, and French,
appeared in Boston in 1813.
ROBERT S. COFFIN,
The self-styled " Boston Bard," was a native of
the state of Maine. He served his apprenticeship
as a printer in Newburyport ; worked on news-
papers in Boston, New York, and Philadelphia,
and illuminated their poet's corner with his
verses. A number of these were collected in a
volume, entitled the Oriental Harp, Poems of the
Boston. Bard, with a stiff portrait of the author,
in a Byronically disposed shirt collar. The eon-
tents are as varied as the productions of news-
paper laureates are apt to be. Anything will in-
spire their ever-ready muse. The bard lying
awake at night, hears "Yankee Doodle" in the
street —
To arras, to arms! I waking, cried;
To arms! the foe is nigh.
A crutch ! a hatchet ! shovel ! spade !
On ; death or victory.
" Presenting a lady with a cake of soap," in itself
a somewhat questionable liberty, seems to be made
doubly so by the lecture which accompanies it,
the moral as well as material alkali. The occa-
sion is " improved" after the manner of Erskine's
" Smoking spiritualized."
256
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
The sparkling gem of Indian mine9
Docs not its value lose,
Though on the robes of sluts it shines,
Or decks the beggar's clothes.
******
And lady, -when this cake you press,
Your snowy hands between,
And mark the bubble's varied dress
Of azure, gold, and green ;
Then, lady, think that bubble, brief,
Of life an emblem true ;
Man's but a bubble on the leaf,
That breaks e'en at the view.
His muse is ready to greet all comers, from
the " Motive which took lodgings with the author
iu a public house, near the Park, New York,"
Fly not, poor trembler, from my bed,
Beside me safely rest;
For here no murderous snare is spread,
No foe may here molest,
up to General La Fayette. Christmas and the
Fourth of July are of course celebrated, nor is
the "First of May in New York" neglected, as
a stanza or two of a comic song, " sung with ap-
plause at Chatham Garden," rattles off like the
heterogeneous laden carts in active motion on
that day.
First of May — clear the way!
Baskets, barrows, trundles ;
Take good care — mind the ware !
Betty, where's the bundles ?
Pots and kettles, broken victuals,
, Feather beds, plaster heads,
Looking-glasses, torn matrasses.
Spoons and ladles, babies' cradles.
Cups and saucers, salts and castors,
Hurry scurry — grave and gay,
All niust trudge the first of May.
" A Large Nose and an Old Coat" show that
the writer did not disdain familiar themes, while
an " Ode to Genius, suggested by the present
unhappy condition of the Boston Bakd, an emi-
nent poet .of this country," stands in evidence
that the bard held the poetaster's usual estimate
of his powers.
Coffin was at one period of his life a sailor, or,
to use his own expression, " a Marine Bachelor."
He died at Rowley, Mass., iu May, 1827, at the
early age of thirty.
The following song would do honor to a poet
of far higher pretensions.
Love, the leaves are falling round thee ;
All the forest trees are bare ;
Winter's snow will soon surround thee,
Soon will frost thy raven hair :
Then say with me,
Love, wilt thou flee,
Nor wait to hear sad autumn's prayer ;
For winter rude
"Will sooti intrude.
Nor aught of summer's blushing beauties Bpare.
Love, the rose lies withering by thee,
And the lily blooms no more ;
Nature's charms will quickly fly thee,
Chilling rains around thee pour:
Oh, then with me,
Love, wilt thou flee,
Ere whirling tempests round thee roar,
And winter dread
Shall frost thy head,
And all thy raven ringlets silver o'er?
Love, the moon is shining for thee ;
All the lamps of heaven are bright ;
Holy spirits glide before thee,
Urging on thy tardy flight.
Then say, with me,
Love, wilt thou flee,
Nor wait the sun's returning light?
Time's finger, rude,
Will soon intrude
Relentless, all thy blushing beauties blight.
Love, the flowers no longer greet thee,
All their lovely hues are fled ;
No more the violet springs to meet thee,
Lifting slow its modest head:
Then say, with me,
Love, wilt thou flee.
And leave this darkling desert dread,
And seek a clime,
Of joy sublime,
Where fadeless flowers a lasting fragrance shed J
N. L. FROTHINGHAM.
Nathaniel Langdon Fp.oTiTixGrrAM was horn
at Boston July 23, 1793. After a preparation
for college at the public schools of that city,
he entered Harvard, where he completed his
course in 1811. He nest became an assistant
teacher in the Boston Latin school, and after-
wards a private tutor in the family of Mr. Lyman
of Waltham. In 1812, when only nineteen, he
was appointed instructor of Rhetoric and Oratory
at Harvard, being the first incumbent of the
office. He pursued theological studies at the
same time, and on the loth of March, 1815, was
ordained pastor of the First Church in Boston;
a charge which he retained until 1850, when he
resigned in consequence of ill health.
Dr. Frothingham is the author of from forty to
fifty sermons and addresses, published in separate
forms,* and of a volume, Sermons in the order of
a Twelmemonih, none of which had previously
appeared. He has also contributed numerous
prose articles to various religious periodicals.
His poetical career was commenced by the de-
livery of a poem in the junior year of his col-
* The following list include? most of these productions : —
On the Death of Dr. Joseph McKean : ISIS. Artillery Elec-
tion Sermon : 1S25. On the Death of President John Adams :
1S26. Plea against Religions Controversy : 1629. Terms of
Acceptance with God :"lS29. Centennial Sermon on Two
Hundred Years Ago : 1S30. Signs in the Sun ; On the great
Eclipse of February 12: 183L Barabbas preferred: 1832.
Centennial Sermon of the Thursday Lecture : 1833. On the
Death of Lafayette : 1534. Twentieth Anniversary of my Or-
dination : 1835. On the Death of J. O. Stevenson, M.D. :
1835. At the Installation of Rev. Wm. P. Lunt, at Quincy :
1835. At the Ordination of Mr. Edgar Buckingham : 1836.
The Ruffian Released : 1886. The Chamber of Imagery :
1.836. Duties of Hard Times: 1837. On the Death of Joseph
P. Bradlee : 1S3S. All Saints' Day : 1840. The New Idolatry :
1840. The Solemn Week : 1841. Death of Dr. T. M. Harris,
and of Hon. Daniel Sargent : 1842. The Believer's Rest :
1843. On the Death of Rev. Dr. Greenwood: 1S43. The
Duty of the Citizen to the Law : 1844. Address to the Alumni
of tile Theological School : 1844. Deism or Christianity? Four
Discourses : 1645. Ordination of O. Frothingham : 1847. Fu-
neral of Rev. Dr. Thomas Gray : 1S47. A Fast Sermon — Na-
tional Sins : 1847. Paradoxes in the Lord's Supper : 1848.
A Fast Sermon ; God among the Nations : 1648. Water into
the City of Boston : 1848. Salvation through the Jews : 1650.
Death of Hon. P. C. Brooks : 1849. Gold:" 1849. Sermon on
resigning my Ministry: 1850. Great Men: Washington's
Birth-Day : 1S52. Days of Mourning must end : 1853.
ROBERT WALK.
257
lege-conrse, at the inauguration of President Kirk-
land, which has never been published, but is
still remembered with favor by its auditors. He
lias since contributed several occasional poems
of great beauty to the magazines, written nume-
rous hymns, which hold a place in the collections,
and translated various specimens of the mo-
dern German poets. A collection of these, with
the title Metrical Pieces, Translated and Origi-
nal, is now in press.
O God, whose presence glows in all
Within, around us, and above!
Thy word we bless, thy name we call.
Whose word is Truth, whose name is Love.
That truth be with the heart believed
Of all who seek this sacred place ;
With power proclaimed, in peace received, —
Our spirit's light, thy Spirits grace.
That love its holy influence pour,
To keep us meek and make us free.
And throw its binding blessing more
Round each with all, and all with thee.
Send down its angel to our side, —
Send in its calm upon the breast;
For we would know no other guide,
And we can need no other rest.
THE MC LEAN ASYLUM, SOMEP.VTLLE, MASS.
0 House of Sorrows ! How thy domes
Swell on the sight, but crowd the heart ;
While pensive fancy walks thy rooms,
And shrinking Memory minds me what thou art!
A rich gay mansion once wert thou ;
And he who built it chose its site
On that hill's proud but gentle brow,
For an abode of splendor and delight.
Tears, pains, and cost have reared it high,
The stately pile we now survey;
Grander than ever to the eye ; —
But all its fireside pleasures — where are they ?
A stranger might suppose the spot
Some seat of learning, shrine of thought; —
Ah ! here alone Mind ripens not,
And nothing reasons, nothing can be taught.
Or he might deem thee a retreat
For the poor body's need and ail;
When sudden injuries stab and beat.
Or ia slow waste its inward forces fail.
Ah. heavier hurts and wastes are here!
The ruling brain distempered lies.
When Mind flics reeling from its sphere,
Life, health, aye, mirth itself, are mockeries
0 House of Sorrows ! Sorer shocks
Than can our frame or lot befall
Are hid behind thy jealous locks;
. Man's Thought an infant, and his Will a thrall.
The mental, moral, bodily parts,
So nicely separate, strangely blent.
Fly on each other in mad starts,
Or sink together, wildered all and spent.
The sick — but with fantastic dreams!
The sick — but from their uncontrol !
Poor, poor humanity ! What themes
Of grief and wonder for the -musing soul!
Friends have I seen from free, bright life
Into thy drear confinement cast;
And some, through many a weeping strife,
Brought to that, last resort,, — the last, the last.
VOL. H.— 17'
0 House of Mercy ! Refuge kind
For Nature's most unnatural state !
Place for the absent, wandering mind,
Its healing helper and its sheltering gate !
What woes did man's own cruel fear
Once add to his crazed brother's doom !
Neglect, aversion, tones severe,
The chain, the lash, the fetid, living tomb !
And now, behold what different hands
He lays on that crazed brother's head !
See how this builded bounty stands,
With scenes of beauty all around it spread.
Yes, Love has planned thee. Love endowed ;—
And blessings on each pitying heart,
That from the first its gifts bestowed,
Or bears in thee each day its healthful part. ;
Was e'er the Christ diviner seen,
Than when the wretch no force could bind —
The roving, raving Gadarene —
Sat at his blessed feet, and in his perfect mind I
Mr. Richard Frothingham, Jan., the author of
.the thorough and valuable History of the Siege
of Boston, is a relative of Dr. Frothingham.
EOBEET WALN.
Robert Waln was born in Philadelphia in 1797.
He received a liberal education, but never engaged
in professional pursuits. He published in 181'J
The Hermit in America on a visit to Philadel-
phia, one of several imitations of an English
work then popular, the Hermit in London. It
contains a series of sketches on the fashionable
pursuits and topics of city life, pleasantly written,
but without any features of mark. In the fol-
lowing year he made a similar essay in verse by
the publication of American Bards, a Satire. In
this poem of nearly one thousand lines he reviews
the leading aspirants of the day, praising Clift'ton
and Dwight and condemning Barlow and Hum-
phreys. Lucius M. Sargent and Knight receive
severe treatment, and the Backwoodsman is dealt
with in like manner.- In the course of the piece
a number of minor writers of the ever renewed
race of poetasters are mentioned, most of whom
have long since been forgotten. A description
of a newspaper with the approaches of a youth-
ful bard is one of its best passages.
How oft, when seated in our elbow-ehairs,_
Resting at eve, from dull, diurnal cares,
We hold the daily chronicles of men,
And read their pages o'er and o'er again ;
A varied charm creeps o'er the motley page,
Pleasing alike to infancy and age;
The Politician roams through every cliine:
The Schoolboy dwells on Accidents, — and Rhyme:
The Merchant harps on Bank stock and Exchange,
As speculative notions widely range,
And humming all the advertisements o'er,
His searching thoughts, each inference explore ;
A secret trust, from rich storehouses, grows ;
A list of trifles, doubtful credit shows ;
Still as he reads, the air-built castles rise,
While wealth and honours glisten in his eyes :
Old Ladies seek for Murders, — Fires — Escapes;
Old Maids for Births, and Recipes and Rapes.
Young Belles o'er Marriages and Fashions glance,
Or point, in raptures, to some new Romance ;
Old age (with horror) reads of sudden death;
The fop, of perfumes for the hair or breath,
258
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
And as lie lisps the Thespian Bill of Fare,
Twirls his gold-chain, and twists his whiskered hair:
All own the charms that deck the Daily Isews,
But none more warmly than the youthful Mnse.
Nine times the midnight lamp has shed its rays
O'er that young laborer for poetic baj's,
Who to the heights of Pindus fain would climb,
By seeking words that jingle into rhyme ;
See how the varying passions flush his face! —
The hasty stamp ! — the petulant grimace ! —
His youthful brains are puzzled to afford
A rhyme to sound with some unlucky word,
Til', by the Rhyming Dictionary's aid,
It finds a fellow, and the verse is made ;
" For so the rhyme be at the verse's end,
No matter whither all the rest does tend."
Now, with a trembling step, he seeks the door,
So often visited in vain before,
"Whose horizontal aperture invites
Communications from all scribbling wights ,
He stops ; and casts his timid eyes around ;
Approaches; — footsteps on the pavement sound
With careless air, he wanders from the scene,
'Till no intruding passengers are seen ;
Again returns; — fluttering with fears and hopes
He slides the precious scroll — and down it drops !
With hurried steps that would outstrip the wind,
And casting many a fearful glance behind,
He hastens home to seek the arms of sleep,
And dreams of quartos, bound in calf or sheep.
Gods! how his anxious bosom throbs and beats
To see the newsman creeping through the streets!
Thinks, as he loiters at each patron's door,
Whole ages passing in one short half-hour:
Now, from his tardy hand he grasps the news,
And, trembling for the honor of his muse,
Unfolds the paper; with what eager glance
His sparkling eyes embrace the vast expanse!
Now, more intent, he gazes on the print,
But not one single line of rhyme is in't !
The paper falls ; he cries, with many a tear,
My God ! my Ode to Cupid — is not here!
One hope remains ; he claims it with a sigh,
And " Z to-morrow" meets his dazzled eye !
Wain published a second volume of verse in
the same year entitled Sisyphi Opus, or Touches
at the Times, with other poems, and in 1821 The
Hermit in Philadelphia, a continuation of his
previou? work, but mostly occupied with a caveat
against the introduction of foreign vices into the
United States. He makes up a formidable list of
wives sold at Smithlield, betting noblemen, and
bruised prizefighters, as an offset to the stories by
English travellers of society in our frontier set-
tlements.
We next hear of our author as the supercargo
of a vessel, in which capacity he made a voyage
to China, turning his observations to account on
his return by writing a history of that country,
which was published in quarto numbers. He
also undertook the editorship of the Lives of the
Signers, after the publication of the third volume,
and wrote several of the biographies which ap-
peared in the subsequent portion of the series.
In 1824 he published a Life of Lafayette. In
addition to these works he was the author of nu-
merous contributions to the periodicals of the
day. He died in 1824.
HUNTING SONG.
'Tis the break of day, and cloudless weather,
The eager dogs are all roaming together,
The moor-cock is flitting across the heather, . ,
Up, rouse from your' slumbers,
Away I
No vapor encumbers the day ;
Wind the echoing horn,
For the waking morn
Peeps forth iu its mantle of grey.
The wild boar is shaking his dewy bristle,
The partridge is sounding his morning whistle,
The red-deer is bounding o'er the thistle
Up, rouse from your slumbers,
Away I
No vapor encumbers the day;
AYind the echoing horn,
For the waking morn
Peeps forth in its mantle of grey.
WILLIAM A. MUHLEXBEEG.
The Rev. Dr. Muhlenberg, a descendant from a
family of revolutionary fame, was for many years
the head of St. Paul's College, Flushing, Long
Island, an institution which under his control at-
tained a high measure of usefulness and reputa-
tion. He is now Rector of the Protestant Epis-
copal Church of the Holy Communion in the
city of New York.
Dr. Muhlenberg published in 1823, Church
Poetry : Being portions of the Psalms in verse,
and Hymns suited to the Festivals and Fasts and
various occasions of the Church, selected and al-
tered from various Authors* He has since, in
connexion with the Rev. Dr. Wainwright, pub-
lished a work ,on Church Music, and has done
much in the practical advancement of public taste
in the same direction by the choral arrangements
of his own church, while he has served church
poetry as well as music by the production of se-
veral highly esteemed hymns. We give the best
known of these in its original form, with a brief
note from the Evangelical Catholic, a weekly
paper conducted for about a year by Dr. Muhlen-
berg, descriptive of its introduction in the Epis-
copal collection (where it appears in an abridged
form).
THE 1S7TH nTMN.
AVe have been so repeatedly urged by several of
our readers to give them the whole of the original
of " I would not live alwai/," that we at length com-
ply, though somewhat reluctantly, as it has appeared
at various times in print before — first in the Phila-
delphia Episcopal Recorder, somewhere about the
year 1824. It was written without the remotest
idea that any portion of it would ever be employed
in the devotions of the Church. Whatever service it
has done in that way is owing to the late Bishop of
Pennsylvania, then the Rector of St. Ann's Church,
Brooklyn, who made the selection of verses out of
the whole, which constitutes the present hymn, and
offered it to the Committee on Hymns, appointed by
the General Convention of . The hymn was, at
first, rejected by the committee, of which the un-
known author was a member, who, upon a satirical
criticism being made upon it, earnestly voted against
its adoption. It was admitted on the importunate
application of Dr. Ondenlonk to the bishops on the
committee. Tue following is a revised copy of the
original : —
* Phila^ 12mo. pp. 26a
SAMUEL H. DICKSON.
259
I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. — .Job vii. 16.
I would not live alway — live alway below I
Oh uo, I'll not linger, when bidden to go.
The days of our pilgrimage granted us here,
Are enough for life's woes, full enough for its eheer.
Would 1 shrink from the path which the prophets of
God,
Apostles and martyrs so joyfully trod?
While brethren and friends are all hastening home,
Like a spirit unblest, o'er the earth would I roam ?
I would not live alway — I ask not to stay,
Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way:
Where, seeking for peace, we but hover around,
Like the patriarch's bird, and no resting is found;
Where hope, when she paints her gay bow in the
air,
Leaves its brilliance to fade in the night of despair,
And joy's fleeting angel ne'er sheds a glad ray,
Save the gloom of the plumage that bears him away.
I would not live alway — thus fettered by sin,
Temptation without, and corruption within ;
In a moment of strength if I sever the chain,
Scarce the victory's mine ere I'm captive again.
E'en the rapture of pardon is mingled with fears,
And my cup of thanksgiving with penitent tears.
The festival trump calls for jubilant songs,
But my spirit her own miserere prolongs.
I would not live alway — no, welcome the tomb ;
Since Jesus hath lain there I dread not its gloom:
Where He deigned to sleep, I'll too bow my head;
Oh ! peaceful the slumbers on that hallowed bed.
And then the glad dawn soon to follow that night,
When the sunrise of glory shall beam on my sight,
When the full matin song, as the sleepers arise
To s'lout in the morning, shall peal through the
skies.
Who, who would live alway — away from his God,
Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode,
Where the rivers of pleasure flow o'er the bright
plains,
And the noontide of glory eternally reigns:
Where saints of all ages in harmony meet,
Their Saviour and brethren transported to greet ;
While the songs of salvation exultingly roll,
And the smile of the Lord is the feast'of the soul ?
That heavenly music ! what is it I hear?
The notes of the harpers ring sweet in the air ;
And see, soft unfolding, those portals of gold !
Tiie King, all arrayed in his beauty, behold !
Oh, give me. Oh, give me the wings of a dove I
Let me hasten mv flight to those mansions above ;
Aye, 'tis now that my soul on swift pinions would
soar,
And in ecstasy bid earth adieu, evermore.
Dr. Muhlenberg is also the author of several
pamphlets on topics connected with the church
of which he is a prominent member, and the
numerous charitable enterprises of the city with
which his name is identified.
SAMITEL H. DICKSON
Was born in Charleston, South Carolina, in 1798.
His parents, from the north of Ireland, were both
of unmixed Scottish blood. His father came to
America before the Revolutionary war,and fought
in the south under General Lincoln and others.
He was in Charleston during the siege, but es-
caped in a canoe up Cooper river previous to the
capitulation. He was long a resident in Charles-
ton, where he taught the school of the South Ca-
rolina Society. He died in 1819. The maternal
uncle of Dr. Dickson was Samuel Neilson, the
editor of the Northern Star, the first paper pub-
lished in Ireland advocating Catholic Emancipa-
tion, and was one of the first of the Protestants
who became United Irishmen. He suffered a
long imprisonment after the execution of Emmet,
and, being at last released on condition of expa-
triating himself, came to this country and died at
Poughkeepsie.
The early education of Dr. Dickson was chiefly
in Charleston College, a respectable high-school
merely at that time, under Drs. Buist and Hedle'y
and Judge King. He was sent to Yale College in
1811, joined the Sophomore class, and was graduat-
ed in due course. He commenced at once, in his
seventeenth year, the study of medicine, entering
the office of Dr. P. G. Prioleau, who had reached
the highest point of professional eminence at the
South, and whose practice was extended and lu-
crative in an almost unparalleled degree. In 1817,
'18, and '19, he attended lectures in the University
of Pennsylvania in its palmy days, when Chap-
man, Physick, and Wistar were among its facul-
ty, ami received the diploma in 1819. He return-
ed to Charleston and became engaged in a large
practice. In 1823 he delivered a course of lec-
tures on Physiology and Pathology before the
medical students of the city, the class consisting
of about thirty. With Dr. Ramsay, who then
read to the same class a course of lectures on
Surgeiw, and Dr. Frost, he undertook the agita-
tion of the subject of domestic medical instruc-
tion, and urged the institution of a Medical Col-
lege in Charleston. He moved the Medical So-
ciety to petition to the Legislature for a charter,
which was granted, and the school went into ope-
ration in 1824. He was elected without opposi-
tion to the professorship of the Institutes and Prac-
tice of Medicine, which chair he held until 1832,
when he resigned it in consequence of a contest
between the Medical Society and the College. The
next year he was appointed to the same chair in
the Medical College of the state of South Caro-
lina, newly erected, with a liberal charter from
the legislature. In 1817 he received the unani-
mous vote of the New York University to fill the
chair rendered vacant by the death of Professor
Revere, and removed to that city, where he lec-
tured to large classes. In 1850, at the earnest re-
quest of his former colleagues, he resumed his con-
nexion with the Medical School at Charleston.
His writing1! are varied and numerous. He has
been a contributor to many of the periodicals of
the day, and ha; delivered many occasional ad-
dresses, which h ive been published. His address
before the Phi Beta Kappa of Yale in 1842, on
the Pursuit of Happiness, is one of the most im-
portant of the latter. He has written many arti-
cles in the American Medical Journal of Phila-
delphia, the Medical Journal of New York, the
Charleston Medical Journal and Review, and in
some of the Western journals. He has published
two large volumes on the Practice of Medicine,
260
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
and, in 1852, a volume of Exsays o?i Life, Sleep,
Pain, &c, embracing many important questions
of philosophy and hygiene handled in an ingeni-
ous and popular manner ; amply illustrated from
copious stores of reading and extensive personal
experience. This book is written in an ingenious
and candid spirit ; his Manual of Pathology and
Therapeutics has gone through six or seven edi-
tions. A small volume of verses from his pen,
printed but not published, has been noticed in the
Southern Literary Messenger,* to which magazine
he has sent several papers. In most of the South-
ern literary journals, the Rose-Bud, Magnolia,
Literary Gazette, &c, will be found articles by
him. To the Southern Quarterly Review he has
been from its origin a frequent contributor. One
of his recent articles was a review of Forsyth's
Life of Sir Hudson Lowe. He has published a
pamphlet on Slavery, originally printed in a Bos-
ton periodical, in which lie maintains the essen-
tial inferiority of the negro, and the futility of
the projects suggested for changing his condition
at the South.
LINES.
I seek the quiet of the tomb,
There would I sleep;
I love its silence and its gloom
So dark and deep.
I would forget the anxious cares
That rend my breast ;
Life's joys and sorrows, hopes and fears,
Here let me rest.
Weep not for me. r.or breathe one sigh
Above my bier —
Depart and leave me tranquilly,
Repose is here.
Mock me not with the lofty mound
Of sculptured stone ;
Lay me unmarked beneath the ground
All — all alone.
OLD AGE AND DEATH — FEOM TOE ESSAYS ON LIFE, SLEEP,PAIN~,tic.
Death may be considered physiologically, patho-
logically, and psychologically. We are obliged to
regard it and speak of it as the uniform correlative,
and indeed the necessary consequence, or final result
of life ; the act of dying as the rounding off, or ter-
mination of the act of living. But it ought to be re-
marked that this conclusion is derived, not from any
understanding or comprehension of the relevancy of
the asserted connexion, nor from any a priori rea-
soning applicable to the inquiry, but merely a pos-
teriori as the result of universal experience. All that
has lived has died; and, therefore, all that livesmust
die.
The solid rock upon which we tread, and with
which we rear our palaces and temples, what is it
often, when microscopically examined, but a conge-
ries of the fossil remains of innumerable animal tribes !
The soil from which, by tillage, we derive our vegeta-
ble food, is scarcely anything more than a mere mix-
ture of the decayed and decaying fragments of former
organic being : the shells and exuviae, the skeletons,
and fibres, and exsiccated juices of extinct life.
I have stated that there is no reason known to us
why Death should always " round the sum of life."
Up to a certain point of their duration, varying in
each separate set of instances, and in the comparison
* S. Literary Messenger. July, 1S44., vol. x. p. 424.
of extremes varying prodigiously, the vegetable and
animal orga-nisnis not only sustain them=el\ es, but
expand and develop themselves, grow and increase,
enjoying a better and better life, advancing and pro-
gressive. Wherefore is it that at this period all pro-
gress is complete^- arrested; that thenceforward they
waste, deteriorate, and fail ? Why should the3' thus
decline and decay with unerring uniformity upon
their attaining their highest perfection, their most
intense activity ? This ultimate law is equally mys-
terious and inexorable. It is true the Sacred Writ-
ings tell us of Enoch, " whom God took, and he was
not;" and of Elijah, who was transported through
the upper air in a chariot of fire; and of Melehise-
dek, the most extraordinary personage whose name
is recorded, " without father, without mother, with-
out descent: having neither beginning of days, nor
end of life." We read the history without conceiv-
ing the faintest hope from these exceptions to the
universal rule. Yet our faucy has always exulted
in visionary evasions of it, by forging for ourselves
creations of immortal maturity, youth, and beauty,
residing in Elysian fields of unfading spring, amidst
the fruition of perpetual vigor. We would drink, in
imagination, of the sparkling fountain of rejuvenes-
cence; nay, boldly dare the terror of Medea's cal-
dron. We echo, in every despairing heart, the eja-
culation of the expiring Wolcott, " Bring back my
youth !"
Reflection, however, cannot fail to reconcile us to
our ruthless destiny. There is another law of our
being, not less unrelenting, whose yoke is even
harsher and more intolerable, from whose pressure
Death alone can relieve us, and in comparison with
which the absolute certainty of dying becomes a
glorious blessing. Of whatever else we may remain
ignorant, each of us, for himself, comes to feel, real-
ize, and know unequivocally that all his capacities,
both of action and enjoyment, are transient, and tend
to pass away ; and when our thirst is satiated, we
turn disgusted from the bitter lees of the once fra-
grant and sparkling cup. I am aware of Par-
; nell's offered analogy —
The tree of deepest root is found
Unwilling still to leave the ground ;
ami of Rush's notion, who imputes to the aged such
an augmenting love of life that he is at a loss to ac-
count for it, and suggests, quaintly enough, that it
may depend upon custom, the great moulder of our
i desires and propensities; and that the infirm and
decrepit " love to live on, because they have acquir-
ed a habit of living." Hi,s assumption is wrong in
point of fact. He loses sight of the important prin-
ciple that Old Age is a relative teim, and that one
man may be more superannuated, farther advanced
in natural decay at sixty, than another at one hun-
dred years. Parr might well rejoice at being alive,
and exult in the prospect of continuing to live, at
one hundred and thirty, being capable, as is affirm-
ed, even of the enjoyment of sexual life at that age;
but he who has had his " three sufficient warnings,"
who is deaf, lame, and blind ; who, like the monk of
the Escurial, has lost all his cotemporaries, and is
condemned to hopeless solitude, and oppressed with
the consciousness of dependence and imbecility, must
look on Death not as a curse, but a refuge.
* * * * * 5; *•*
Strolling with my venerable and esteemed col-
league, Prof. Stephen Elliott, one afternoon, through
a field on the banks of the River Ashley, we came
upon a negro basking in the sun, the most ancient
looking personage I have ever seen. Our attempts,
with his aid. to ealetilatc his age, were of course
conjectural ; but we were satisfied that he was far
M'DOSALD CLARKE.
£01
cijove one hundred. Bald, toothless, nearly blind,
bent almost horizontally, and scarcely capable of
locomotion, he was absolutely alone in the world,
living by permission upon a place, from which the
generation to which his master and fellow-servants
belonged had long since disappeared. He expressed
many an earnest wish for death, and declared, em-
phatically, that he " was afraid God Almighty had
forgotten him."
Birds and fishes are said to be the longest lived of
animals. For the longevity of the latter, ascertain-
ed in fish-ponds. Bacon gives the whimsical reason
that, in the moist element which surrounds them,
they are proiected from exsiccation of the vital
juices, and thus preserved. This idea corresponds
very well with the stories told of the uncalculated
ages of some of the inhabitants of the bayous of
Louisiana, and of the happy ignorance of that region,
where a traveller once found a withered and an-
tique corpse — so goes the tale — sitting propped in an
arm-chair among his posterity, who could not com-
prehend why he slept so long and so soundly.
But the Hollanders an 1 Burmese do not live espe-
cially long ; and the Arab, always lean and wiry,
leads a protracted life a.nidst his arid sands. Nor
can we thus account for the lengthened age of the
crow, the raven, and the eagle, which are affirmed
to hold out for two or three" centuries.
There is the same difference among shrubs and
trees, of which some are annual, some of still more
brief existence, and some almost eternal. The vene-
rable oak bids defiance to the storms of a thousand
winters; and the Indian baobab is set down as a
cotemporary at least of the Tower of Babel, having
probably braved, like the more transient though
long-enduring olive, the very waters of the great
deiuge.
It will be delightful to know — will Science ever
discover for us? — what constitutes the difference
thus impressed upon the long and short-lived races
of the organized creation. Why must the fragrant
shrub or gorgeous flower-plant die immediately after
performing its functions of continuing the species, I
and the pretty ephemeroa languish into non-exist- |
euce just as it flutters tiirough its genial hour of love
and grace and enjoyment : while the banyan and the '
chestnut, the tortoise, the vulture, and the carp, \
formed of the same primary material elements, and
subsisting upon the very same sources of nutrition
and supply, outlast them so indefinitely?
Death from old age, from natural decay —usually
spoken of as death without disease — is most impro- i
perly termed by writers an euthanasia. Alas! how I
far otherwise is the truth ! Old age itself is, with
the rarest exceptions, exceptions which I have never
had the good fortune to meet with anywhere — old
age itself is a protracted and terrible disease.
i
M'DONALD CLAKKE,
The Mad Poet, as he was called in New York, !
where he figured as the author of numerous vo-
lumes, and as a well known eccentric in Broadway ;
some twenty years since, was born in one of the
New England states, we believe Connecticut.
An inscription to the portrait of one of his books
supplies the date of his birth, June 18, 1798. An
allusion in the preface to another speaks of a scene !
with his mother at -New London, when he was |
in his ninth year; and the same introduction re- j
cords his first appearance, August 13, 1819, in !
Broadway, New York, thenceforward the main '
haunt and region of his erratic song.
M'Donald Clarke.
He was a poet of the order of Nat Lee, one of
those wits in whose heads, according to Dryden,
genius is divided from madness by a thin parti-
tion. He was amiable in his weaknesses, having
no vices, always preserving a gentility of deport-
ment, while he entertained his imagination with a
constant glow of poetic reverie, investing the oc-
casional topics of the town and the day with a
gorgeous Byronic enthusiasm. He was constantly
to be seen in Broadway, and was a regular at-
tendant at the then, as now, fashionable Grace
church. His blue cloak, cloth cap, and erect
military air, enhanced by his marked profile, ren-
dered him one of the lions of the pavement.
With much purity and delicacy in his verses, it
was his hobby to fall in love with, and celebrate
in his rhymes, the belles of the city. This was
sometimes annoying, however well meant on the
part of the poet. Then, from the irregularity of
his genius, his muse was constantly stooping from
the highest heaven of invention to the lowest re-
gions of the bathetic. The simple, honest nature
of the man, however, prevailed; and though wit-
lings occasionally made a butt of him, and enter-
tained themselves with his brilliant flights and his
frequent sharp wit, he was upim the whole re-
garded, by those who had any feeling for the
matter, with a certain tenderness and respect.*
His poems helped to support him. Judging from
the number of editions and their present scarcity
he probably succeeded, in some way or other, by
subscription or the charity of publishers, in getting
from them a revenue adequate to his humble
wants.
We are not certain that the follow ng are the
titles of all his volumes. In 1820 appeared a
slight brochure, a Review of the Ere of Eternity
and other Poems; and in 1822, The Elixir of
Moonshine; beiny a collection of Prose and Po-
* On one occasion Co!, Stone of the Commercial, and John
Lans of the Gazette, were engaged in a newspaper altercation,
in the course of which Lang remarked that Stone's Drains were
like the poet's, a little zig-zag. McDonald stepped into the
office of the Commercial, and seeinp lb'1 Gazette, wrote thi*
impromptu.
Til tell Johnny Lang in the way of a laugh,
Since lie has dragged my name in his petulant brawl,
That most people think it is better by half
To have brains that are zig-zag than no brains at all.
2C:
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
etry by the ITad Poet, a neat volume of one hun-
dred and forty-eight small pages, published at the
" Sentimental Epicure's Ordinary," and hearing
the not very savory motto —
'Tis vain for present fame to -wish,
Our persons first must be foi gotten,
For poets are like stinking fi»h,
That never shine until they're rotten.
In 1825 Clarke published The Gossip; or, a
Laugh with the Ladies, a Grin with the Gentle-
men, and Burlesque on Byron, a Sentimental Sa-
tire, with other Poems ; which gave Clason the op-
portunity of showing his cleverness by burlesquing
burlesque. The next year he sent forth a mis-
chievous volume of. poetic Sketches, with some
complaints of the " Dutch dignity" of the wealthy
young belles who were insensible to his gallantries.
Then there were two series of Afara or the Belles
of Broadway, and a grand collection of the Poems
in 1836. The last effusion of which we have met
with the title is ACross and. Coronet, published in
1841. Disdaining to extract amusement from the
wildest of these verses, we may cite a few of the
others which do credit to the writer's feelings.
These are at the commencement of some stanzas
on the death of the poet Brainard, who appears
to have been his playfellow in their boyhood at
Sew London.
So early to the grave, alas ! — alas !
Lite is indeed a rushing dream:
His did on wings of ligiithii g pass,
Brightening a Nation with its beam.
Its happy dawn was spent with mine,
And we were wont, in those young days,
Many a joyous hour to join
In kindied tasks, and kindred plays.
Where now his shrouded form is laid,
Our boyish footsteps used to go :
How oft, unthinkingly, we strayed
In that sad place, ioi.g years ago !
Life was flushed with phantoms then,
That tinged each object with their bloom ;
"\Ve knew not years were coming, when
They'd fade in the future's gloom :
We had not seen the frown of Hope —
Knew not her eye had ever frowned —
That soon our hearts would have to grope
For feelings — manhood never found.
Saddened as stormy moonlight, looks
The memory of those half bright days,
"When we have stolen away from '>oks,
And wasted hours in idle plays.
On Harnly's Point — on Groton Height,
We struck the ball, or threw the quoit,
Or calmly, in the cool twilight.
From Hurlbut's wharf have flung the bait.
The following is in one of Clarke's frequent
moods.
ON SEEING A TOUNG GIRL LOOK VERT "WISHFULLY INTO TTTE
6TRFF.T, FROM A WINDOW OF MISS 'S BOARDING SCHOOL,
IN EEOADWAT.
Sequestered girl — and dost thou deem
Thy lot is hard, because thou'rt hidden
From public life's bewildered stream,
And public pleasure's fruit forbidden;
Thou little knowest how many cares
Are scattered o'er the surge of fashion,
How soon its guilty scene impairs
Each virtuous hope — each modest passion.
The world assumes a winning shape,
That soils whate'er may dare to eye it,
And those young hearts alone escape,
That have tiie fortitude to fly it.
It takes the mask of coaxing eyes,
Of languid words, and bashful wooing,
Of tutored prayers, and treacherous sighs,
To tempt the innocent to ruin.
Its look is warm — its heart is cold,
Its accent sweet — its nature savage :
Its arms embrace with feeling's fold,
Till they shall have the power to — ravage.
Tiiose who have mingled in its clash,
And outwnr<UyT would seem to prize it,
Its sweetest cup would gladly dash,
And while they feel its smile — despise it.
The broken form — the ruffled cheek — •
The icy voice — the cheerless manner—
Disgusted hope and feelii g speak,
Worn out beneath a bandit's banner.
Maiden ! in some yet shapeless years,
Ihou'lt find too true what I have spoken,
And read these lines perhaps with tears,
That steal out from a heart that's broken.
There is the spirit of his New England home in
these lines : —
SUNDAY IN SUMMER.
When the tumult and toil of the week have ceased,
How still is the morning that smiles in the east,
The sweet Sabbath morning that comes to refresh
Every soul that is faint in its prison of flesh.
The rich clouds are fringed with yellow and blue —
The lips of the flowers are silvered with dew —
The winds are reposed upon pillows of balm —
Enjoyment is throned on the clear azure cairn.
The orchard trees bend their full arms to 'he earth,
In blessing the breast, where their beauty ha= birth.
And while bending in crimson luxuriance there,
Seem to have joined in the Sabbath's first prayer.
The little birds sing their gay hymns in the boughs —
The delicate winds from their cradles arouse —
The Sun gently lifts his broad forehead on high,
As Serenity presses her cheek to the sky.
And shall man, who miyht be an Ai gel in tears,
Would he weep out the stains of his sensual years,
While Nature isbiim'd with affection and praise,
Be a stranger to God, on this dearest of days I
0 no — the deep voice of the steeple is loud,
And City and Village in worship are bowed.
While the blue eyes of Summer look tendei ly down.
And nothing but Sin has a fear or a frown.
M'Donald's mixture of crudities and sublimities
attracted the public, we fear, more than his cor-
reeter pieces. He was the mad poet of the town,
; something like the fool in old plays, venting ho-
milies in most melancholy jest, perhaps with a
broken note of music, or a half caught felicity of
genius grasped at in one of his quick random flights.
Of his humorous efforts a single specimen may
suffice, which he appears to have written on the
completion of the
ASTOR HOUSE.
The winds of 1784,
Beat on a young Dutchman's head,
Who on his brawny shoulders bore
Beaver skins, he said
ISAAC STARR CLASON.
263
He'd sell, extremely cheap —
He sold a hemp.
To the shaggy burden bent
Firmly, for many a year,
From the copper seeds of a cent,
Has reaped a golden harvest, here,
Till lus name is smothered in bank stock,
And notched on the eternal rock.
His funeral monument is done —
Crowned with its granite wreath —
Poverty, load the loudest gun,
When he shall bequeath
His example — as Industry stares —
How to gild grey hairs.
A jovial to nb-stoi.e, — whew ! '
Such a- but few on earth afford —
Many a Fellow will get blue,
Many a mock-dirge be roared
From those gay corners, when New York
Hears other Centuries langh, and talk.
Its front, to the flashing East,
Let the broa Iside of the heaviest storm,
With wild, wldte lightnings creased,
Thunder for Ages on its form,
'Twill stand through thick and thin.
Showers of — -whiskey punch, within.
Benevolence, bid him build,
A twin-tomb to that Alpine pile,
Have it with homeless orphans filled,
Whose fond and grateful smile.
Shall memory's sweetest moonlight shed,
For ever, o'er his mouldering head.
Scorn and sentiment were the best winged ar-
rows in Clarke's quiver. His indignation at for-
tune for her treatment of genius and beauty, and
at the fopperies an ! impertinences of fashion, was
unbounded; he would rant in these fits of indig-
nation beyond the powers of the language ; but
he would always be brought back to human sen-
sibility by the sight of a pretty face or an innocent
look.
His verses are incongruous enough, grotesque
and absurd to the full measure of tliose qualities,
but a kind eye may be attracted by their very ir-
regularity, and find some soul of goodness in them;
and a lover of oddity — who would have subscribed
for a copy when the poet was living — may inno-
cently enough laugh at the crudities. At any
rate we have thought some notice of the man
worth presenting, if only as a curious reminiscence
of city life in New York, and a gratification to the
inquiring visitor at Greenwood Cemetery, who
asks the meaning of the simple monument at " the
Poet's Mo md, Sylvan Water," upon which the
death of H'Douald Clarke is recorded March 5,
184-3.
ISAAC STAEE CLASON,
A writer of fine talent but of a dissipated life,
was burn -i New York in 1798. His father was
a wealthy merchant of the city. The son had a
good education and inherited a fortune. He wast-
ed the latter in a course of prodigal' living, and
was driven to exhibit his literary accomplish,
ments as a writer of poems, generally more re-
markable for spirit than sobriety, as a teacher of
elocution, and as an actor. He appeared on the
boards of the Bowery and Park theatres in lead-
vin£ Shakespearian parts, but without much suc-
cess. In 1825 he published Don Juan, Cantos
xvii., xvm., supplementary to the poem of Lord
Byron, and in a kindred vein, not merely of the
grossness but of the wit. It made a reputation
for the author, and still remains probably the best
of the numerous imitations of its brilliant original
which have appeared. The scandal of the au-
thor's life faithfully reflected in it, added not a
little to its piquancy.
This was followed, in 1'826, by a collection of
poems entitled Horaee in New York. In this the
author celebrates Malibran, then in the ascendant
in opera, Dr. Mitchill, Halleck, and the Croakers,
and other gossip of the town. In addition to
these playful effusions, his capacity for serious
verse is shown in some feeling lines to the memory
of the orator and patriot Emmett.
In 1833 he wrote a poem founded on the
" Beauchumpe tragedy" of Kentucky ; but the
manuscript was never seen by any of his family,
though he was heard to repeat passages from it.
The poem is probably irrecoverably lost.
In 1834 Clason closed his life by a miserable
tragedy in London, whither he, had gone as a
theatrical adventurer. Reduced to poverty, this
man of naturally brilliant powers threw away
the opportunities of life by suicide. In company
with his mistress he carefully sealed the room in
which they lodged in London against the admis-
sion of air, and lighted a fire ol charcoal, from the
fumes of which both were found suffocated.
NAPOLEON — FROM TllE DON JUAN.
I love no land so well as that of France —
Land of Napoleon and Charlemagne ;
Renowned for valor, women, wit, and dance,
For raey Burgundy, and bright Champagne —
Whose only word in battle was " advance,"
While that "Grand Genius" who seemed born to
reign —
Greater than Amnion's son, who boasted birth
From heaven, and spurned all sons of earth.
Greater than he, who wore his buskins high,
A Venus armed, impressed upon his Seal —
Who smiled at poor Calphurnia's prophecy,
Nor feared the stroke he soon was doomed to feei ,
Who on the Ides of March breathed his last sigh,
As Brutus plucked away his " cursed steel,"
Exclaiming as he expire i. " Et tu Brute !"
But Brutus thought iie only did his duty.
Greater than he who at, nine years of age,
On Carthage' altar swore eternal hate,
Who with a rancor, time could ne'er assuage —
With Feelings, no reverse could moderate —
With Talents, such as few would dare engage —
With Hopes, that no misfortune could abate — "
Died, like his rival, both with broken hearts:
Such was their fate, and such was Bonaparte's.
Napoleon Boinnnrte ! thy name shall live,
Till Time's last echo shall have ceased to sound,
And if Eternity's confines can give
To Space reverberation — round and round
The Spheres of Heaven, the long, deep cry of " Vive j
' Napoleon !" in Thunders shall rebound —
'he Lightning's flash shall blaze thy name on high,
lonarch of Earth, now Meteor of the Sky !
What! though on St. Helena's rocky shore.
Thy head be pillowed, and thy form entombed,—
Perhaps that Son, the child thou didst adore,
Fired with a father's fame, may yet be doomed
26i
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
To crush the bigot Bourbon, and restore
Thy mould'ring ashes, ere the}' be consumed ; —
Perhaps, may run the course thyself didst run —
And light the World, as Comets light the suu ;
Tis better thou art gone; 'twere sad to see
Beneath an " imbecile's'' impotent reign,
Thy own unvanquished legions, doomed to be
Cursed instruments of vengeance on poor Spain, —
That land so glorious once in chivalry,
Now sunk in Slav'ry and in Shame again ;
To see th' Imperial Guard, thy dauntless band,
Made tools for such a wretch as Ferdinand.
Farewell Napoleon ! thine hour is past ;
No more earth trembles at thy dreaded name,
But France, unhappy France, shall long contrast
Thy deeds with those of worthless 1/AngouUme.
Ye Gods! how long shall slavery's thraldom last?
Will France alone remain for ever tame ?
Say! will no Wallace, will no Washington,
Scourge from thy soil the infamous Bourlon ?
Is Freedom dead ? Is Nero's reign restored ?
Frenchmen ! remember Jena, Austerlitz!
The first, which made thy Emperor the Lord
Of Prussia, and which almost threw in fits
Great Fred'rick William — he who at the board
Took all the Prussian uniform to bits ;
Fred'rick, the king of regimental tailors,
As Hudson Lowe the very prince of jailers.
Farewell Napoleon ! hadst thou have died
The coward scorpion's death — afraid, ashamed,
To meet Adversity's advancing tide,
The weak had praised thee, but the wise had
blamed :
But no ! though torn from country, child, and bride.
With Spirit unsubdued, with Soul untamed,
Great in Misfortune, as in Glory high,
Thou daredst to live through life's worst agony.
Pity, for thee, shall weep her fountains dry !
Mercy, for thee, shall bankrupt all her store !
Valor shall pluck a garland from on high !
And Honor twine the wreath thy temples o'er!
Beauty shall beckon to thee from the Sky !
And smiling Seraphs open wide Heaven's door!
Around thy head the brightest Stars shall meet,
And rolling Suns play sportive at thy feet!
Farewell Napoleon! a long farewell!
A stranger's to: guc, :das ! must hymn thy worth ;
No craven Gaul dare wake his Harp to tell
Or sound in song the spot that gave thee birth.
No more thy Name, that with its magic spell
Aroused the slumb'ring nations of the earth,
Echoes around thy land ! 'tis past ; at length,
France sinks beneath the sway of Charles the Tenth.
THOMAS ADDIS EMMET.
Son of a land, where Nature spreads her green,
But Tyranny secures the blossomed boughs;
Son of a race, long fed with Freedom's flame,
Yet trampled on when blazing in her cause : —
With reverence I greet thee, gifted man —
Youth's saucy blood subsides at thy grey hairs.
Oh, what was the true working of thy soul —
What griefs — what thoughts played in thy pliant
mind,
When, in the pride of manhood's steady glow,
Thy back was turned up"U the fav'rite trees,
Which, to thy childhood, had bestowed a shade ?
When every step, which bore thee to the shore,
Went from old paths, and hospitable roofs? —
Did not the heart's-tear tremble in thine eye,
A prayer for Erin quiver on thy lip,
As the ship proudly held her prow aloft,
And left the green isle in her creaming wake ?
And if a grief pressed on thy manly heart,
A prayer arose upon the ocean breeze,
At leaving each beloved face and scene : —
Did not the tear appear, and praise arise,
When stranger forms held out the friendly hand,
When shores, as strange, with smiles adopted thee ?
Yes! yes! there was a tear : — atearofjoj"; —
There was a prayer: — a prayer of gratitude.
And well thou hast returned each kindness done,
A birth-right purchased by thy valued deeds ;
And those who tendered thee a brother's grasp,
Bow, with respect, at thy intelligence,
And glory in the warmth their friendship showed.
I love to see thee in the crowded court,
Filling the warm air with sonorous voice,
Which use hath polished, time left unimpaired —
Bold, from the knowledge of thy powers of mind ;
Flowing in speech, from Nature's liberal gifts —
While thy strong figure and commanding arm,
Want but the toga's full and graceful fold,
To form a model worthy of old Rome.
I smile to see thy still unbending form
Dare winter's cold and summer's patching heat,
And buffet the wild crowd with gallant strength —
The slight bamboo poised graceful in thy hand,
And wielded with the air of Washington —
While thy light foot comes braveh' from the earth,
As if the mind were working iu the trunk.
And yet. though I enjoy thy frosty strength.
There's something tells me in thy furrowed face,
A virtuous age cannot o'erstep the tomb !
A solemn something whispers to my soul,
The court will feel the silence at thy death,
More than it did thy bursts of eloquence.
While thy chair standing in thy now warm home,
Will have an awful void when thou art gone.
What is't to thee if thy long life should wane!
The immortal soul will unsubdued arise,
And glow upon the steps of God's own thro: c :
Like incense kindled on an altar's top.
Cold as thy monument thy frame must be —
Warm as thy heart will be thy epitaph.
For thus the aching mind of valued friend,
Shall pay the last meed to the man he loved:
" Green as the glass around this quiet spot;
Pure as the Heavens above this cenotaph ;
Warm as the sun that sinks o'er yonder hills;
And active as the rich, careerii g clouds;
Was he who lies in eaith a thing of nought?
A thing of nought! — For what is man, great God ?
A very worm ; an insect of a day —
His body but the ehrys'lis to his mind !
For, even here — here where the good man's laid,
And proud Columbia's genius grieves —
We can but murmur: Here an Emmet lies."
JOHX HUGHE3.
This distinguished divine and controversialist
was born in the north of Ireland, 1798. He
came to America in his nineteenth year, and
studied theology at the college of Mount St. Mary,
Emmetshiirg, Maryland. Soon after his ordina-
tion in 1825. he became the rector of a Roman
Catholic church in Philadelphia, where lie en-
tered, in 1830, upon a newspaper discussion with
the Rev. Dr. John Breckenridge, a leading divine
of the Presbyterian church. The articles thus
published were collected in a volume. An oral
discussion between the same parties took place in
FRANCIS L. HAWKS.
2G5
1834. In 1838, Dr. Hughes, having been ap-
pointed Bishop Administrator of New York, re-
moved to that city. In 1840, he commenced an
agitation of the School question, claiming either
that no tax should be levied for educational pur-
poses, or, if levied, its proceeds lie distributed
among the various religious denominations of the
community, it being impossible, as he urged, to
provide a system of education which coidd be
tolerated by all. The reading of the ordinary
Protestant version of the Bible he especially ob-
jected to. The long discussion of the subject
which followed was maintained with great
energy, perseverance, and ability by the prelate,
who succeeded in obtaining a modification of the
previously existing system. His claim that the
church property of his denomination should be
exclusively vested in the hands of the clergy,
likewise urged at an early period of bis episcopate,
has also caused much discussion, and has been
revived in the year 1855 in a controversy
between Dr. Hughes and the Hon. Erastus
Brooks, of the New York Senate, growing out of
a statement by the latter that the Bishop was, in
this maimer, in possession of property to the
value of five millions of dollars. The articles
which have passed between the parties have
been collected in two separate and rival publica-
tions. In 1850, Bishop Hughes and bis diocese
were promoted by Pius IX. to arehiepiscopal
rank. His energetic discharge of the duties of
his elevated position hits not interfered with his
literary activity. He has constantly, as occasion
has arisen, availed himself of the newspapers of
the day to repel charges made against his deno-
mination in relation to its action on contempo-
rary questions, and has also frequently appeared
as a lecturer. Several of his productions in the
last named capacity have been published, and
exhibit him, in common with his less elaborate
efforts, as a vigorous, animated, and polished
writer, decided in the expression of opinion, and
quick in availing himself of every advantage of
debate. The following are the titles of these
addresses : Christianity the only Source of
Mural, Social, and Political Regeneration, de-
livered in the hall of the House of Representatives
of the United States in 1847, by request of the
members of both houses of Congress ; The
Church and the World ; The Decli ie of Pro-
testant Urn ; Lecture on the Antecedent Cause
of the Irish Famine in 1847 ; Lecture on Mix-
ture of Civil and Ecclesiastical Power in the
Middle Ages ; Lectures on the Importance of a
Christian Basis for the Science of Political
Economy ; Two Lectures on the Moral Causes
that have produced the EM Spirit of the Times ;
Debute before the Common Council of New York,
on the Catholic Petition respecting the Common
School Fund ; and The Catholic Chapter in the
History of the United. Stales.
Bishop Hughes is an impressive and agreeable
speaker. In person he is tall and well propor-
tioned, with a countenance expressive of benevo-
lence and dignity.
FRANCIS L. HAWKS,
An eminent pulpit orator of the Protestant
Episcopal Church, wa.^ born in North Carolina,
at Newbern, June 10, 1798. His grandfather
came with the colonial governor Tryon from
England, and was employed as an architect in
some of the prominent public works of the state,
and was distinguished by his liberal opinions in
the Revolution.
He was graduated at the University of North
Carolina, and prosecuting the study of the law in
the office of the Hon. William Gaston, was ad-
mitted to the bar at the age of twenty-one.
He continued the practice of the law for several
years in his native state, with distinguished, suc-
cess. A memorial of his career at this period is
left to the public in his four volumes of Reports
of Decisions in the Supreme Court of North
Carolina, 1820-26, and his Digest of all the
Cases decided and reported in North Carolina.
In his twenty-third year he was elected to the
Legislature of his state.
His youth had been marked by its high tone
of character, and his personal qualities and incli-
nations led him to the church as his appropriate
sphere. He was ordained by Bishop Ravenscroft
in 1827. His earliest ministerial duties were in
charge of a congregation in New Haven. In
1829 he became the' assistant minister of St.
James's Church, Philadelphia, in which Bishop
White was rector. The next year he was called to
St. Stephen's Church in New York, in which city
his reputation for eloquence became at once per-
manently established. From St. Stephen's he
passed to St. Thomas's Church in 1832, and con-
tinued his connexion with the parish till his re-
moval to Mississippi in 1844. During the latter
period of his brilliant career at St. Thomas's, he
was relieved from a portion of his city parochial
labors by an assistant, and devoted himself to a
liberal plan of education, which he had matured
with great ability, and the details of which were
faithfully carried out. He established at Flush-
■£M$tt
St. Thomas's Hall.
ing, Long Island, a boarding school, to which he
gave the name of St. Th< imas's Hall. The grounds
were prepared and the buildings erected by him;
a liberal provision was made for the instruction
and personal comforts of the students. He intro-
duced order and method in all departments.
Substantial comfort and prosperity pervaded the
establishment on all sides. Unfortunately the
experiment fell upon a period of great commer-
2GG
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
cial pressure, and the fruits of the hearty zeal,
labor, and self-denial of its projector, were lost
in its financial embarrassments. The failure of
this institution was a serious loss to the cause
of education. Its success would have greatly as-
sisted to elevate, the standard of the .frequently
mismanaged and even injurious country boarding
schools. As a characteristic of Dr. Hawks's
habitual consideration for the needy members of
his profession, and of his own personal disinter-
estedness, it may be mentioned that it was his in-
tention, when he had fairly established the insti-
tution, to leave it in the hands of appropriate
trustees, with the simple provision that the sons
of poor clergymen should receive from it, with-
out charge, an education worthy the position due
their parents.
Previous to his departure for the south-west,
Dr. Hawks had, in 1836, passed a summer season
in England, procuring, in accordance with a pro-
vision of the General Convention, copies of im-
portant papers relating to the early history of
the Episcopal Church in America. In this he
had the assistance of the eminent dignitaries of
the English Church, and secured a large and
valuable collection of MSS., which have been
since frequently consulted, on important topics of
the ecclesia tical and civil history of the country.
While at Flu-hing, after his return, he printed
considerable portions of them in the Church Re-
cord, a weekly paper devoted to the cause of
Christianity and education, which, commenced in
November, 1840, was continued till October,
1842.* The Record was conducted by Dr.
Hawks, and besides its support of Protestant
theology in the agitations of the day induced by
the publication of the " Oxford Tracts," in which
Dr. Hawks maintained the old American church-
manship and respect for the rights of the laity,
which he had learnt in the schools of White and
Ravenscroft, the journal made also a liberal pro-
vision for the display of the sound old English
literature, in a, series of articles in which its v> ants
were set forth from Sir Thomas More to De Foe.
In 1837 Dr. Hawks established the New York
Review, for a time continuing its active editor,
and commencing its valuable series of articles on
the leading statesmen of the country, with his
papers on Jefferson and Burr.t
While in the south-west Dr. Hawks was elected
Bishop of Mississippi, his confirmation in which
office was met by opposition in the General Con-
vention, where charges were proposed against him
growing out of the financial difficulties of the St.
Thomas's Hall education scheme. His vindica-
tion of his course in this matter occupied several
hours at the Convention- at Philadelphia, and is
described by those who listened to it as a mas-
terly and eloquent; oration : clear and ample in
statement, powerful and convincing in the nobie
appeal of the motives which had led him to trie
disastrous enterprise. A vote of acquittal was
passed, and the matter referred to the Diocese of
Mississippi, which expressed it* entire, confidence.
The bishopric was, however, not accepted. He has
since been tendered the bishopric of Rhode Island.
In 1842 Dr. Hawks edited a volume of the Hamilton
papers from MSS. c< mfided to him by the venerable
widow; but the undertaking was laid aside with
a single volume, the work having been afterwards
entered upon by Hamilton's son, with the as-
sistance of Congress.* In 1844 he accepted the
rectorship of Christ's Church in New Orleans, a
position which he held for five years-; during
which time he also lent his assistance to the
furtherance of the organization of the State Uni-
versity, of which he was made President. He
returned to New York in 1849 at the request of
his friends, with the understanding that provision
was to be made for, his St. Thomas's Hall obliga-
tions ; the unabated admiration of his eloquence
and personal qualities readily secured a sufficient
fund for this object, and he has since filled the
pulpit at Calvary Church. .
* Three volumes of this work were published by C. E. Lin-
don, an ingenious practical printer, and si ce the clever editor
of the Flushing Gazette ; two in quarto of the weekly, and a
third in a monthly octavo.
T From the hands of Dr. Hawks the Eeview passed under the
management of his associate in the ei terprise, the Eev. Dr. C.
8. Henry, the translator of Cousin, author of a History of Philo-
sophy in Harpers1 Family Library, and for maty years Pro-
fessor of Moral and Intellectual Philosophy in the New York
University. When Dr. Henry retired from the Review, he was
succeeded by that most accomplished man of letters, the orga-
nizer and first librarian of the Astor Library, Dr. J. G. Cogs-
well, by whom the work was conducted till its close in its
tenth volume in 1841.
?^£L^-L.
oi^t
o/. tyfei^/m'.
The literary publications of Dr. Hawks are two
volumes of Contributions to the Ecclesiastical
History of the United States, embracing the
states of Virginia and Maryland ; a volume of
The Constitutions and Canons of the Episcopal
Church with notes; a caustic essay on Auricular
Confession in the Protestant Episcopal Church,
published in 1850; an octavo, Egypt and its
Monuments, in particular relation to biblical evi-
dence; a translation of Rivero and Tsehudi's
Antiquities of Peru, in 1853 ; and several juve-
nile volumes of natural history and American
annals published in the " Boy's and Girl's Li-
brary" by the Harpers, with the title " Uncle Phi-
lip's Conversations." Dr. Hawks is also the author
of a few poemsj mostly descriptive of incidents in
his parochial relations, which have been recently
* The Official and other Papers of the late Major-General
Alexander Hamilton, compiled chiefly from the originals in the
possession of Mrs. Hamilton. 8vo. New York : Wiley and
Putnam. 1S42.
FRANCIS L. HAWKS.
207
printed in the North Carolina collection of poetry
entitled " Wood Notes." It is understood that he
has in preparation a work on the Antitjuitie-i of
America, a suhject which has long employed his
attention. In addition to these literary pursuits,
which have heen but episodes in his active pro-
fessional career, Dr. Hawks has delivered several
lectures and addresses, of which we may mention
particularly a biographical sketch of Sir Walter
Raleigh, ami a vindication of the early position of
North Carolina in the affairs of the Revolution.
He has been also an active participant in the pro-
ceedings of the New York Ethnological, Histori-
cal, and Geographical Societies. Of the most
important part of Dr. Hawks's intellectual labors,
his addresses from the pulpit, it is enough to my
that their merits in argument and rhetoric have
deserved!}' maintained his high position as an
orator, through a period ami to an extent rare in
the history of popular eloquence. A manly and
unprejudiced conviction of Christian truth, a
brilliant fancy, illuminating ample stores of read-
ing, and a practical knowledge of the world ;
seldom seen physical powers ; a deep-toned voice,
expressive of sincere feeling and pathos, and
easy and melodious in all its utterances ; a warm
Southern sensibility, and courageous conduct in
action, are among the qualities of the man, which
justify the strong personal influence which he has
long exercised at will among his contemporaries.
APPEAL FOR UNION OF THF. REVOLUTIONARY FATNESS AST)
6TATESMEN ; — FROM A THANKSGIVING BEP..UON AT CALVARY
CHURCH, ON "TUB DUTY OF CULTIVATING UNITY AND THE
SPIRIT OF NATIONALITY."
We owe the cultivation of this spirit, the impor-
tance of which I have been endeavoring to esta-
blish, to the memory of our heroic old fathers: Theirs
was the first great onward march iu the work of
making us a nation! Every step of that march was
marked by their blood and sufferings. They did not
know all that they were doing ; but they did see,
dimly risi.ig up in the distance before them, freedom
for themselves and their children, and freedom was
the root of their planting, from wliieh union and na-
tionality sprung. What think you, could they
come back from their graves and stand here among
us to-day, to see the nation of which they planted
the seed nearly eighty years ago; what think you
they would say to us upon this subject? They
would tell us of that dark, sad period, when with-
out arms and without ammunition ; with nothing
but courage to supply the want of discipline, and
with no leader but God Almighty, they looked in
upon their brave hearts, and questioning them, re-
ceived for response, "Be free, or die !" And then
they solemnly swore, the Lord bei..g their helper,
that they would be tree. They would tell us how
they tore themselves away from weeping wives and
children ; and how the noble mothers from whom we
sprung, chid the children for their tears, even while
they wept themselves, and how, dashing the tear-
drops from their eyelids, they threw their arms
around them for a parting embrace, and without a
falter in the voice, rung out in clear, womanly tones,
the words — often remembered afterwards in the but-
tle strife — " Go, my brave husband! go, my daring
boy! I give you to your bleeding country; I give
you to the righteous cause of freedom ; and if He
so will it, I give yon back to God." They would
tell us how, through seven long years, they endured
cold and hunger and nakedness ; how they fought,
how they bled, how some among them died ; how
God went with them and brought them through tri-
umphant at last. They would tell us how they were
more than compensated for all they had suffered, as
they looked around, (as on this day,) and in this
mighty nation of many millions, saw what God was
working out in their seven long years of suffering.
And who among us, as the story ceased, would dare
to say to these venerable witnesses to the past,
" Shall we throw away thai, which cost you so much ;
i shall we break up our unity ; shall we cease to be a
nation ?" Dare to say it? Why, a man's own con-
i science would rise up and call hiin accursed traitor,
| if he but dared to think it.
Is the spirit of our fathers dead within us ? Has
the blood of our noble old mothers ceased to flow in
j our veins? Who then are these white-haired old
men that are sitting here around me ? A remnant, a
mere remnant! Remnant of what ? Of those who,
when our nation had attained just about halt' its pre-
sent age, showed that the spirit of our Revolution-
ary fathers was not then dead. The=e are what re-
mains of the veterans of the war of 181:2. It is
thirty years ago since they were iu the vigor of life,
and then they did just as their fathers had done be-
fore them. Their country wanted them, and they
waited no second summons; they went forth and
kept the field until their country gave them an honor-
able discharge. But in oiie thing they differed from
their fathers. God permitted them to see, when
they so promptly answered their country's call, and
has permitted them, by prolonging their lives until
now, more fully to see, what tueir fathers could
only hope for: the immense advantages and bless-
ings of a great, consolidated, united people. And
how have they come up in a bo ly to-day, request-
ing it as a privilege to do so, that they might unit-
edly thank God, among other national blessings, for
the establishment and preservation of that national-
ity which the fathers of the Republic began, and to
preserve the i.. fant growth of which, they perilled
their lives. " Ho. .or to whom honor is due."
But there is yet another class to whom we owe
it to cherish the spirit of a broad nationality. These,
too, served their country, but not iu the tented field.
These were our patriot statesmen — the men who
framed, expounded, and upheld the great principles
of our political fabric. We may not, on an occasion ■
like this, pass them by unmentioued. I cannot, of
course, allude to all, but, since last we met, on an
occasion like this, two have gone, whose lives were
devoted to their country, with as pure a patriotism
as ever animated an American heart; and each of
whom gave, not merely commanding talents to the
Republic, but by a sal coincidence gave also a son,
and they wept alike, as they laid their dead soldier
boys in honored graves. .Need I name them? Not
when I speak to Americans ; for grief is yet too green
in the nation's heart to call for names. These men
knew tiie worth of unity and nationality. The one
living among the new settlements of our magnificent
lovely West, the other on the shores of old Massa-
chusetts, near the very spot where one of the earliest
colonies was planted ; but what mattered it to them
whether a State were on this side or the other of
the mountains, whether it were planted by "pilgrim
fathers" or "the hunters of Kentucky," so loi.g as
all was one. The one knew " no North, no South,
no East, no West:" the other prayed that when he
died, his eye might rest upon the gorgeous ensign
of the Republic, and see every star in its place,
while the rallying cry of his country should still be
"Liberty and Union, now and for ever!" These
men had studied the value of these United States;
they could see but little value in them disunited.
They saw the grand conception of a continental
2CS
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Union in all its mighty consequences. They are
dead; we shall heai- their voices of wisdom no
more. The one, in argument, smote like lightning,
and shivered the rock into fragments; the other
came with the ponderous force of the Alpine ava-
lanche, and sweeping away rock, tree, hamlet, every-
thing in its path, buried them. out of sight for ever.
I thank God for both, and pray that he may raise
up others to fill their places. I thank Him for the
wisdom He gave them, and pray that my country
may treasure it up among her hallowed possessions.
And when I think how universal and heartfelt was
the individual grief of my countrymen at their loss,
I cannot believe that their great principle of na-
tional unity will not survive them. They have gone
down to the grave with the Christian's hope: peace
be to their remains — honor to their memories.
TO AN AGED AND VERY CHEERFUL CHRISTIAN LADY.
Lady ! I may not think that thou
Hast travelled o'er life's weary road,
And never felt thy spirit bow
Beneath affliction's heavy load.
I may not think those aged eyes
Have ne'er been wet with sorrow's tears ;
Doubtless thy heart has told in sighs,
The tale of human hopes and fears.
And yet thy cheerful spirit breathes
The freshness of its golden prime,
Age decks thy brow with silver wreaths.
But thy young heart still laughs at Time.
Life's sympathies with thee are bright,
The current of thy love still flows,
And silvery clouds of living light,
Hang round thy sunset's golden close.
So have I seen in other lands,
Some ancient fame catch sweeter grace,
Of mellowed richness from the hands
Of Time, which yet could not deface.
Ah, thou hast sought 'mid sorrow's tears,
Thy solace from the lips of truth ;
And thus it is that fourscore years
Crush not the cheerful heart of Youth.
So be it still !— for bright and fair,
His love I read on thy life's page;
And Time ! thy hand lay gently there,
Spoil not this beautiful old age.
ALBERT BARNES,
The author of the Series of Popular Biblical
Coinmenturies, was born at Rome, New York,
December 1, 1798. He was educated at Hamil-
ton College, and entered the Theological Semi-
nary at Princeton in 1820; was ordained and
became pastor of a congregation at Morristown,
N. J., and subsequently, in 1830, of the First
Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia, where he
has since remained. The series of Notes on the
Scriptures, by which Dr. Barnes has obtained a
wide-spread reputation as an author and com-
mentator, was commenced during his residence
at Morristown. His original design was to pre-
pare a brief commentary on the Gospels for the
use of Sunday Schools. After he had com-
menced, hearing that the Rev. James W. Alex-
ander was engaged on a similar work for the
American Sunday School Union, he wrote to
him, proposing to abandon his project in favor of
that of his friend. On Dr. Alexander's reply —
that in consequence of his feeble health he was
desirous to transfer his task to the able hand
already occupied on the same project, Mr. Barnes
determined to continue. The work appeared,
and met with so favorable a reception that the
author enlarged his design, and has since anno-
tated most of the books of the Old and New
Testament, with the same distinguished success.
Besides these Commentaries, Dr. Barnes is the
author of several volumes of Sermons On jRevi-
■calx and Practical Sermons for Vacant Congre-
gations and Families ; some other devotional
works, and an elaborate Introductory Essay to
Bishop Butler's Analogy.
In his pastoral relations and personal character
Dr. Barnes is highly esteemed, as well as for his
eloquence in the pulpit.
By the adoption of the plan of writing at
an early hour, he has been able to prepare the
long series of volumes to which hio commentaries
extend, without any interference with the or-
dinary routine of his daily duties, all of the
volumes to which we have referred, together
with a work on Slavery, having been composed
before nine o'clock in the morning.
WILLIAM TUDOR.
William Ttidoe, the son of a lawyer of the Revo-
lution, from the. office of John Adams, was born
at Boston, January 28, 1799. He was educated
at Phillips Academy, at Andover, and at Harvard,
and afterwards became a clerk in the counting-
room of John Codman. In the employ of the lat-
ter he visited Paris, where his literary inclinations
were confirmed. He next sailed for Leghorn on a
commercial venture ; that failed, but he secured a
European tour through Italy and the Continent.
On his return to Boston he was an active mem-
ber in founding the Anthology Club, publishing
his European letters, with various entertaining
miscellanies, in their monthly magazine.
This journal, which bore the name of The
Monthly Anthology, was originally commenced
iu November, 1803, by Mr. Phineas Adams, a
I graduate of Harvard, and at the time teacher of
a school in Boston. At the end of six months it
fell into the hands of the Rev. William Emerson,
who, joining a few friends with him, laid the
foundation of the club. The magazine was then
announced as edited "by a society of gentlemen."
By the theory of the club every member was to
write for the " Anthology," but the rule was mo-
dified, as usual, by the social necessities of the
company, and the journal was greatly indebted to
outsiders for its articles. The members, how-
ever, had the privilege of paying its expenses,
which iu those days could hardly have been ex-
pected to be met by the public. In giving an
account of this work subsequently Mr. Tudor re-
marks, " whatever may have been the merit of
the Anthology, its authors would have been sadly
disappointed if they had looked for any other ad-
vantages to be derived from it than an occasional
smile from the public, the amusement of their
task, and the pleasure of their social meetings.
The publication never gave enough to pay the
moderate expense of their suppers, and through
their whole career they wrote and paid for the
pleasure of writing. Occasionally a promise was
held out that the proceeds of the work would soon
enable them to proceed without assessments, but
WILLIAM TUDOR.
209
the observance never came. The printers were
changed several times, and whenever they paid
anything it was an omen of ill luck to them."*
Ten volumes of the Anthology were thus published
from 180.3 to 1811, supported by the best pens of
Boston at the time : by Tudor, Buckminster, John
Quincy Adams, George Ticknor, Dr. John Syl-
vester, John Gardiner, and others.
In 1805 Mr. Tudor went to the West Indies to
establish for his brother agencies for a new branch
of commerce, the exportation of ice. He was
also engaged afterwards in some other commer-
cial transactions in Europe requiring ability and
address. In 1809 he had delivered the Fourth
of July oration in Boston, and in 1810 prepared
the Phi Beta Kappa address_for Harvard. In
December, 1814, he wrote the prospectus for the
Worth American Review, the first number- of
which appeared in May, 1815, under bis editor-
ship. It originally was a combination of the ma-
gazine and review, admitting light articles, essays,
and poems, while the staple was elaborate criti-
cism, and appeared in this style every two months
till December, 1818, when it was changed to a
quarterly publication. Mr. Tudor wrote three
fourths of the first four volumes.
In the year 1819 he published his volume of
Letters on tlte Eastern States, a book which with
some diffuseness handles topics of originality for
the time with acuteness. In 1821 ho published
a volume of Miscellanies, collected from his con-
tributions to the Monthly Anthology and the
early volumes of the Korth American Review,
which show the author's playful, learned 1 minor,
in a very agreeable light.t His spirited Life of
James Otis appeared in 1823. It is a view of
the times as well as of the man. The leading
personages of the period are presented in its ani-
mated, picturesque pages.
* Notice of the Monthly Anthology in " Miscellanies." by
W.Tudor.
t Among these papers are comic memoirs, after the fashion
of learned societies, on Cranberry Sauce, Toast, the Purring of
'Cats ; a Dissertation upon Things in General ; the Miseries of
Human Life, &c.
It is to Tudor that Boston is indebted for the
monument on Bunker Hill; he heard that the
ground was to be sold, interested men of wealth
in the purchase, and the work was commenced
at his suggestion. At the close of the same year
( 1823) he received the appointment of consul for
the United States at Lima, the duties of which
he discharged till his transfer to the Atlantic coast
in 1828 as chair/ (V affaires at Rio Janeiro. He
was successful in the negotiation of an indemnity
for spoliations on American commerce. While
at Rio he wrote a work, which was published
anonymously at Boston in 1829, entitled Gebel
Teir. It is in an ingenious vein of description and
speculation touching the manners and politics of
the most important nations of the world, whose
affairs are discussed by a synod of birds who meet •
on a mountain in Africa, the book taking its
name from a legendary conceit that Gebel Teir.
in Eg3'pt, was so called from an annual council
of the birds of the universe on its summit. In
this "politic congregation" the United States are
represented for the Eastern portion by the wren:
the pigeon for the West; the robin for the Mid-
dle; and the vulture and the mocking-bird for
the South. The pheasant, the humming-bird, and
the bat, are the members for Spain ; the marten
and thrush for England; the sparrow and cock
for France ; and the ibis for the Elysian Fields.
In the speeches delivered at this parliament the
reader may gather a very fair notion of the pre-
valent political ideas at home and abroad at the
time of the publication of the book.
Mr. Tudor died suddenly at Rio, March 9, 1 830.
It is understood that he left many manuscripts
relating to the countries which he visited nearly
ready for the press, which with his official corre-
spondence will probably be published.
As a member of the Anthology Club he was
one of the founders of the munificent library and
fifer
Athenffium Library.
fine art association, the Boston Athenaeum, a cir-
cumstance which brings him within the range of
2T0
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Mr. Quincy's recent memorial of that institution*
The society was incorporated in 1807. It received
numerous important gifts, especially from the Per-
kins family. The collection of hooks exceeds fifty
thousand volumes. Its American department is
Valuable; and its series of foreign reports of socie-
ties, etc., extensive. Among other specialities it
lias a large number of books and pamphlets which
belonged to General Washington, that were- pur-
chased for the institution by a liberal subscription
of gentlemen at Cambridge and Boston. After
several changes of position th,e Library is now lo-
cated in a sumptuous building in Beacon street,
where the gallery of fine arts connected with it is
also e*tal li-hed. The price of a share is three hun-
dred dollars; that of life membership, one hun-
dred. The use of the library, without the privi-
lege of taking out books, is extended to others on
an annual payment of ten dollars.
Mr. Charles Folsom, an accomplished and effi-
cient presiding officer, is the present librarian.
THE ELTSIAN FIELDS — FP.OM GEBEL TTtE.
The setting sun had now left the assembly in the
shadow of the ancient rocks under which they met.
and the approach of twilight was accompanied with
the freshness of evening. The numerous assembly,
true to nature, were prepaid: g for repose, when the
attention of the whole was irresistibly drawn to the
form of a bird, which seemed an His, that now oc-
cupied the perch, whose appearance was sudden, and
whose coming was noiseless and unseeu. The older
members exhibited awe more than surprise, but those
who were present for the first time felt a chilling
dread. The mysterious delegate seemed unearthly
and unsubstantial, a spectral liollowness marked his
aspect, and the first sepulchral tones of his voice
penetrated the whole audience, which sat in solemn,
mute expectation.
" I come, Mr. President, to make my annual re-
turn from the shades below. Many of this assembly,
whom I have seen before, know that after my death,
three thousand years ago, my earthh' remains were
carefully embalmed by the priests of Memphis, and
still repose in the catacombs of that ancient city.
Nought created by God ever perishes, matter is
transmuted into new combinations, 'but the essence
of birds as well as of men, each in their kinds, is sub-
limated at once for an incorporeal, imperishable ex-
istence in the world of spirits, Many of the secrets
of that world we are not allowed to disclose, and to
gross corporeal minds they would be unintelligible.
Such things as may be told I shall now relate to this
assembly. Biids have instinct, and men have rea-
son, to guide them in this world ; the former seldom
errs, the hitter often ; could either race behold the
terrific consequences of these errors, they would be
less frequent ; but sufficient warnings of them have
been given, which it is not incumbe.it on me to
repeat.
" My life having been adjudged blameless, my
spirit winged its way to the fields of Elysium, while
some of those who worshipped and embalmed my
body were doomed to the banks of Phlegethon. Sad
and harrowing would be the description of those
dreary regions, I have dwelt upon and enforced it
from time to time for twenty centuries, since I was
first deputed to attend this assembly: I shall not
now repeat it. But to instruct and incite the younger
* The History of the Boston Athenaeum, with Biographical
Notices of its deceased Founders. By Josiah Quincy. Cam-
bridge: 186L
members here present, I will mention a few of the
sights that gladden the eye in the Llysian Fields,
where birds who have shown themselves faithful in
their duties, vigilant sentinels when stationed on
that service, valiant defenders of their nests, and
careful providers for their yourg, enjoy the unceas-
ing delights of Elysium, on a wii g that never tires.
They are there secure from attack and fioni suffer-
ing, in a blissful region, -where peace for ever dwells,
and violence or want can never enter.
" In these abodes of ever-durii g felicity a deep
harmony and universal participation increase the
charm of every delight. Amoi g the varieties of
ethereal enjoyment it is one to see the tenants of
Elysium attended by the semblances of all those
creations of their genius which ennobled their exist-
ence in tins world. It is 01 e of the rewards allotted
to them that these en, bodied shadows shall there
follow them ; and the pleasure is mutual, as each
purified from envy and all earthly passion enjoys
the creations of others as well as his own. There
the Grecian poets and artists are accompanied by
the classic designs they inverted. Homer is fol-
lowed by Achilles, Kestor, Ulysses, Ajax, and a
crowd of others. Sophocles and Euripides are at-
tended by Clytemnestra, Iphigenia, Orestes, Jason,
<fee. The clouds and birds hover over Aristophanes.
The sculptors have for companions their Apollo, Ve-
nus, and the Graces; and the painters their repre-
sentations, even to the grapes that deceived the
birds, and the curtain that deceived the artist. Vir-
gil sees jEneas, Creusa, and Ascanius, Dido, Kisus,
and Luryalus, and all his heroic and pastoral cha-
racters. Raphael is surrounded with the beautiful
mothers and children he painted for Catholic wor-
ship, and Michael Ar.gelo here compares that awful
scene which he sprend on the walls of the Sistine
Chapel with the reality that exists around him.
" Petrarch sees his laurel covered with sonnets to
Laura, who sits beneath its shade. Dante with Bea-
trice here realizes the scenes he tried to discover in
this world ; Ariosto has his wild, gay imaginations
of ladies, magicians, and knights to recreate his
fancy. Cervantes is accompanied by Don Quixote,
Sancho, and all the characters of his bi illiant genius.
Rabelais has Panurge and his grotesque companions,
and Fenelon is escorted by Mentor, Telemachus,
Calypso, and Eulalia. Spenser has his allegoric vi-
sions. But of all who are thus gratified and contri-
bute to the general delight, none is so distinguished
as Shakespeare, around whom every creation of
fancy, the gay, sad, heroic, terrific, fantastic, appears
in a hundred forms. Falstaff and his buffoons, Au-
tolycUB and his clowns. Ham'.et and Ophelia, Ro-
meo and Juliet, Othello and Desdemona, Lear, Mac-
beth, Ariel. Miranda. Caliban, the fairies of a Siid-
si .turner's Might, and the Witches of a Highland
Heath, all attend his beck. Of late new gioups
have made their appeal anee as yet without their
master. Some of these in all the various measures
of pioetry, others in the more serious steps of piose ;
and these were multiplied so fast, and exhibited so
much invention, that it was at last thought they
would realize the prodigies of any other imagination.
"The heroes and statesmen who are rewarded
with a residence in these blissful fields, have yet one
mark to designate their errors. They are at times
partially or wholly enveloped in an appearance of
mist, which impedes them from seeing or being seen
by others. When this is examined, it is found to
consist of an infinite number of minute, vapory pieces
of paper, to represent their delusive statements, and
their intrigues of ambition and rivalry ; when this
is dissipated, there appear over their heods in aerial
letters of light, the great and useful measures they
ROBERT C. SANDS.
271
prosecuted. The mist that encircles heroes is com-
posed of an innumerable quantity of weapons of de-
struction, in miniature; as every man who fell in
battle in a useless war, is here typified by a sword,
ball, or spear, or if he perished of disease, by a small
livid spot. Some are thus surrounded more than
others. An illustrious chief, recently arrived, who
extended his march to this spot where we assemble,
is sometimes wholly enveloped: when the mist breaks
away we see in the air inscriptions of ' religious to-
leration,' 'road over the Alps,' 'protection of the
arts,' <fce. But among all those who as a statesman
or a warrior walks these blessed groves, there is
but one combining both attributes, whose majestic
form is forever unshrouded; around whom there
never flits the representation of a delusive state-
ment, nor an effort of perso ;al intrigue, nor a single
minute resemblance of a destructive weapon to sig-
nify that a soldier perished in a battle fought with
ambitious views; over his head appears in mild ra-
diance eii inscription: 'First in war, first in peace,
and first in the hearts of his countrymen.' "
The form of the Ibis had now vanished as suddenly
and sile itly as it first appeared; the influence of
the hour replaced the feeli.ig of awful attention by
which it had been suspended. The nocturnal birds,
the owls, whip-poor-wills, and bats began their ca-
reer of nightly occupation and watching, while the
rest of the immense assembly soon had their hea Is
under their wings, and presented a more numerous
collection than could be formed by the afternoon
patients united of a tnousaud somniferous preachers.
EOBEET C. SANDS,
One of the mist original of American humorists,
a fine scholar, and a poet of ardent imagination,
was born in the city of New York, May 11, 1799.
His father, Comfort Sands, was a merchant of the
city, who had borne a patriotic part in the early
struggles of the Revol ution. Sands early acquired
a taste for the ancient classics, which his educa-
tion at Columbia College confirmed, to which he
afterwards added a knowledge of the modern
tongues derived from the Latin. One of his
college companions, two years his senior, was his
friend and partner in his poetical scheme, James
Wallis Eastburn. They projected while in col-
lege two literary periodicals. The Moralist and
Academic Recreations. The first had but a single
number; the other reached a volume; — Sands
contributing prose and verse. Graduating with
the class of 1815, he entered the law office of
David B. Ogden, and contrary to the habit of
young poets, studied with zeal and fidelity. His
talent for writing, at this time, was a passion.
He wrote with facility, and on a great variety of
subjects; one of his compositions, a sermon,
penned for a friend, finding its way into print,
with the name of the clergyman who delivered
it. In 1817 he published, in the measure which
the works of Scott ha 1 made fashionable, The
Bri&al of Vaumoitd, founded, his biographer
tells us, " on the same legend of the transformation
of a decrepit and miserable wretch into a youthful
hero, by compact with the infernal powers, which
forms the groundwork of Byron's " Deformed
Transformed."* This, though spoken of with
respect, is not included in the author's writings.
His literary history is at this time interwoven
with that of his friend, Eastburn, with whom he
Memoir, by G. C. Yerplanck, p. 7.
was translating the Psalms of David into verse,
and writing a poem, " Yamoyden," on the history
of Philip, the Pequod chieftain. This was plan-
ned by Eastburn, while he was pursuing his
studies for the ministry, during a residence at
Bristol, Rhode Island, in the vicinity of the In-
dian locality of the poem. It was based on a
slight reading of Hubbard's Narrative of the
Indian Wars. The two authors chose their parts,
and communicated them when finished to each
other; the whole poem being written in the
winter of 1817 and following spring. While it
was being revised, Eastburn, who in the mean-
time had taken orders in the Protestant Episcopal
Church, died in his twenty-second year, Decem-
ber 2, 1819, on a voyage to Santa Cruz, under-
taken to recover his health.
The poem was published the year following, in
1820, with an advertisement by Sands, who, on
a further study of the subject, had made some
additions to the matter. The proem, which cele-
brates the friendship of the two authors, and the
poetical charm of their Indian subject, is justly
considered one of the finest of Sands's literary
achievements. The basis of the poem belongs to
Eastburn.
The literary productions of the latter have
never been collected. That the}' would form a
worthy companion volume to the writings of his
friend Sands, while exhibiting some characteristic
differences of temperament, there is abundant
proof in all that is known to the public to have
proceeded from his pen. In the absence of
further original material, we may here present
the tribute paid to his genius by his brother, the
Right Reverend Manton Eastburn, of the diocese
of Massachusetts, in an oration pronounced in
1837, at the first semi-centennial anniversary of
the incorporation of Columbia College by the
legislature of New York.
" The remains," said Dr. Eastburn, " which
Eastburn has left behind him are amazingly
voluminous. I will venture to say that there are
few, who, on arriving at the age of twenty-two,
which was the limit of his mortal career, will be
found to have accomplished so much literary
composition. His prose writings, many of which
appeared anonymously in a series of periodical
essays, conducted by himself and some of his
friends, take in an extensive range of moral and
classical disquisition ; and are models of the
purest Addisonian English. The great charm,
however, of all his writings, is the tone that
breathes through them. Whatever be the sub-
ject, the reader is never allowed to forget, that
the pages before him are indited with a pen
dipped in the dew of heaven. An illustration
of tins peculiar feature of his productions will
form the most appropriate ending of this brief
offering to his memory. On one glorious night
of June, 1819, during his residence as a parochial
I clergyman upon the eastern shore of Virginia,
and a few months before his death, he sat up
1 until the solemn hour of twelve to enjoy the
i scene. The moon was riding in her majesty;
her light fell upon the waters of the Chesapeake;
and all was hushed into stillness. Under the
immediate inspiration of such a spectacle, he
penned the following lines, which he has entitled
' The Summer Midnight.' After having given
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
them to yon, my fellow-collegians, I will leave
you to decide whether the character I have just
drawn he a true portrait, or has been dictated
only by the natural enthusiasm of a brother's
love.
" The breeze of night has sunk to rest,
Upon the river's tranquil breast ;
And every bird has Bought her nest,
Where silent is her minstrelsy ;
The queen of heaven is sailing high,
A pale bark on the azure sky,
Where not a breath is heard to sigh —
So deep the soft tranquillity.
" Forgotten now the heat of day
That on the burning waters Jay,
The noon of night her mantle grey
Spreads, for the sun's high blazonry ;
. But glittering in that gentle night
There gleams a line of silvery light,
As tremulous on the shores of white
It hovers sweet and playfully.
" At peace the distant shallop rides ;
Not as when dashing o'er her sides
The roaring bay's unruly tides
"Were beating round her gloriously ;
But every sail is furled and still :
Silent the seaman's whistle shrill,
While dreamy slumbers seem to thrill
With parted hours of ecstasy.
"Stars of the many-spangled heaven !
Faintly this night your beams are given,
Tho' proudly where your hosts are driven
Ye rear your dazzling galaxy ;
Since far and wide -a softer hue
Is spread across the plains of blue,
Where in blight chorus, ever true,
For ever swells your harmony.
" 0 for some sadly dying note
Upon this silent hour to float,
Where from the bustling world remote
The lyre might wake its melody ;
One feeble strain isall can swell
From mine almost deserted shell,
In mournful accents yet to tell
That slumbers not its minstrelsy.
" There is an hour, of deep repose
That yet upon my heart shall close,
When all that nature dreads and knows
Shall burst upon me wondrously ;
0 may I then awake for ever
My harp to rapture's high endeavor,
And as from earth's vain scene I sever,
Be lost in Immortality I"
In 1822 and 1823, Sands was writing for the
Literary Review, a monthly New York periodi-
cal, in conjunction with some friends, associated
in a junto known as the Literary Confederacy.
They were four in number, and had already con-
tributed the series of papers, " The Neologist"
to the Daily Advertiser, and " The Amphilogist"
to the Commercial Advertiser; and in 1822
and 1823 he furnished, in conjunction with his
friends, numerous articles to the Literary Review,
a New York monthly periodical, and in the
winter of 1823-1, the confederacy published the
seven numbers of the St. Tammany Magazine.
In May, 1824, Sands commenced the Atlantic
Magazine, which he edited, and for which he
wrote many of the articles during its first volume ;
when it became the New York Review he again
entered upon the editorship, which he continued,
supplying many ingenious and eloquent papers
till 1827. After this he became associated in the
conduet of the Commercial Advertiser, a post
which he occupied at his death.
In 1828, he wrote an Historical Notice of Her-
nan Cortes, to accompany a publication of the
Cortes Letters for the South American market.
For this purpose it was translated into Spanish
by Manuel Dominguez, and was not published in
the author's own language till the collection of
his writings was made after his death. In this
year The Talisman was projected. It turned
out in the hands of its publisher, Elam Bliss, to
be an annual, according to the fashion of the day.
but it was originally undertaken by the poet
Bryant, Yerplanck, and Sands, as a joint collec-
tion of Miscellanies, after the manner of Pope,
Swift, and their friends. The Talisman, under the
editorship of the imaginary Francis Herbert. Esq.,
and written by the three authors, was continued
to a third volume in 1830. It was afterwards re-
issued according to the original plan, with the
title of Miscellanies.
The " Dream of the Princess Papantzin," first
published in the Talisman, founded on a legend
recorded by the Abbe Clavigero, a poem of more
than four hundred lines of blank verse, is con-
sidered by Mr. Verplanck " one of the most per-
fect specimens left by Mr. Sands of his poetic
powers, whether we regard the varied music of
the versification, the freedom and splendor of the
diction, the nobleness and affluence of the imag-
ery, or the beautiful and original use he has made
of the Mexican mythology."
In 1831 Sands published the Life and Corres-
pondence of Paul Jones. The next year he was
again associated with Bryant in the brace of vo-
lumes entitled Tales of the Glou her Spa, to which
Paulding, Leggett, and Miss Sedgwick were also
contributors, and for which Sands wrote the hu-
ROBERT C. SANDS.
morons introduction, the tale of Mr. Green, and
an imaginative version of the old Spanish foun-
tain of youth story, entitled Boyuca. His last
finished composition was a poem in the Commer-
cial Advertiser, The Dead of 1832.
At the very instant of his death he was engaged
upon an article of invention for the first number
of the Knickerbocker Magazine upon Esquimaux
Literature, for which he had filled his mind with
the best reading on the country. It was while
engaged on this article on the 17th December,
1832, that he was suddenly attacked by apoplexy.
He had written with his pencil the line for one of
the poems by which he was illustrating his topic,
Oh think not my spirit among you abides,
some uncertain marks followed from his
stricken arm ; he rose and fell on the threshold of
his room, and lived hut a few hours longer.
The residence of Sands for the latter part of his
life was at Hoboken, then a rural village within
sight of New York. In that quiet retreat, and
in the neighborhood of the woods of Weehawken,
The Wood at Hoboken.
celehrated by his own pen as well as by the muse
of Halleck, he drew his kindly inspirations of na-
ture, which he hardly neei'ed to temper his always
charitable judgments of men. His character has
heen delicately touched by Bryant in the memoir
in the Knickerbocker,* and drawn out with ge-
nial_ sympathy by Verplanck in the biography
prefixed to his published writings. t Sands was a
man of warm and tender feeling, a loving humo-
rist whose laughter was the gay smile of profound
sensibility ; of a kindling and rapid imagination,
which did not disdain the labor and acquisitions
of mature scholarship. He died unmarried, having
always lived at home in his father's house. It is
related of him, in connexion with his love of na-
ture, that he was so near-sighted that he had never
seen the stars from his childhood to his sixteenth
year, when he obtained appropriate glasses.
That American literature experienced a gremt
loss in the early death of Sands, will be felt by the
reader who makes acquaintance with his well cul-
tivated, prompt, exuberant genius, which pro-
* January, 1833.
t The Writings of Robert C. Sands, in Prose and Terse with
a Memoir of the Author. 2 vols. Harpers. 1S34.
VOL. II. — 18
mised, had life been spared, a distinguished career
of genial mental activity and productiveness.
HOBOKEN.11-'
For what is nature? ring her changes round,
Her three flat notes are water, woods, and ground ;
Prolong the peal — yet, spite of all her clatter,
The tedious chime is still — grounds, wood, and water.
Is it so, Master Satirist ? — does the all-easing air,
with the myriad hues which it lends to and borrows
again from the planet it invests, make no change in
the appearance of the spcetacida rerum, the visible
exhibitions of nature? Have associatioa and con-
trast nothing to do with them? Nature can afford
to be satirized. She defies burlesque. Look at her
in her barrenness, or her terrific majesty — in her po-
verty, or in her glory — she is still the mighty mo-
ther, whom man may superficially trick out, but
cannot substantially alter. Art can only succeed by
following her ; and its most magnificent triumphs
are achieved by a religious observance of her rule;!.
It is a proud and primitive prerogative of man, that
the physical world has been left under his control, to
a certain extent, not merely for the purpose of rais-
ing from it his sustenance, but of modifying its ap-
pearance to gratify the eye of taste, and, by beauti-
fying the material creation, of improving the spirit-
ual elements of his own being.
'When the Duke of Bridgewater's engineer was ex-
amined by the House of Commons as to his views on
the system of internal communication by water, he
gave it as his opinion that rivers were made by the
Lord to feed canals; and it is true that Providence
has given us the raw material to make what we can
out of it.
This may be thought too sublime a flourish for au
introduction to the luxuriant and delightful land-
scape by Weir, an engraving from which embellishes
the present number of the Mirror. But, though it
may be crudely expressed, it is germain to the sub-
ject. Good taste and enterprise have done for Ho-
boken precisely what they ought to have done, with-
out violating the propriety of nature. Those whw
loved its wild haunts before the metamorphosis,
were, it is true, not a little shocked at what they
could not but consider a desecration ; and thought
they heard the nymphs screaming — " We are oft',''
when carts, bullocks, paddies, and rollers came to
clear the forest sanctuary. They were ready to ex-
claim with the poet, Cardinal Bernis —
Quelle etonnantc barbaric
D'asservir la varieto
Au eordeau de !a symmetric :
De polir la rusticitc'
D'un bois fait pour la reverie,
Et d'oroer la simplicity
De cette riaute paririort
But " cette riante prairie" is now one of the pret>
tiest places you may see of a summer's day. It is
appropriately called the Elysian Fields, and does,
indeed, remind the spectator of
Yellow meads of asphodel,
And amaranthine bowers.
It is now clothed in vivid, tra: sparent, emerald
green ; its grove is worthy of being painted fcy
* First published in the New York Mirror, to accompany a
landscape by Weir, of which the wood engraving in this article
is a copy.
1 Oh, what a shocking tiling to sacrifice
Variety to symmetry,
In such a wise 1
To polish the rusticity
Of that old wood, designed for revery,
And ornament the simple grace,
Of that fair meadow's smiling face.— Pkesteb's Devil.
2U
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Claude Lorraine ; and from it you may look, and
cannot help looking, on ore of the noblest rivers, and
one of the finest cities in the universe.
Hoboken has been illustrated so often, in poetry
and prose, and by the pencil of the limner, in late
years, that it "would be vain and superfluous to at-
tempt a new description. A " sacred bard," one who
will be held such in the appreciation of posterity, h;is
spoken of the walk from this village to Weehawken
as "one of the most beautiful in the world,"* and has
given, in prose, a picture of its appearance. Another
writer, whose modest genius (I beg your pardon,
Messrs. Editors — he is one of your own gang) leavens
the literary aliment of our town, and the best part
of whom shall assuredly "escape libitina," has ele-
gantly and graphically described the spot in illus-
trating another series of pictorial views. f Halleck's
lines are as familiar as household words. Francis
Herbert has made the vicinity the scene of one of his
tough stories. At least half a dozen different views
have been taken of it within the last two years.
They embraced, generally, an extensive view of the
river, bay, and city. Weir has selected a beautiful
spot, in one of the new walks near the mansion of
Colonel Stevens, with a glimpse of the splendid sheet
of water through the embowering foliage. That
gentleman, and lady with a parasol, in front of the
prim, and who look a little prim themselves, seem to
enjoy the loveliness of the scene, as well as the so-
ciety of one another. Our country has reason to
reckon with pride the name of Weir among those of
her artists.
The sunny Italy may boast
The beauteous hues that fluth her skies ;
he has seen, admired, studied, and painted them;
but he can find subjects for his pencil as fair, in his
own land, and no one can do them more justice.
It is a fact not generally known, that there is, or
was, an old town in Holland called Hoboken, from
which, no doubt, this place was named. There was
also a family of that name in Holland. A copy of an
old work on medicine, by a Dutch physician of the
name of Hoboken, is in the library of one of the emi-
nent medical men of this city. The oldest remaining
house upon it, for it is insulated, forms the rear of
Mr. Thomas Swift's hotel upon the green, and was
built sixty years ago, as may be seen by the iron
memorandums practicated in the walls. There is at
present a superb promenade along the margin of the
river, under the high banks and magnesia rocks
which overlook it, of more than a mile in length, on
which it is intended to lay rails, for the edification
of our domestic cockneys and others, who might not
else have a chance of seeing a locomotive in opera-
tion, and who may be whisked to the Elysian fields
before they will find time to comb their whiskers, or
count the seconds.
In this genial season of the year, a more appro-
priate illustration could not be furnished for the
Mirror than a view of this pleasant spot. We say,
with Horace, let others cry up Thessalian Tempe, tfec ,
our own citizens have a retreat from the dust and
heat of the metropolis more agreeable —
Qtiam domus Albunere resonantis,
Et praeccps Anio, etTiburni lucus, et uda
Mobilibus pomaria rivis.
But, as some of your readers may not undertand
Latin, let us imitate, travesty, and doggj elize the ode
* American Landscape. Edited by W. C. Bryant, No. 1,
This woik was projected by the New York artists; but the
project has been abandoned.
t Views of Iww York and its Environs. Published by Pea-
body & Co., and edited by T. S. Pay.
of Flaceus bodily. There is an abrupt transition in
the middle of it, which critics have differed about;
but I suppose it is preserved as he wrote it the
whole of the old rascal's great argument being, that
with good wine you may be comfortable in any place,
even in Communipaw.
Laudal unt alii clarum Rltodon, <&c.
Let Willis tell, in glittering prose,
Of Paris and its tempting shows ;
Let Irving while his fancy glows,
Praise Spain, renowned — romanticl
Let Cooper write, until it palls.
Of Venice, and her marble walls.
Her durgeons, bridges, and canals,
Enough to make one frantic !
Let voyaffews Macadamize,
"With books, the Alps that climb the skies.
And ne'er forget, in anywise,
Geneva's lake and city ;
And poor old Pome— the proud, the great,
Fallen — fallen from her high estate,
No cockney sees, bt:t he must piate
About her — what a pity I
Of travellers there is no lack,
God knows — each one of them a hack,
Who ride to write, and then go back
And publish a Ions story,
Chiefly about themselves; but each
Or in dispraise or praise, with bleach
Of truth on either side, will preach
About some place's g ory.
For me — who never saw the sun
His course o'er other regions run,
Than those whose franchise well was won
By blood of patriot martyrs —
Fair fertile France may smile in vain;
Nor will I seek thy ruins. Spain:
Albion, thy freedom I disdain,
With all thy monarch's charters.
Better I love the river's side.
Where Hudson's sounding waters glide,
And with their full majestic tide
To the great sea keep flowing:
Weehawk, I loved thy frowning height,
Since first I saw, with fond delight.
The wave beneath the rushes bright,
And the new Rome still growing.
[Here occurs the seeming hiatus above referred to.
He proceeds as follows :] —
Though lately we might truly say,
'■The iain it raineth every day,"'
The wind can sweep the clouds away,
And open daylight's t-hutters:
So, Colonel Morris, my fine man.
Drink good champagne wheDe'eryou can,
Regardless of the temperance plan,
Or what the parson utters.
Whether in regimentals fine.
Upon a spanking horse you shine,
Or supervise the work;, divine
Of scribblers like the present:
Trust me, the good old stuff, the blood
Of generous grapes, well understood
On sea, on land, in town, in wood,
Will make all places pleasant.
For hear what Ajax Teucer said,*
Whose brother foolishly went dead
Ft>r spleen : — to Salami* he sped,
Sun* Telamon's dead body ;
His father kicked him off the stoop —
Said he, "For this I will not droop;
The world has realms wherein to snoop,
And I am not a noddy.
" Come, my brave boys, and Ictus go,
Asfortune calls, or winds may blow —
Teucer your guide, the way will show —
Fear no mishap nor Borrow :
Another Salamis as fine,
Is promised by the Delphic Fhrinc:
So stuff your skins to-night with wine,
• We'll go to sea to-morrow."
* The papa of the two Ajaces charged them, when they
started for Troy, to bring one another home ; or else he threat-
ened not to receive the survivor. Ajax Telnmon being miffed,
because the armour of Achilles was awarded to Ulysses, went
crazy, killed sheep, and made a holocaust of himself. When
Teucer went home without him, the old gentleman shut the
door in his face. — Free translation of Mad. Dacier.
ROBERT C. SANDS.
PROEM TO TAMOYDEN.
Go forth, sad fragments of a broken strain,
The last that either bard shall e'er essay I
The hand can ne'er attempt the chords again,
That first awoke them, in a happier day:
Where sweeps the ocean breeze its desert way,
His requiem murmurs o'er the moaning wave ;
And he who feebly now prolongs the lay,
Shall ne'er the minstrel's hallowed honours crave ;
His harp lies buried deep, in that untimely grave!
Friend of my youth, with thee began the love
Of saered song; the wont, in golden dreams,
'Mid classic realms of splendours past to rove.
O'er haunted steep, and by immortal streams ;
Where the blue wave, with sparkling bosom gleams
Round shores, the mind's eternal heritage,
For ever lit by memory's twilight beams ;
Where the proud dead that Live in storied page,
Beckon, with awful port, to glory's earlier age.
There would we linger oft, entranced, to hear,
O'er battle fields, the epic thunders roll ;
Or list, where tragic wail upon the ear,
Through Argive palaces shrill echoing, stole ;
There would we mark, uncurbed by all control,
In central heaven, the Theban eagle's flight,
Or hold communion with the musing soul
Of sage or bard, who sought, 'mid pagan night,
In loved Athenian groves, for truths eternal light.
Homeward we turned, to that fair land, but late
Redeemed from the strong spell that bound it fast,
Where mystery, brooding o'er the waters, sate
And kept the key, till three millenniums past;
When, as creation's noblest work was last,
Latest, to man it was vouchsafed, to see
Nature's great wo:ider, long by clouds o'ercast,
And veiled in saered awe, that it might be
An empire and a home, most worthy for the free.
Anil here, forerunners strange and meet were
found,
Of that blessed freedom, only dreamed before ; —
Dark were the morning mists, that lingered round
Their birth and story, as the hue they bore.
" Earth was their mother ;" — or they knew no
more,
Or would not that their secret should be toll ;
For they were grave and silent, and such lore,
To stranger ears, they loved not to unfold.
The long-transmitted tales their sires were taught
of old.
Kind nature's commoners, from her they drew
Their needful wanrs, and learned not how to hoard ,
And him whom strength and wisdom crowned,
they knew,
But with no servile reverence, as their lord.
And on their mountain summits they adored
One great, good Spirit, in his high abode,
And thence their incense ami orisons poured
To His pervading presence, that abroad
They felt through all his works, — their Father,
King, and God,
And in the mountain mist, the torrent's spray,
The quivering forest, or the glassy flood,
Soft falling showers, or hues of orient day,
They imaged spirits beautiful and good ;
But when the tempest roared, withVoices rude,
Or fierce, red lightning fired the forest pine,
Or withering heats untimely seared the wood,
The angry forms they saw of powers malign ;
These they besought to spare, those blest for'aid di-
vine.
As the fresh sense of life, through every vein,
With the pure air they drank, inspiring camej
Comely they grew, patient of toil and pain,
And as the fleet deer's agile was their frame;
Of meaner vices scarce they knew the name;
These simple truths went down from sire to son, —
To reverence age, — the sluggish hunter's shame,
And craven warrior's infamy to shun, —
And still avenge each wrong, to friends or kindred
done.
From forest shades they peered, with awful dread,
When, uttering flame and thunder from its side,
The ocean-monster, with broad wings outspread,
Came ploughing gallantly the virgin tide.
Few years have passed, and all their forests' pride
From shores and hills has vanished, with the race,
Their tenants erst, from memorv who have died,
Like airy shapes, which eld was wont to trace,
In each green thicket's depth, and lone, sequestered
place.
And many a gloomy tale, tradition yet
Saves from oblivion, of their struggles vain,
Their prowess and their wrongs, for rhymer meet.
To people scenes, where still their names remain ;
And so began our young, delighted strain,
That would evoke the plumed chieftains brave,
And bid their martial hosts arise again,
Where Narraganset's tides roll by their grave,
And llnup's romantic steeps are piled above the
wave.
Friend of my youth ! with thee began my song,
And o'er thy bier its latest accents die ;
Misled in phantom-peopled realms too long, —
Though not to me the muse averse deny,
Sometimes, pertnfps, her visions to descry.
Such thriftless pastime should with youth be o'er;
And he who loved with thee his notes to try,
But for thy sake, such idlesse would deplore,
And swears to meditate the thankless muse no more.
But, no ! the freshness of the past shall still
Sacred to memory's holiest musings be ;
When through the ideal fields of song, at will,
He roved and gathered chaplets wild with thee ;
When, reckless of the world, alone and free,
Like two proud barks, we kept our careless way,
That sail by moonlight o'er the tranquil sea ;
Their white apparel and their streamers gay,
Bright gleaming o'er the main, beneath the ghostly
ray;—
And downward, far, reflected in the clear
Blue depths, the eye their fairy tackling sees;
So buoyant, they do seem to float in air,
And silently obey the noiseless breeze;
Till, all too soon, as the rude winds may please,
They part for distant ports : the gales benign
Swift wafting, bore, by Heaven's all-wise decrees,
To its own harbour sure, where each divine
And joyous vision, seen before in dreams, is thine.
Muses of Helicon ! melodious race
Of Jove and golden-haired Mnemosyne;
Whose art from memory blots each sadder trace,
Aud drives each scowling form of grief away !
Who, round the violet fount, your measures gay
Once trod, and round the altar of gi e;it Jove ,
Whence, wrapt in silvery clouds, your nightly
way
Ye held, and ravishing strains of music wove.
That soothed the Thunderer's soul, aud filled his
courts above.
Bright choir! with lips untempted, and with zon«
Sparkling, and unapproached by touch profano;
Te, to whose gladsome bosoms ne'er was known
The blight of sorrow, or the throb of pain ;
Rightly invoked, — if right the elected swain,
276
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
On your om mountain's side ye taught of yore,
"Whose honoured hand took not your gift in vain,
Worthy the budding laurel-bough it bore, — *
Farewell ! a long farewell ! I worship thee no more.
A MONODY MADE ON THE TATE ME. SAMUEL PATCH, BT AN
ADMIRER OF THE BATHOS.
By waters shall he die, and take his end. — Shakespeare.
Toll for Sam Patch! Sam Patch, who jumps no
more,
This or the world to come. Sam Patch is dead !
The vulgar pathway to the unknown shore
Of dark futurity he would not tread.
Ko friends stood sorrowing round his dying bed ;
Nor with decorous woe, sedately stepped
Behind his corpse, and tears by retail shed ; —
The mighty river, as it onward swept,
In one great wholesale 6ob, his body drowned and
kept.
Toll for Sam Patch ! he scorned the common way
That leads to fame, up heights of rough ascent,
And having heard Pope and Longinus say,
That some great men had risen to falls, he went
And jumped, where wild Passaic's waves had rent
The antique rocks ; — the air free passage gave, —
And graciously the liquid element
Upbore him, like some sea-god on its wave ;
And all the people said that Sam was very brave.
Fame, the clear spirit that doth to heaven upraise,
Led Sain to dive into what Byron calls
The hell of waters. For the sake of praise,
He wooed the bathos down great water-falls ;
The dizzy precipice, which thff eye appals
Of travellers for pleasure, Samuel found
Pleasant, as are to women lighted halls,
Crammed full of fools and fiddles ; to the sound
Of the eternal roar, he timed his desperate bound.
Sam was a fool. But the large world of such,
Has thousands — better taught, alike absurd,
And less sublime. Of fame he soon got much,
Where distant cataracts spout, of him men heard.
Alas for Sam! Had he aright preferred
The kindly element, to which he gave
Himself so fearlessly, we had not heard
That it was now his winding-sheet and grave,
Nor sung, 'twixt tears and smiles, our requiem for
the brave.
He soon got drunk, with rum and with renown,
As many others in high places do ; —
Whose fall is like Sam's last — for down and down,
By one mad impulse driven, they flounder through
The gulf that keeps the future from our view,
And then are found not. May they rest in peace !
We heave the sigh to human frailty due —
And shall not Sam have his ? The muse shall cease
To keep the heroic roll, which she began in Greece —
With demigods, who went to the Black Sea
For wool (and if the best accounts be straight,
Came back, in negro phraseology,
With the same wool each upon his pate),
In which she chronicled the deathless fate
Of him who jumped into the perilous ditch
Left by Rome's street commissioners, in a state
Which made it dangerous, and by jumping which
He made himself renowned, and the contractors
rich —
I say, the muse shall quite forget to sound
The chord whose music is undying, if
Sho do not strike it when Sam Patch is drowned.
Leauder dived for love. Leucadia's cliff
* Ilesiod. Thenj. ]. 1. en. Sn.
The Lesbian Sappho leapt from in a miff,
To punish Phaon ; Icarus went dead,
Because the wax did not continue stiff;
And, had he minded what his father 6aid,
He had not given a name unto his watery bed.
And Helle's case was all an accident,
As everybody knows. Why sing of these?
Nor would I rank with Sam that man who went
Down into Etna's womb — Empedocles,
I think he called himself. Themselves to please,
Or else unwillingly, they made their springs ;
For glory in the abstract, Sam made his,
To prove to all men, commons, lords, and kii gs,
That " some thLgs may be done, as well as other
things."
I will not be fatigued, by citing more
Who jumped of old, by hazard or design,
Nor plague the weary ghosts of boyish lore,
Vulcan, Apollo, Phaeton — in fine
All Tooke's Pantheon. Yet they grew divine
By their long tumbles ; and if we can match
Their hierarchy, shall we not entwine
One wreath ? Who ever came " up to the scratch,"
And for so little, jumped so bravely as Sam Patch <
To long conclusions many men have jumped
In logic, and the safer course they took ;
By any other, they would have been stumped,
Unable to argue, or to quote a book,
And quite dumb-founded, which they cannot
brook ;
They break no bones, and suffer no contusion,
Hiding their woful fall, by hook and crook,
In slang and gibberish, sputtering and confusion ;
But that was not the way Sam came to his conclu-
sion.
He jumped in person. Death or Victory
Was his- device, " and there was no mistake,'
Except his last ; and then he did but die,
A blunder which the wisest men will make.
Aloft, where mighty floods the mountains break,
To stand, the target of ten thousand eyes,
And down into the coil and water-quake,
To leap, like Maia's offspring, from the skies —
For this all v gar flights he ventured to despise.
And while Niagara prolongs its thunder,
Though still the rock priniceval disappears,
And nations change their bounds — the theme of
wonder
Shall Sam go down the cataract of long years;
And if there be sublimity in tears,
Those shall be precious which the adventurer shed
When his frail star gave way, and waked his fears
Lest, by the ungenerous crowd it might be said.
That he was all a hoax, or that his pluck had fled.
Who would compare the maudlin Alexander,
Blubbering, because he had no job in hand,
Acting the hypocrite, or else the gander,
With Sam, whose grief we all <;an understand t
His crying was not womanish, nor planned
For exhibition ; but his heart o'erswelled
With its own agony, when he the grand
Natural arrangements for a jump beheld,
And measuring the cascade, found not his courage
quelled.
His last great failure set the final seal
Unto the record Time shall never tear,
While bravery has its honour, — while men feci
The holy natural sympathies which are
First, last, and mightiest in the bosom. Where
The tortured tides of Genesee descend,
He came — his only intimate a bear, —
(We know not that he had another friend),
The martyr of renown, his wayward course to eiii'.-
GRENVILLE MELLEN.
The fiend that from the infernal rivers stole
Hell-draughts for man, too much tormented him,
With nerves unstrung, but steadfast in his soul,
He stood upon the salient current's brim ;
His head was giddy, and his sight was dim ;
And then he knew this leap would be his last, —
Saw air, and earth, and water wildly swim,
With eyes of many multitudes, dense and vast,
That stared in mockery; none a look of kindness
cast.
Beat down, in the huge amphitheatre
" I see before me the gladiator lie,"
And tier on tier, the myriads waiting there
The bow of grace, without one pitying eye —
He was a slave — a captive hired to die ; —
Sam was born free as Caesar ; and he might
The hopeless issue have refused to try;
No i with true leap, but soon with faltering flight, —
" Deep in the roaring gulf, he plunged to endless
night."
But, ere he leapt, he begged of those who made
Money by his dread venture, that if he
Should perish, such collection should be paid
As might be picked up from the " company"
To his Mother. This, his last request, shall be, —
Tho' she who bore him ne'er his fate should know, —
An iris, glittering o'er his memory —
When all the streams have worn their barriers low,
And, by the sea drunk up, for ever cease to flow.
On him who chooses to jump down cataracts,
Why should the sternest moralist be severe ?
Judge not the dead by prejudice — but facts,
Such as in strictest evidence appear.
Else were the laurels of all ageo sere.
Give to the brave, who have passed the final goal, —
The gates that ope not back, — the generous tear;
And let the muse's clerk upon her scroll,
In coarse, but honest verse, make up the judgment
rolL
Therefore it is considered, that Sam Patch
Shall never be forgot in prose or rhyme ;
His name shall be a portion in the batch
Of the heroic dough, which baking Time
Kneads for consuming ages — and the chime
Of Fame's old bells, long as they truly ring,
Shall tell of him ; he dived for the sublime,
And found it. Thou, who with the eagle's wing
Being a goose, would'st fly,— dream not of such a
thing!
THE DEAD OF 1832.
Oh Time and Death ! with certain pace,
Though still unequal, hurrying on,
O'erturning in your awful race,
The cot, the palace, and the throne)
Not always in the storm of war,
Nor by the pestilence that sweeps
From the plague-smitten realms afar.
Beyond the old and solemn deeps :
In crowds the good and mighty go,
And to those vast dim chambers hie : —
Where mingled with the high and low,
Dead Ca«ars and dead Shakcspeares lie !
Dread Ministers of God ! sometimes
Ye smite at once, to do His will,
In all earth's ocean-severed climes,
Those — whose renown ye cannot kill I
When all the brightest stars that burn
At once are banished from their spheres,
Men sadly ask, when shall return
Such lustre to the coming years ?
For where is he* — who lived so long —
Who raised the modern Titan's ghost,
And showed his fate, in powerful song,
Whose soul for learning's sake was lost ?
Where he — who backwards to the birth
Of Time itself, adventurous trod,
And in the mingled mass of earth
Found out the handiwork of God?f
Where he — who in the mortal head,:J
Ordained to gaze on heaven, could trace
The soul's vast features, that shall tread
The stars, when earth is nothingness i
Where he — who struck old Albyn's lyre,§
Till round the world its echoes roll,
And swept, with ail a prophet's fire,
The diapason of the soul ?
Where he — who read the mystic lore,]
Buried, where buried Pharaohs sleep ;
And dared presumptuous to explore
Secrets four thousand years could keep?
Where he — who with a poet's eyef
Of truth, on lowly nature gazed,
And made even sordid Poverty
Classic, when in his numbers glazed ?
Where — that old sage so hale and staid,**
The " greatest good" who sought to find ;
Who in his garden mused, and made
All forms of rule, for all mankind ?
And thou — whom millions far removedf f
Revered — the hierareh meek and wise,
Thy ashes sleep, adored, beloved,
Near where thy Wesley's cofim lies.
He too — the heir of glory — where
Hath great Napoleon's scion fled ?
Ah ! glory goes not to an heir !
Take him, ye noble, vulgar dead I
But hark ! a nation sighs ! for he.Jt
Last of the brave who perilled all
To make an infant empire free,
Obeys the inevitable call !
They go, and with them is a crowd,
For human rights who thought and Din,
We rear to them no temples proud,
Each hath his mental pyramid.
All earth is now their sepulchre,
The mind, their monument sublime —
Young in eternal fame they are —
Sueh are youk triumphs, Death and Time.
GEENVILLE MELLEN.
Gkenville Mellen was born at Biddeford,
Maine, June 19, 1799. He wa9 the eldest son
of Chief-justice Mellen, of the court of common
pleas in that state. He was graduated at Har-
vard in 1818 ; studied law with his father,
and settled at Portland, Maine. In 1823 he re-
moved to North Yarmouth, in the same state,
where he remained for five years. His poems at
this period and subsequently to his death, ap-
peared frequently in the periodicals, the maga-
zines and annuals, of the time. In 1826 lie pro-
nounced before the Peace Society of Maine, at
Portland, a poem, The Best of Empires, and in
1828 an Anniversary Poem, before the Athenian
* Goethe and his Fanst. t Cuvier. t Spurzheim.
§ Scott. II Champollion. 1 Crabbe.
** Jeremy Bentbam. tt Adam Clarke, ft Charles Carroll.
2TS
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Society of Bow (loin College, The Light of Letters.
He wrote for the United States Literary Gazette,
supported by Longfellow and others of Cam-
bridge. In 1827 he published Our Chronicle of
Twenty-Six, a satire, and in 1829 Glad Tales and
Sad Tales, a volume in prose, from his contribu-
tions to the periodicals. The chief collection of
his poems appeared in Bo-ton in 1833, The Mar-
tyrs' Triumph, Buried Valley, and other Poems.
G^NW?^,
THE BRIDAL.
Young Beauty at the altar ! Oh ! kneel down
All ye that come to gaze into her face,
And breathe low prayers for her. See at her side
Stand her pale parents in their latter days,
Pondering that bitter word — the last farewell !
The father, with a mild but tearless eye —
The mother, with both eye and heart in tears!
He, with his iron nature just put off,
Comes from the mart of noisy men awhile,
To witness holier vows than bind the world,
And taste, once more, the fount of sympathy !
She from the secret chamber of her sighs,
The home of woman ! She has softly come
To stand beside her child — her only child —
And hear her paledipped promises. She comes
With hands laid meekly on her bosom — yet
With eye upraised, as tho' to catch one glance
Like that of childhood, from that pallid face
That hung for hours imploringly on hers,
In the long, watchful years of trial. Now,
She would endure those cruel years again,
To take her as an infant back to arms
That shielded and encircled her — ere she
Had blossomed into life. But lo ! she stands
A plighted lovely creature at her side —
The child all lost in woman I The whole world
Contains for her no glory, now, like that
That centres in her full and thrilling heart.
Her eye roves not — is fixed not — but a deep
And lovely haze, as tho' she were in vision,
From Boston he came to reside in New York.
His health, which was always delicate, was now
much enfeebled ; he was lingering with consump-
tion when he made a voyage to Cuba, from which
he returned without benefit, and died in New
York September 5, 1841, at the residence of his
friend, Mr. Samuel Colman, for whose family he
felt the wannest affection, and whose house he
had called his home for the latter years of his
life. Before his death he was engaged upon a
collection of his unpublished poems, which still
remain in manuscript.
A glance at his poems shows a delicate suscep-
tibility to poetical impression, tinged with an air
of melancholy. He wrote with ease, often care-
lessly and pretentiously — often with eloquence.
With a stronger constitution his verse would pro-
bably have assumed a more condensed, energetic
expression. With a consciousness of poetic power
he struggled with a feeble frame, and at times
yielded to despondency. The memory of his
tenderness and purity of character is much che-
rished by his friends.
Has gathered on its dark transparency.
Her sight is on the future ! Clouds and dreams!
Her head is bent — and on her varying cheek
The beautiful shame flits by — as hurrying thoughts
Press out the blood from til' o'erteeming citadel.
Roses and buds are struggling thro' her hair,
That hangs like night upon her brow — and see!
Dew still is on their bloom ! Oh! emblem fair,
Of pure luxuriant youth — ere yet the sun
Of toilii g, heated life hath withered it,
And scattered all its fragrance to the winds.
And doth she tremble — this 'org cherished flower !
As friends come closer round I er, and the voice
Of adulation calls her from her dream !
Oh! wonder not that glowing youth like this,
I To whom existence has been sunshine all.
1 A long, sweet dream of love — when on her ear.
The cale of faith, of trial, and of death,
1 Sounds with a fearful music— should be dumb
And quake before the altar! Wonder not
That her heart shakes alarmingly — for now
She listens to the vow, that, like a voice
From out of heaven at night, when it comes down
Upon our feveied slumbers, steals on her
And calls to the recalless sacrifice !
Young maidens cluster round her; but she vows
Amid her bridal tears, and heeds them not.
Her thoughts are tossed and troubled — like lone barks
Upon a tempest sea, when stars have set
Under the heaving waters: — She hears not
The very prayers that float up round her ; but
Veiling her eyes, she gives her heart away,
Deaf to all sounds but that low-voiced one
That love breathes through the temple of her soul !
i Young Beauty at the altar ! Ye may go
' And rifle earth of all its loveliness,
■ And of all things created hither bring
The rosiest and richest — but, alas !
j The world is all too poor to rival this !
Ye summon nothing from the place of dreams,
The orient realm of fancy, that can cope,
In all its passionate devotedness,
With this chaste, silent picture of the heart !
Youth, bud-encircled youth, and purity,
Yielding their bloom and fragrance up — in tears.
The promises have past. And welling now
Up from the lowly throng a faint far hymn
Breaks on the whispery silence — plaintively
Sweet voices mingling on the mellow notes,
Lift up the gathering melody, till all
Join in the lay to Jesus — all, save they
"Whose hearts are echoing still to other sounds.
The music of their vows!
THE BT7GLE.
But still the dingle's hollow throat,
Prolonged the swelling Bugle's note ;
The owlets started from their dream,
The eagles answered with their scream,
liound and around the Founds were cast,
Till echo turned an answering blast.
Lady of the Lake.
0, wild enchanting horn !
Whose music up the deep and dewy air,
Swells to the clouds, and calls on echo there.
Till a new melody is born.
Wake, wake again ; the night
Is bending from her throne of Beauty down,
With still stars beaming on her azure crown,
Intense and eloquently bright !
Night, at its pulseless noon !
When the far voice of waters mourns in 6ong,
And some tired watch-dog, lazily and long,
Bark6 at the melancholy moon !
PROSPER M. WETMORE.
279
Hark ! how it sweeps away,
Soaring and dying on the silent skj",
As if some sprite of sound went wandering by,
With lone halloo and roundelay.
Swell, swell in glory out !
Thy tones come pouring on ray leaping heart,
And my stirred spirit hears thee with a start,
As boyhood's old remembered shout.
Oh, have ye heard that peal,
From sleeping city's moon-bathed battlements,
Or from the guarded field and warrior tents,
Like some near breath around ye steal !
Or have ye, in the roar
Of sea, or storm, or battle, heard it rise,
Shriller than eagle's clamor to the skies,
Where wings and tempests never soar.
Go, go ; do other sound,
No music, that of air or earth is born,
Can match the mighty music of that horn,
On midnight's fathomless profound!
PROSPER M. WETMORE.
Prosper Montgomery Wetmore was born at
Stratford on the Ilousatoiiie, Connecticut, in 1799.
At an early age he removed with his parents to
New York. His father dying soon after, he was
placed, when scarcely nine years of age, in a
counting-room, where he continued as a clerk till
he reached his majority. He has since that
period been engaged in mercantile business in the
city of New York.
With scant early opportunities for literary cul-
ture, Mr. Wetmore was not long in improving a
natural tendency to the pursuits of authorship.
He made his first appearance in print in 1816, at
the age of seventeen, and soon became an impor-
tant aid to the struggling literature, and, it may
be added, writers of the times. He wrote for the
magazines, the annuals, and the old Mirror ; and
as literature at that period was kept up rather as
a social affair than from any reward promised by
the trade, it became naturally associated with a
taste for the green-room, and the patronage of
the theatrical stars of the day. Mr. Wetmore was
the companion of Price, Simpson, Brooks, Morris,
and other members of a society which supported
the wit and gaiety of the town.
^A .M^CZc
In 1830 Mr. Wetmore published in an elegant
octavo volume, Lexington, with other Fugitive
Poems. This is the only collection of his writings
which has been made. Lexington, a picture, in
an ode, of the early revolutionary battle, is a
spirited poem. It has fire and ease of versifica-
tion. The Banner of Murat, The Russian Re-
treat, Greece, Painting, and several theatrical ad-
dresses possessing similar qualities, are among the
contents of this volume.
In 1832 Mr. Wetmore delivered a poem in
Spenserian stanza on Ambition, before one of the
■literary societies of Hamilton College, New York
which has not been printed.
In 1838 he edited a volume of the poems of
James Nack, prefaced with a brief notico of the
life of that remarkable person.
Mr. Wetmore, however, has been more generally
known as a man of literary influence in society
than as an author. He has been prominently
connected with most of the liberal interests of
the city, both utilitarian and refined — as Regent
of the University, to which body he was ap-
pointed in 1833, promoting the public school
system ; as chairman of the committee on colleges
anil academies in the State Legislature, to which
he was elected in 1834 and 1835 ; as member of
the City Chamber of Commerce ; as an efficient
director of the Institution for the Deaf and Dumb ;
as President of the American Art-Union, which
rapidly extended under his management to a
national institution ; and as a most active member
and supporter of the New York Historical- Society.
These varied pursuits, the public indexes to more
numerous private acts of liberality, have been
sustained by a graceful personal manner, a san-
guine temperament which preserves the fresh-
ness of youth, and a wide versatility of talent.
The military title of General Wetmore, by
which he is widely known, is derived from his
long and honorable service in the militia organi-
zation of the state, of which he was for many
years Paymaster-General.
Peopling, with art's creative power,
The lonely home, the silent hour.
'Tis to the pencil's magic skill
Life owes the power, almost divine,
To call back vanished forms at will,
And bid the grave its prey resign:
Affeetion's eye again may trace
The lineaments beloved so well ;
The speaking look, the form of grace,
All on the living canvas dwell :
'Tis there the childless mother pays
Her sorrowing soul's idolatry ;
There love can find, in after days,
A talisman to memory !
Tis thine, o'er History's storied page,
To sheil the halo light of truth ;
And bid the scenes of by-gone age
Still flourish in immortal youth —
The long forgotten battle-field,
With mailed men to people forth ;
In baunered pride, with spear and shield,
To show the mighty ones of earth —
To shadow, from the holy book,
The images of sacred lore ;
On Calvary, the dying look
That told life's agony was o'er —
The joyous hearts, and glistening eyes,
When little ones were suffered near —
The lips that bade the dead arise,
To dry the widowed mother's tear:
These are the triumphs of the art,
Conceptions of the master-mind ;
Time-shrouded forms to being start,
And wondering rapture fills mankind!
Led by the light of Genius on,
What visions open to the gaze !
'Tis nature all, and art is gone.
We breathe with them of other days :
Italia's victor leads the war,
And triumphs o'er the ensanguined plain:
Behold ! the Peasant Conqueror
Piling Marengo with his slain :
280
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
That sun of glory beams once more,
But clouds have dimmed its radiant hue.
The splendor of its race is o'er,
It sets in blood on Waterloo !
What scene of thrilling aire is here !
No look of joy, no eye for mirth ;
With steeled hearts and brows austere,
Their deeds proclaim a nation's birth.
Fame here inscribes for future age,
A proud memorial of the free ;
And stamps upon her deathless page,
The noblest theme of history !
JAMES LAWSON,
A citizen" cf New York, and for many years con-
nected with its literary interests, was born Novem-
ber 9, 1799, in Glasgow, Scotland. He was edu-
cated at the University of that city, and came ear-
ly in life, at the close of the year 1815, to America,
where he was received at New York in the count-
ting-house of a maternal uncle. Mr. Lawson seems
early to have taken an interest in American let-
ters; for in 1821 we find him in correspondence
with Mr. John Mennons, editor of the Greenock
Advertiser, who was then engaged in publishing
a miscellaneous collection of prose and verse, en-
titled the Literary Coronal. Mr. Mennons desired
to introduce specimens of American authors, then
a novelty to the British public, into his book, and
Mr. Lawson supplied him with the materials. It
was through this avenue and one or two kindred
publications, that the merits of several of the best
American authors first became known abroad.
Halleck's "Fanny" was repnlT '- d by Mr. Men-
nons in September, 1821, a fac-oiinile of the New
York edition. In a second volume of the Literary
Coronal of 1823, it was again re-published with
poems by Bryant, Percival, James G. Brooks, and
Miss Manley. An English edition of Salmagundi
was published in the same year in the style of the
Coronal, by Mr. Mennons, who was, perhaps, the
first in the old world to seek after American poetry,
andlntroduce abroad those felicitous short pieces
of verse which have since become household
words in England, through collections like his
own. In this, he had a willing co-operator in Mr.
Lawson, whose literary and personal friendship
with the authors of the country has been a marked
trait of his life.
A third Edinburgh publication followed, "The
American Lyre," composed entirely of American
poetry. It opened with Ontwa, the Son of the
Forest, a poem first published in New York in
1 822, the curious and interesting notes to which on
Indian character and antiquities, were written by
the Hon. Lewis Cass, then Governor of Michigan.
Ontwa is a spirited poem, an eloquent commemo-
ration of the manners and extinction of the nation
of the Eries.
Another volume of the Coronal, liberally sup-
plied with American verse, appeared in 1826.
About this time the failure of the mercantile
house in which Mr. Lawson was a partner, led him
to turn his attention to literature. He had been
already connected with the poet and editor, Mr.
J. G. Brooks, in writing for the literary p -nodi-
cal of the latter, the New York Literary Gazette,
and American Athenwum.*
In this, Mr. Lawson wrote the first criticism on
Mr. Edwin Forrest, who had then just made his
appearance in New York at the Bowery Theatre,
under the management of Gilfert. This opening
performance, in November, 182 6, was Othello ; and
Mr. Lawson's criticism of several columns appear-
ed in the next number of his friend's paper. It
was shrewd, acute, freely pointing out defects, and
confidently anticipating his subsequent triumphs.
The Literary Gazette, on its discontinuance,
was immediately succeeded by an important news-
paper enterprise, founded by Mr. J. G. Brooks,
• Mr. John B. Skilman, and Mr. James Lawson, as
associates. This was the Morning Courier grown
into the New York Courier and Enquirer. The
first number of this journal was issued in 1827;
and its first article was written by Mr. Lawson.
The joint editorship of the paper continued till
1829, when new financial arrangements were
made, and Noah's Enquirer was added to the
Courier. Mr. Brooks and Mr. Lawson retired,
when the latter immediately joined Mr. Amos
Butler in the -Mercantile Advertiser, with which
he remained associated till 18-33.
In 1830, a volume, Tales and Sketches by a Cos-
mopolite, from the pen of Mr. Lawson, was pub-
lished by Elam Bliss, in New York. In these the
writer finds his themes in the domestic life and ro-
mance of his native land, and in one instance ven-
tures a dramatic sketch, a love scene, the precur-
sor of the author's neit publication, Giordano, a
tragedy; an Italian state story of love and con-
spiracy, which was first performed at the Park
Theatre, New York, in Nov. 1828. The prologue
was written by the late William Leggett, and the
epilogue, spoken by Mrs. Hilson, by Mr. Prosper
M. Wetmore.
This is Mr. Lawson's only dramatic production,
which has issued from the press. He has, how-
ever, in several instances, appeared before the
public in connexion with the stage. He was asso-
ciated with Mr. Bryant, Mr. Halleck, Mr. Wetmore,
Mr. Brooks, and Mr. Leggett, on the committee
which secured for Mr. Forrest the prize play of
Metamora by the late J. A. Stone,t for which
* This weekly periortie.il was commenced by Mr. Brooks in
the octavo form, Sept. 10, 1S25. as the New York Literary Ga-
zette aDd Phi Beta Kappa Repository; the latter portion of
the title being taken from some dependence upon the support
of members of that Society, which turned out to be nugatory.
At the end of the volume, with the twenty-sixth number, the
Phi Beta title was dropped, and an association effected with a
similar publication. The American Athenaeum, also weekly
in quarto, conducted by George Bond, which had been com-
menced April 21. l*2o. of which forty-four numbeTS had been
issued. The joint publication bore the title '-The New York
Literary Gazette and American Athenaeum,'" and as such was
published in two quarto volumes, ending March 8, 1827.
t John Augustus Stone, the author of Metiimora, was born
in 1801, at Concord. Mass. He was an actor as well as drama-
tic writer, and made his first appearance in Boston as " Old
Nerval" in the play of Douglas. Pie acted in New York in
1S26, and in Philadelphia afterwards at intervals. He received
five hundred dollars from Mr. Forrest for Metamora. He wrote
two other plays in which Mr. Forrest performed, Tlie Anmrnt
Briton, in which betook the part of Brigantius, and for which
he paid the author a thousand dollars ; and Fauntlero?/, 77te
Banker o/-7?OK<w.aversinn of the storyof the English personage
of that name. In the latter, the hero was executed on the stage
by a machine bearing a close resemblance to an actual guillotine..
The loaded knife descended ; the private signal was imperfect-
ly given, and the young American tragedian saved his head by
a qaick motion at the expense of his locks, which were closely
JAMES LAWSON.
281
on its representation Mr. Wetmore wrote the pro-
logue and Mr. Lawson tho epilogue. Mr. L. was
also one of the similar committee which selected
Mr. J. K. Paulding's prize play of Nimrod Wild-
tire, or the Kentuckian in New York, for Mr.
Hackett,
Mr. Lawson has also been a frequent contribu-
tor of criticism, essays, tales, and verse, to the
periodicals of the day ; among others, Herbert's
American Monthly Magazine, the Knickerbocker,
the Southern Literary Messenger, and Sargent's
New Monthly.
These have, however, been but occasional em-
ployments, Mr. L., since his retirement from the
active conduct of the press in 1833, having pur-
sued the business of Marine Insurance, through,
which important interest he is well known in
Wall street as an adjuster of averages, and in other
relations.
THE APPROACH OF AGE.
Well, let the honest truth be told !
I feel that I am growing old,
And I have guessed for many a day,
My sable locks are turning grey —
At least, by furtive glances, I
Some very silvery hairs espy,
That thread-like on my temple shine,
And fain I would deny are mine :
While wrinkles creeping here and there,
Some score my years, a few my care.
The sports that yielded once delight,
Have lost all relish in my sight;
But, in their stead, more serious thought
A graver train of joys has brought,
And while gay fancy is refined,
Correct the taste, improve the mind.
I meet the friends of former years.
Whose smile approving, often cheers:
(How few are spared!) the poisonous draught
The reckless in wild frenzy quaffed,
In dissipation's giddy maze
Overwhelmed them in their brightest days.
And one, my playmate when a boy,
I see in manhood's pride and joy ;
He too has felt, through sun and shower,
Old Time, thy unrelenting power.
We talk of things which well we know
Had chanced some forty years ago ;
Alas ! like yesterday they seem,
The past is but a gorgeous dream !
But speak of forty coming years,
Ah, long indeed that time appears !
In nature's course, in forty more,
My earthly pilgrimage is o'er;
And the green turf on which I tread,
Will gaily spring above my head.
Beside me, on her rocking-chair,
My wife her needle plies with care,
And in her ever-cheerful smiles
A charm abides, that quite beguiles
The years that have so swiftly sped.
With their unfaltering, noiseless tread,
For we in mingled happiness,
.-haved. Stone also wrote La Knque the Regicide, The Demo-
niac, Tancretl, and other pieces.
The circumstances of his death were melancholy. In a fit of
derangement he threw himself into the Schuylkill and was
drowned. Th? date of this event is recorded oil a monument
over his remains, which bears this inscription : " To the me-
mory of John Augustus Stone, who departed this life June 1,
1S34. aged thirty-three years."' and on the reverse, " Erected
10 me Memory of the Autlwr of Metamora, by his friend Ed-
win Forrest."
Will not the approach of age confess.
But when our daughters we espy,
Bounding with laughing cheek and eye,
Our bosoms beat with conscious pride,
To see them blooming by our side.
God spare ye, girls, for many a day,
And all our anxious love repay!
In your fair growth we must confess
That time our footsteps closely press,
And every added year, indeed,
Seems to increase its rapid speed.
When o'er our vanished days we glance,
Far backward to our young romance,
And muse upon unnumbered things,
That crowding come on Memory's wings ;
Then varied thoughts our bosoms gladdej
And some intrude that deeply sadden :
— Fond hopes in their fruition crushed,
Beloved tones for ever hushed. —
We do not grieve that being's day
Is fleeting shadow-like away ;
But thank thee, Heaven, our lengthened life
Has passed in love, unmarred by strife ;
That sickness, sorrows wo, and care,
Have fallen so lightly to our share.
We bless Thee for our daily bread,
In plenty on our table spread ;
And Thy abundance helps to feed
The worthy poor who [line in need.
And thanks, that in our worldly way,
We have so rarely stepped astray.
But well wre should in meekness speak,
And pardon for transgressions seek,
For oft, how strong soe'er the will
To follow good, we've chosen ill.
The youthful heart unwisely fears
The sure approach of corning years:
Though cumbered oft with weighty care",
Yet age its burden lightly bears.
Though July's scorching heats are done,
Yet blandly smiles the slanting sun,
And sometimes, in our lovely clime,
Till dark December's frosty time.
Though day's delightful noon is past,
Yet mellow twilight comes, to cast
A sober joy, a sweet content,
Where virtue with repose is blent,
Till, calmly on the fading sight,
Mingles its latest ray with night.
SONNET — ANDREW JACKSON.
Come, stand the nearest to thy country's sire,
Thou fearless man, of uncorrupted heart;
Well worth}' undivided praise thou art,
And 'twill be thine, when slumbers party ire,
Raised, by the voice of freemen, to a height
Sublimer far, than kings by birth may claim!
Thy stern, unselfish spirit dared the right,
And battled 'gainst the wrong. Thy holiest aim
Was freedom, in the largest sense, despite
Misconstrued motives, and unmeasured blame.
Above deceit, in purpose firm, and pure ;
Just to opposers, and to friends sincere,
Thy worth shall with thy country's name endure.
And greener grow thy fame, through every coming
year.
1837.
When spring arrayed in flowers, Mary,
Danced with the leafy trees ;
When larks sang to the sun, Mary,
And hummed the wandering bees :
282
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
Then first vre met and loved, Mary,
By Grieto's loupin' linn ;
And blither was thy voice, Mary,
Than liutie's i' the whin.
Now autumn winds blaw eauld, Mary,
Amang the withered boughs;
And a' the bonny flowers, Mary,
Are faded frae the knowes ;
But still thy love's unchanged, Mary,
Nae chilly autumn there,
And sweet thy smile as spring's, Mary,
Thy sunny face as fair.
Nae rnair the early lark, Mary,
Trills on his soaring way ;
Hushed is the liutie's sang, Mary,
Through a' the shortening day ;
But still thy voice I hear, Mary,
Like melody divine ;
Nae autumn in my heart, Mary,
And summer still in thine.
WILLIAM BOURNE OLIVER PEABODY OLIVER
WILLIAM BOURNE PEABODY.
The two twin-brothers whose names stand at the
head of this article, the suns of Judge Oliver
Peabody of Exeter, New Hampshire, were born
at that place July 9, 1799. They were educated
together at the celebrated academy under the
charge of Dr. Abbot, entered Harvard College
together at the early age of thirteen, and were
graduated together in 1816.
This close union of birth and education was ac-
companied by a similarity of outward form and
inward temperament. Both were men of eminent
natural endowment, of ripe scholarship, of gentle
and affectionate tempers, and both eventually de-
dicated their lives to the same path of professional
duty, thus laboring in spirit though not in actual
bodily presence, side by side, and separated in
death by bnt a brief interval from one another.
At the outset of life, however, their courses
were for a time separate, Oliver studying law, and
William theology.
Oliver, after passing some time in bis father's
office, completed his legal education at Cambridge,
and returned to practise in his native town,
where he resided for eleven years, serving for a
portion of the time in the state legislature, and
being also occupied at different periods as editor
of the Rockingham Gazette and Exeter News-
Letter. In 1823, he delivered a poem before the
Phi Beta Kappa Society at Harvard, and shortly
after read a similar production at the celebration
of the second centennial anniversary of the settle-
ment of Portsmouth, New Hampshire.
In 1830, Mr. Peabody removed to Boston,
where he became the assistant of his brother-in-
law, tiie Hon. Alexander H. Everett, in the editor-
ship of the North American Review. He was also
for some years an assistant editor of the Boston
Daily Advertiser. His connexion with the four
periodicals we have named, was that of a contri-
butor as well as a supervisor. The three journals
contain many finished essays and choice poems
from his pen, marked by a closeness of thought
and elaborate execution, as well as a lively and
humorous inspiration; while scarcely a number
of the North American, during several years, was
issued without one or more articles from his pen.
In 1836, Mr. Peabody was appointed Register
of Probate in Suffolk county, a laborious office,
which he resigned in 1842 in consequence of im-
paired health, and his acceptance of the profes-
sorship of English Literature in Jefferson College,
an institution supported by the state of Louisiana.
Finding a southern climate unsuitedto his consti-
tution, he returned in the following year to the
North.
His views and ta*tes had been for some time
turned in the direction of theology, and he now
determined to enter the ministry. In 1845, he
was licensed by the Boston Unitarian Association
as a preacher, and in August of the same year
became the minister of the Unitarian church of
Burlington, Vermont, where the remainder of his
life was passed in the discharge (so far as his de-
licate health would permit) of his parochial du-
ties. He died on the sixth of July, 1848.
"William B. 0. Peabody, immediately after re-
ceiving his degree, entered upon a preparation for
the ministry in the Divinity school of Cambridge ;
and was, soon after his ordination, called to the
charge of the Unitarian church at Springfield.
He entered upon his duties in this place in 1820,
when not quite twenty-one years of age; and it
was here that the whole of his ministerial life was
passed.
£.0-***--
In addition to a conscientious discharge of the
literary duties of his profession, Dr. Peabody of
Springfield is said to have contributed a .greater
number of articles to the North American Review
and Christian Examiner than any other person.
He was also the author of several chc dee occasional
poems published in the last named and other pe- '
riodicals; and of the Report of the Ornithology of
Massachusetts, prepared in fulfilment of his duties
as one of the commission appointed for the scien-
tific survey of the state.
Dr. Peabody's health, another of the many
points of assimilation between himself and his
brother, was feeble. He suffered a severe depri-
vation in 1843 by the loss of his wife, and in the
following year by that of a daughter, who in some
measure supplied the place of the head of his
household. Neither bodily nor mental sufferings
were, however, permitted to inteqjose more than
a temporary pause in his constant course of useful
labor. He died, after a confinement to his bed of
but a few days, May 28, 1847.
A selection from Dr. Peabody's sermons was
prepared for the press by his brother Oliver, who
had nearly completed a memoir to accompany the
volume, when his own life reached its termina-
tion. The wrork was completed by Everett Pea-
body, who, soon after its publication, prepared a
selection from the contributions to the North
American Review and poems of its author.
MONADXOCE.
Upon the far-off mountain's brow
The angry storm has ceased to beat,
And broken clouds are gathering now
In lowly reverence round his feet.
I saw their dark and crowded bands
On his firm head in wrath descending ;
LUCIUS M. SARGENT ; WILLIAM B. WALTER.
2S3
But there, once more redeemed, he stands,
And heaven's clear arch is o'er him bending.
I've seen hiru when the rising sun
Shone like a watch-fire on the height ;
I've seen him when the day was done,
Bathed in the evening's crimson light ;
I've seen him in the midnight hour,
When all the world beneath were sleeping,
Like some lone sentry in his tower
His patient watch in silence keeping.
And there, as ever steep and clear,
That pyramid of Nature springs!
He owns no rival turret near,
No sovereign but the King of kings:
While many a nation hath passed by,
And many an age unknown in story,
His walls and battlements on high
He rears in melancholy glory.
And let a world of human pride
With all its grandeur melt away,
And spread around his rocky side
The broken fragments of deea}';
Serene his hoary head will tower,
Untroubled by one thought of sorrow:
He numbers not the weary hour;
He welcomes not nor fears to-morrow.
Farewell! I go my distant way :
Perhaps, not far in future years,
The eyes that glow with smiles to-day
May gaze upon thee dim with tears.
Then let me learn from thee to rise,
All time and chance and change defying.
Still pointing upward to the skies,
And on the inward strength relying.
If life before my weary eye
Grows fearful as the angry sea,
Thy memory shall suppress the sigh
For that which never more can be ;
Inspiring all within the heart
With firm re-solve and strong endeavor
To act a brave and faithful part,
Till life's short warfare ends for ever.
MAN GIVETII UP THE GHOST, AND WHERE IS HE?
Where is he? Hark! his lonely home
Is answering to the mournful call!
The setting sun with dazzling blaze
May fire the windows of his hall :
But evening shadows quench the light,
And all is cheerless, cold, and dim,
Save where one taper wakes at night,
Like weeping love remembering him.
Where is he? Hark! the friend replies :
" I watched beside his dying bed,
And heard the low and struggling sighs
That gave the livi ig to the dead ;
I saw his weary eyelids close,
And then — the ruin coldly cast,
Where all the loving and beloved,
Though sadly parted, meet at last."
Where is he ? Hark ! the marble says,
That " here the mourners laid his head ;
And here sometimes, in after-days,
They came, and son-owed for the dead :
But o.ie by one they passed away,
And soon they left me here alone
To sink in unobserved decay, —
A nameless and neglected stone."
Where is he ? Hark ! 'tis Heaven replies :
" The star-beam of the purple sky,
That looks beneath the evening's brow,
Mild as some beaming angel's eye,
As calm and clear it gazes down,
Is shining from the place of rest,
The pearl of his immortal crown,
The heavenly radiance of the blest !"
LUCIUS M". SAEGENT.
Ltjoiu9 Manlius Sakgent was born at Boston
June 25, 1786. He was the son of a leading
merchant of that city, and in 1804 entered Har-
vard College. He was not graduated in course,
but received an honorary degree of A.M. from
the University in 1842. After leaving college he
studied law in the office of Mr. Dexter. In 1813
he published Hubert and Ellen, with other Poems*
all of a pathetic and reflective character.
Mr. Sargent married a sister of Horace Binney
of Philadelphia, one of the most accomplished
scholars in the country, by whom he had three
children, the eldest of whom, Horace Binney, was
graduated with distinction at Harvard in 1843.
Some time after the death of this lady he again
married.
Mr. Sargent was an early advocate of the Tem-
perance cause, and rendered important service to
the movement by his public addresses and the
composition of his Temperance Tales, a series of
short popular stories, which have been extensively
circulated in this country and reprinted in Eng-
land, Scotland, Germany, and, it is to be hoped
with good moral effect, in Botany Bay.
During the editorship of the Boston Transcript
by his relative Mr. Epes Sargent, he contributed
a series of satirical and antiquarian sketches to
its columns under the title of Dealings with the
Dead by a Sexton of the Old School. His other
writings for the press have been numerous, but
almost entirely anonymous.
Mr. Sargent makes a liberal use of a liberal
fortune, possesses a fine library, and is a thorough
scholar.
WiNTnnop Saroent, a kinsman of Lucius M. Sar-
gent and son of George W. Sargent, was born in
Philadelphia, September 23, 1825. He is the au-
thor of an " Introductory Memoir" prefixed to the
Journals of officers engaged in Braddock's Expe-
dition, printed by the Pennsylvania Historical So-
ciety in 1855 from the original manuscripts in the
British Museum. Under the modest title we have
cited Mr. Sargent has not only given the most
thorough history of Braddoek and his expedition
that lias ever appeared, but furnished one of the
best written and most valuable historical volumes
of the country. In the prosecution of his task he
has used extensive research, and has grouped his
large mass of varied and in manj' cases original
material with admirable literary skill.
WILLIAM B. WALTER.
William B. Walter was born at Boston, April
19, 17%, and was graduated at Bowdoin Col-
lege in 1818. He studied divinity at Cambridge,
but did not follow the profession. He published,
in 1821, a small volume of Poems at Boston, with
a dedication to the Rev. John Pierpont, in which
he says — " I cannot make the common, unprofit-
* Tlubert and Ellen, with other poems. The Trial of tho
Harp, Billowy Water. The Plunderer's Grave, The Tear Drop,
The Billow. By Lucius M. Sargent.
284
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
able, and to me exceedingly frivolous, apology —
that these poems are the pleasant labors of idle
or leisure hours. On the contrary, this volume,
and I am proud to confess it, contains specimens
of the precious and melancholy toil of years."
The longest of these poems is entitled Romance.
It opens with a picture of Palestine at the time
of Our Saviour, from thence passes to the Cru-
sades, and closes with reflections on nature, and
on the vanity of human affairs. The remaining
pieces, The Death Chamber, Mourner of the
Last Mope, and others, are written in a strain of
deep despondency.
Walter published in the same year a rambling
narrative and descriptive poem, with the title of
Sukey, the idea of which was evidently derived
from the then recently published " Fanny." The
story is little more than a thread connecting
various passages of description and reflection.
Sukey is introduced to us at the dame's school ;
grows up under the peaceful influences of country
life ; and has a lover who goes to sea while Sukey
departs in a stage sleigh for a winter's visit to
the city.
In due course of time Sukey becomes a belle,
and figures at an evening party, which is mi-
nutely described, with its supper-table, jostling,
and chit-chat about novels and poems, when sud-
denly " an Afric's form is seen," not one of the
waiters, but a highly intelligent specimen of his
race, who gives an animated and poetical descrip-
tion of a tight at sea with an Algerine pirate,
whose vessel has just been brought into port by
the victor, Sukey's lover.
The poem extends to one hundred and seventy-
one six-line stanzas, and contains several melo-
dious passages, many of which, however, are
close imitations of Byron and Montgomery. The
poem appeared in the same year with Fanny,
and seems to have had a large circulation ; the
copy before us being printed at Baltimore, " from
the second Boston edition," in a form similar to,
and with the copyright notice of the original.
Walter died at Charleston, South Carolina,
April 23, 1822.
MOURNER OF THE LAST HOPE.
Where grass o'ergrows each mouldering bone,
And stones themselves to ruins grown,
Like me, are death-like old.
I saw an Old Man kneel down by a grave,
All alone in the midnight stillness ;
And his forehead bare,
Deep wrinkled with care,
Looked pale with a wintry ehillness.
His hands were clasped o'er a grave newly dug.
And they shook with his soul-wrung sadness;
His blood slowly crept,
And he groaning wept,
As he thought of his visions of gladness.
The stars were along the wide depths of blue,
Shining down with a tremulous gleaming—
And the glorious moon,
At her highest noon,
Sat arrayed with the Spirits of Dreaming.
I asked the Old Man why he wept and prayed ?
Arid his look was a look of sorrow !
Then he cried sad and wild — ■
Alas ! for my child,
No waking hast thou for the morrow !
Tears had wrought changes for him — as for all,
Now the last of his hopes slept beside him !
She was young and fair —
But now silent there !
No voice could I find to chide him.
Yea! a common tale, and a common lot,
From the breast to the charnel-house slumber !
Dark curses of fear
Wrap our being here —
Which time and thought cannot number.
She moved the fairest — the fairest among,
Like a young fairy shape of lightness ;
And awakened the song
In the dance along,
Like a seraph of heaven in brightness.
None could gaze on her eye of lustrous blue,
And not feel his spirit heaving,
When it flashed in love,
Like a light from above,
The azure cloud brightly leaving.
And her cheek of snow was a cheek of health,
To those who knew not her weakness,
Till the hectic flush,
Like the day's faint blush,
Came o'er to disturb its meekness.
When she shrunk away from her pride of form.
Like a cloud in its loveliest shading,
Like the death-toned lute,
When winds are mute,
Or the rose in the summer's fading.
And the crowd did pass from the couch of woe ;
All had finished each mournful duty;
And the garlands wove,
By the hands of love,
Hung around in a withering beauty.
Never sounded the death-hell in my ear,
With a knell so awful and weary,
As they buried her deep — ■
For a long, long sleep
In the lone place — so dark and dreary.
Oh, Christ ! 'tis a strange and a fearful thought
That beauty like her's should have perished ;
That the red lean worm
Should prey on a form,
Which a bosom of love might have cherished.
I loved her — Stranger ! with soul of truth —
But God in his darkness hath smitten ;
Who shall madly believe
That man may grieve
O'er the page of eternity written !
The Old Man rose, and he went his way, —
Oh, deep was his utterless mourning •
But the woes of the night — ■
No morrow's dear light
Will dispel with the ray of its dawning.
F. W. P. GEEENWOOD.
Feancis William Pitt Greenwood was born in
Boston, in 1797. After completing his college
course at Harvard in 1814, he studied theology
at the same university, and commenced his career
as a preacher with great popularity, as the pastor
of the New South Church, Boston, but was
obliged at the expiration of a year to visit Europe
for the benefit of his health. After passing a
winter in Devonshire, England, he returned to
this country, and settled in Baltimore, where he
became the editor of the Unitarian Miscellany.
In 1824 he returned to Boston, and became asso-
ciate minister of King's Chapel. In 1827, h«
F. W. P. GREENWOOD.
2S5
revised the liturgy used by the congregation,
consisting of the Book of Common Prayer, with
the passages relating to the Trinity and other ar-
ticles of the faith of its authors, and the founders
of King's Chapel, excised therefrom. In 1830, he
also prepared a collection of hymns, which is in
extensive use in the congregations of his deno-
mination, and bears honorable testimony to the
taste of its compiler. In 1838, Mr. Greenwood
published a small volume of a popular character,
The Limes of the Apostles ; in 1833 a series of dis-
courses on the History of King's Chapel, and
about the same time a series of sermons de-
livered to the children of his congregation.
During the years 1837 and 1838, he was an
associate editor of the Christian Examiner, a
journal to which he was throughout his life a
frequent contributor of articles on literary topics,
and on the tenets of the denomination of which
lie was a zealous advocate. Iu 1842 he published
his Sermons of Consolation, a work of great
beauty of thought and expression. Soon after
this the author's health, which had never been
completely restored, failed to such a degree, that
lie was unable to execute his purpose of prepar-
ing one or more additional series of his sermons
for publication. He gradually sank under dis-
ease until his death, on the second of August,
1843.
A collection of Miscellaneous Writings, edited
by his so., appeared in 1816. The volume con-
tains his Journal liept in, England in 1820-21,
and a number of essays of a descriptive and
reflective character, exhibiting the powers of the
writer to the best advantage. We cite a passage
from one of these on the
OPPORTUNITIES OF WINTER FOE INSTRUCTION.
In the warm portion of our year, when the sun
reigns, and the fields are carpeted with herbs and
flowers, and the forests are loaded with riches and
magnificence, nature seems to insist on instructing
us herself, and in her own easy, insensible way. In
the mild and whispering air there is an invitation
to go abroad which few can resist ; and when
abroad we are in a school where all may learn, with-
out trouble or tasking, and where we may be sure
to learn if we will simply open our hearts. But
s'tern winter comes, and drives us back into our
towns and houses, and there we must sit down, and
learn and teacli with serious application of the
mind, and by the prompting of duty. As we are
bidden to tiiis exertion, so are we better able to
make it than in the preceding season. The body,
which was before unnerved, is now braced up to
the extent of its capacity ; and the mind which was
before dissipated by the fair variety of external
attractions, collects and concentrates its powers, as
those attractions fade and disappear. The natural
limits of day and night, also, conspire to the same
end, and are in unison with the other intimations of I
the season. In summer, the days, glad to linger on
the beautiful earth, almost exclude the quiet and \
contemplative nights, which are only long enough
for sleep. But in the winter the latter gain the \
ascendency. Slowly and royally they sweep back
with their broad shadows, and hushing the earth
with the double spell of darkness and coldness, issue
their silent mandates, and — while the c-till snow
falls, and the waters are congealed — call to reflection,
to study, to mental labor and acquisition.
The long winter nights! Dark, cold, and stern as
they seem, they are the friends of wisdom, the
patrons of literature, the nurses of vigorous, patient,
inquisitive, and untiring intellect. To some, indeed,
they come particularly associated, when not with
gloom, with various gay scenes of amusement, with
lighted halls, lively music, and a few (hundred)
friends. To others, the dearest scene which they
present is the cheerful fireside, instructive books,
studious and industrious children, and those friends,
whether many or few, whom the heart and experi-
ence acknowdedge to be such. Society has claims ;
social intercourse is profitable as well as pleasant ;
amusements are naturally sought for by the young,
and such as are innocent they may well partake of;
but it may be asked, whether, when amusements
run into excess, they do not leave their innocence
behind them in the career; whether light social
intercourse, when it takes up a great deal of time,
has anything valuable to pay in return for that
time ; and whether the claims of society can in any
way be better satisfied than by the intelligence, the
sobriety, and the peaceableness of its members ?
Such qualities and habits must be acquired at home ;
and not by idleness even there, but by study. The
winter evenings seem to be given to us, not exclu-
sively, but chiefly, for instruction. They invite us
to instruct ourselves, to instruct others, and to
do our part in furnishing all proper moans of in-
struction.
We must instruct ourselves. Whatever our age,
condition, or occupation may be, this is a duly
which we cannot safely neglect, and for the per-
formance of which the season affords abundant
opportunity. To know what other minds have
done, is not the work of a moment ; and it is only
to be known from the records which they have
left of themselves, or from what has been recorded
of them. To instruct ourselves is necessarily our
own work ; but we cannot well instruct ourselves
without learning from others. The stores of our
own minds it is for ourselves to use for the best
effects and to the greatest advantage ; but if we do
not acquire with diligence, from external sources,
there would be very few of us who would have
any stores to use. Let no one undervalue intellec-
tual me/ms, who wishes to effect intellectual ends.
The best workman will generally want the best
tools, and the best assortment of them.
We must instruct others. This duty belongs most
esjiecially to parents. All who have children, have
pupils. The winter evening is the chosen time to
instruct them, when they have past the tcnderest
years of their childhood. Those who have school-
tasks to learn, should not be left to toil in solitude ;
but should be encouraged by the presence, and
aided by the superior knowledge, of their parents,
whose pleasure as well as duty it should be to lend
them a helping hand along the road, not always
easy, of learning. While the child is leaning over
his book, the father and the mother should be nigh,
that wdien he looks up iu weariness or perplexity,
he may find, at least, the assistance of sympathy.
They neeVl not be absolutely tied to the study-table,
but they should not often hesitate between the calls
of amusement abroad, and the demands for parental
example, guidance, and companionship at home.
They will lose no happiness by denying themselves
many pleasures, and will find that the most brilliant
of lustres are their own domestic lamp, and the
cheerful and intelligent eyes of their children.
But all have not children ; and the children of
some are too young to be permitted to remain with
their parents beyond the earliest hours of evening ;
and the children of others are old enough to accom-
pany their parents abroad. For all those who
28G
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
think they could pleasantly and profitably receive
instruction of a public nature, and for this purpose
spend an hour or two away from their homes, there
is, happily, a plenty of instruction provided. Winter
is the very season for public instruction, and it must
be said to their honor, that our citizens have excel-
lently improved it as such. Opportunities for gain-
ing useful knowledge have been provided, and
they have not been neglected by those for whom
the provision has been made. The fountains of
waters have been opened, and the thirsty have been
refreshed. Though home instruction is to be placed
at the head of all instruction, yet there are numbers
who have not instruction at home, and numbers who
have none at home to whom they may communicate
instruction ; and there are numbers who find it con-
venient and useful to mingle public and domestic '
instruction together, or alternate the one with the- !
other. And when it is considered that the public
lectures referred to are charged with little expense
to the hearers ; that they are delivered by the best
and ablest men among us ; that hundreds of youth
resort to them, many of whom are in all probability
saved from idleness, and some from vice and crime ;
and that to all who may attend them they afford a
rational employment of time, we may look to the
continuance of such means of knowledge and virtue
as one of the most inestimable of benefits.
EUFUS CHOATE,
The rapid and impetuous orator of New Eng-
land, whose eloquence descends like the flood of
a mountain river bearing along grand and minute
objects in its course, is a native of Massachusetts,
where he was born, at Ipswich, October 1, 1799.
He was educated at Dartmouth, at the law school
at Cambridge, and in the offices of Judge Cuin-
mings at Salem, and Attorney-General Wirt at
Washington. He began the practice of the law at
Danversin 1824; passed some time at Salem, and
removed to Boston in 1834, having previously
occupied a seat in the state senate and in the
house of representatives as a member of Congress.
In 1842 he succeeded Daniel- Webster in the Uni-
ted States Senate, resigning in 1845, and with
these exceptions he lias been exclusively engaged
in his profession of the law.
His claims to literary notice rest upon his
speeches in Congress and several addresses on
public occasions. Of his speeches the most noted
are those on the tariff, the Oregon question, and
the annexation of Texas. Mr. Whipple, who has
written an admirable analysis of their style,* in
both its strength and weakness, celebrates their
analogical power both of understanding and fancy,
by which the most relevant and incongruous mat-
ters are alike made subservient to his argument ;
and gives some happy examples of the shrewd
sense and humor which sometimes relieve his
overburdened paragraphs. In one of these, in his
speech on the Oregon question, he disposes of the
old grudge against England : —
No, sir, we are above all this. Let the Highland
clansman, half-naked, half-civilized, half-blinded by
the peat-smoke of his cavern, have Ins hereditary
enemy and his hereditary enmity, and keep the keen,
deep, and precious hatred, set on fire of hell, alive
if he can ; let the North American Indian have his,
and hand it down from father to son, by Heaven
knows what symbols of alligators, and rattlesnakes,
* Article lion. Eufus Choate. Whig Eov., Jan., 1S47.
and war-clubs smeared with vermilion and entwined
with scarlet ; let such a country as Poland, cloven
to the earth, the armed heel on the radiant forehead,
her body dead, her soul incapable to die — let her
remember the wrongs of days long past ; let the lost
and wandering tribes of Israel remember theirs — the
manliness ami the sympathy of the world ma}' allow
or pardon this to them : but shall America, young,
free, and prosperous, just setting out on the highway
of Heaven, "decorating and cheering the elevated
sphere she just begins to move in, glittering like the
morning star, full of life and joy" — shall she be sup-
posed to be polluting and corroding her noble and
happy heart, by moping over old stories of stamp-act,
and the tax, and the firing of the Leopard on the
Chesapeake in time of peace ? No, sir ; no, sir ; a
thousand times, Kol We arc born to happier feel-
ings. We look on England as we look on France.
We look on them from our new world, not urire-
nowned, yet a new world still ; and the blood mounts
to our cheeks, our eyes swim, our voices are stifled
with the consciousness of so much glory ; their tro-
phies will not let us sleep, but there is no hatred at
all — no hatred; all for honor, nothing for hate. We
have, we can have, no barbarian memory of wrongs,
for which brave men have made the last expiation
to the brave.
Another passage, illustrating his humorous turn,
may be placed alongside of this — his famous de-
scription of the New England climate, introduced
as an illustration in a speech on the tariff: —
Take the New England climate in summer, you
would think the world was coming to an end. Cer-
tain recent heresies on that subject may have had a
natural origin there. Cold to-day ; hot to-morrow ;
mercury at 80° in the morning, with wind at south-
west; and in three hours more a sea turn, wind at
east, a thick fog from the very bottom of the ocean,
and a fall of forty degrees of Fahrenheit; now so
dry as to kill all the beans m New Hampshire ;
then floods carrying off the bridges of the Penobscot
and Connecticut ; snow in Portsmouth in July ; and
the next day a man and a yoke of oxen killed by
lightning in Rhode Island. You would think the
world was twenty times coming to an end. But I
do not know how it is : we go along : the early and
the latter rain falls, each in its season ; and seedtime
and harvest do not fail ; the sixty days of hot corn
weather arc pretty sure to be measured out to us.
The Indian summer, with its bland south-west and
mitigated sunshine, brings all up; and on the twenty-
fifth of November, or thereabouts, being Thursday,
three millions of grateful people, in meeting-houses,
or arouud the family board, give thanks for a year
of health, plenty, and happiness.
Of his mots, which pass current, one is this sen-
timent : — " What 1 banish the Bible from schools !
Never, while there is a piece of Plymouth Rock
left large enough to make a gun-flint of."*
* The autograph of Mr. Choate is a celebrity. " It resem-
bles," says Mr. Loving in his Boston Orators, ''somewhat tho
map of Ohio, and looks like a piece of crayon sketching: done
in the dark with a three-pronged fork. Hia handwriting can-
not be deciphered without the aid of a pair of compasses and a
quadrant/'
RUFUS CHOATE.
2sr
He possesses thought and feeling in the midst
of iiis boldest extravagance. Mr. Loring relates
an anecdote of his calm sensibility — of the im-
pression made upon him by a great idea in simple
language, which is very impressive : —
We will relate an instance of the excitable pow-
ers of our orator. In an argument on a case of
impeachment, before a legislative committee, Mr.
Choate remarked that he never read, without a thrill
of sublimity, the concluding article in the Bill of
Rights, — the language of which is borrowed directly
from Harrington, who says he owes it to Livv, — that
' iii the government of this commonwealth, the legis-
lative department shall never exercise the executive
and judicial powers, or either of them ; the executive
shall never exercise the legislative and judicial pow-
ers, or either of them; the judicial shall never exer-
cise the legislative and executive powers, or either
of them; — to the end that it may be a g>vernme:it
of laws, and not of men ;" thus providing that the
three great departments shall be entirely independ-
ent of each other , and he remembered a story of a
person who said that he coul 1 read Paradise Lost
without affecting him at all, but that there was a
passage at the end of Newton's Optics winch made
his flesh creep and his hair stand on end. I confess,
said Mr. Choate, that I never read that article of the
constitution without feeling the same, — " to the end
that it may be a government of laws, and not of
men."
April 21, 1341, Mr. Choate delivered a Eu-
logy in Boston on President Harrison, in which
he characterized him as emphatically the Good
President, in a noble passage in which his elo-
quence was tempered by the solemnity of the
occasion.
In New York, on the Anniversary of the Land-
ing of the Pilgrims in 1343, at the Tabernacle,
he delivered the address in which he described a
body of the Puritans flying from the Marian per-
secution to Geneva, where they foun 1 ' a coin.
monwealth without a king, and a church without
a bishop." The sentiment was complimented at
the dinner which followed at the Astor House,
where Dr. Wainwright (since bishop) was pre-
sent and replied. In 1852 he was one of the
speakers at the meeting of the Circuit Court of
Boston upon the decease of Webster, an<L after-
wards, in July of the next year, deli vered *n ela-
borate eulogy on his illustrious friend at their
common college at Dartmouth. It has been said
that the art of constructing a long sentence has
been lost by the feeble wits of the men of modern
days ; if so, the secret has been regained by Mr.
Choate. One of the sentences in the Dartmouth
oration on Webster, a summary of the statesman's
career, occupied nearly five pages of printed
matter in octavo.
THE STATESMANSHIP OF DANTE! WEBSTER.
It was while Mr. Webster was ascending through
the long gradations of the legal profession to its
highest rank, that by a parallel scries of display on
a stage, and in parts totally distinct, by other
studies, thoughts, and actions, he rose also to be at
his death the first of American Statesmen. The last
of the mighty rivals was dead before, and he stood
alone. Give this aspect also of his greatness a pass-
ing glance. His public life began in May, 1813, in
the House of Representatives in Congress, to which
this state had elected him. It ended when he died.
If you except the interval between his removal
from New Hampshire and his election in Massachu-
setts, it was a public life of forty years. By what
political morality, and by what enlarged patriotism,
embracing the whole country, that life was guided,
I shall consider hereafter. Let me now fix your at-
tention rather on the magnitude and variety and
actual value of the service. Consider that from the
day he went upon the Committee of Foreign Rela-
tions, in 1813, in time of war, and more and more,
the longer he lived anil the higher he rose, he was a
man whose great talents and devotion to public duty
placed and kept him in a position of associated or
sole command ; command in the political connexion
to which he belonged, command in opposition, com-
mand in power; and appreciate the responsibilities
which that implies, what care, what prudence, what
mastery of the whole ground — exacting for the con-
duct of a party, as Gibbon says of Fox, abilities and
civil discretion equal to the conduct of an empire.
Consider the work he did'in that life of forty years
— the range of subjects investigated and discussed ;
composing the whole theory and practice of our
organic and administrative polities, foreign and do-
mestic: the vast body of instructive thought he
procured and put in possession of the country ; how
much he achieved in Congress as well as at the bar ;
to fix the true interpretation, as well as to impress
the transcendent value of the constitution itself, as
much altogether as any jurist or statesman since its
adoption ; how much to establish in the general
mind the great doctrine that the government of the
United States is a government proper, established by
the people of the States, not a compact between
sovereign communities, — that within its limits it is
supreme, and that whether it is within its limits or
not, in any given exertion of itself, it is to be deter-
mined by the Supreme Court of the United States
— the ultimate arbiter in the last resort — from which
there is no appeal but to revolution ; bow much he
did in the course of the discussions which grew out
of the proposed mission to Panama, and, at a later
day, out of the removal of the deposits, to place the
executive department of the government on its true
basis, and under its true limitations ; to secure to
that department all its just powers on the one hand,
and on the other to vindicate to the legislative de-
partment, and especially to the senate, all that be-
longed to them ; to arrest the tendencies which he
thought at one time threatened to substitute the
government of a single will, of a single person of
great force of character and boundless popularity,
and of a numerical majority of the people, told by
the head, without intermediate institutions of any
kind, judicial or senatorial, in place of the elaborate
system of checks and balances, by which the consti-
tution aimed at a government of laws, a. id not of
men; how much, attracting less popular attention,
but scarcely less important, to complete the great
work which experience had shown to be left un-
finished by the judiciary act of 1780, by providing
for the punishment of all crimes against the United
States; how much for securing a safe currency and
a true financial system, not only by the promulga-
tion of sound opinions, but by good specific mea-
sures adopted, or bad ones defeated; how much to
develope the vast material resources of the country,
and push forward the planting of the West — not
troubled by any fear of exhausting old states — by a
liberal policy of public lauds, by vindicating the
constitutional power of Congress to make or aid in
making large classes of internal improvements, and
by acting on that doctrine uniformly from 1813,
o«8
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
■whenever a road was to be built, or a rapid sup-
pressed, or a canal to be opened, or a breakwater
or a lighthouse set up above or below the flow of
the tide, if so far beyond the ability of a single
state, or of so wide utility to commerce or labor as to
rise to the rank of a work general in its influences —
another tie of union because another proof of the
beneficence of union ; how much to protect the 'vast
mechanical and manufacturing interests of the coun-
try, a value of many hundreds of millions — after
having been lured into existence against his counsels,
against his science of political economy, by a policy
of artificial encouragement — from being sacrificed,
and the pursuits and plans of large regions and com-
munities broken up, and the acquired skill of the
country squandered byT a sudden and capricious
withdrawal of the promise of the government ; how
much for the right performance of the most delicate
and difficult of all tasks, the ordering of the foreign
affairs of a nation, free, sensitive, self-conscious, re-
cognising, it is true, public law and a morality of
the stale, binding on the conscience of the state, yet
aspiring to power, eminence, and eommand, its
whole frame filled full and all on fire with American
feeling, sympathetic with liberty everywhere — how
much for the right ordering of the foreign affairs of
such a state — aiming in all its policy, from his
speech on the Greek question in 1823, to his letters
to M. Hulsemann in 1850, to occupy the high, plain,
yet dizzy ground which separates influence from in-
tervention, to avow and promulgate warm good
will to humanity, wherever striving to be free, to
inquire authentically into the history of its struggles,
to take official and avowed pains to ascertain the
moment when its success may be recognised, consis-
tently, ever, with the greateode that keeps the peace
of theworld, abstaining from everything which shall
give any nation a right under the law of nations to
utter one word of complaint, still less to retaliate
by war — the sympathy, but also the neutrality, of
Washington — how much to compose with honor a
concurrence of difficulties with the first power in
the world, which anything less than the highest
degree of discretion, firmness, ability, and means of
commanding respect and confidence at home and
abroad would inevitably have conducted to the last
calamity — a disputed boundary line of many hun-
dred miles, from St. Croix to the Rocky Mountains,
which divided an exasperated and impracticable
border population, enlisted the pride and affected
the interests and controlled the politics of particular
states, as well as pressed on the peace and honor of
the nation, which the most popular administrations
of the era of the quietest and best public feelings,
the times of Monroe and of Jackson, could not ad-
just; which had grown so complicated with other
topics of excitement that one false step, right or left,
would have been a step down a precipice — this line
settled for ever — the claim of England to search our
ships for the suppression of the slave-trade silenced
for ever, and a new engagement entered into by
treaty, binding the national faith to contribute a
specific naval force for putting an end to the great
crime of man — the long practice of England to
enter an American ship and impress from its crew,
terminated for ever; the deck henceforth guarded
sacredly and completely by the flag — how much, by
profound discernment, by eloquent speech, by de-
voted life to strengthen the ties of Union, and
breathe the fine and strong spirit of nationality
through all our numbers — how much most of all,
last of all, after the war with Mexico, needless if his
counsels had governed, had ended in so vast an ac-
quisition of territory, in presenting to the two great
antagonist sections of our country so vast an area to
enter on, so imperial a prize to contend for, and the
accursed fraternal strife had begun — how much
then, when rising to the measure of a true, and diffi-
cult, and rare greatness, remembering that he had ^
country to save as well as a local constituency to
gratify, laying all the wealth, -all the hopes, of an
illustrious life on the altar of a hazardous patriotism,
he sought and won the more exceeding glory which
now attends — which in the next age shall more con-
spicuously attend — his name who composes an agi-
tated and Eaves a sinking land — recall this series of
conduct and influences, study them carefully in their
facts and results — the reading of years — and you at-
tain to a true appreciation of tin's aspect of his great-
ness— his public character and life.
THE CONSOLATIONS OF LITERATURE.*
I come to add the final reason why the working
man — by whom I mean the whole brotherhoodof
industry — should set on mental culture and that
knowledge which is wisdom, a value so high — only
not supreme — subordinate alone to the exercises and
hopes of religion itself. And that is, that therein
he shall so surely find rest from labor; succor under
its burdens ; fbrgetfulness of its cares ; composure
in its annoyances. It is not always that the busy
day is followed by the peaceful night It is not al-
ways that fatigue wins sleep. Often some vexation
outside of the toil that has exhausted the frame ;
some loss in a bargain ; some loss by an insolvency ;
some unforeseen rise or fall of prices ; some triumph
of a mean or fraudulent competitor ; " the law's
delay, the proud man's contumely, the insolence of
office, or some one of the spurns that patient merit
from the unworthy takes" — some self-reproach, per-
haps— follow you within the door ; chill the fire-
side ; sow the pillow with thorns; and the dark care'
is lost in the last waking thought, and haunts the
vivid dream. Happy, then, is he who has laid up
in youth, and has held fast in all fortune, a genuine
and passionate love of reading. True balm of hurt
minds; of surer and more healthful charm than
" P°PPy or mandragora, or all the drowsy syrups of
the world" — by that single taste, by that single ca-
pacity, he may bound in a moment into the still
regions of delightful studies, and be at rest. He
recalls the annoyance that pursues him ; reflects that
he has done all that might become a man to avoid
or bear it ; he indulges in one good long, human
sigh, picks up the volume where the mark kept his
place, and in about the same time that it takes the
Mohammedan in the Spectator to put his head in the
bucket of water and raise it out, he finds himself
exploring the arrow-marked ruins of Nineveh with
Layard ; or worshipping at the spring-head of the
stupendous Missouri with Clarke and Lewis; or
watching with Columbus for the sublime moment of
the rising of the curtain from before the great mys-
tery of the sea ; or looking reverentially on while So-
crates— the discourse of immortality ended — refuses
the offer of escape, and takes in his hand the poison, to
die in obedience to the unrighteous sentence of the law;
or, perhaps, it is in the contemplation of some vast
spectacle or phenomenon of Nature that he has
found his quick peace — the renewed exploration of
one of her great laws — or some glimpse opened by
the pencil of St. Pierre, or Humboldt, or Chateau-
briand, or 'Wilson, of the " blessedness and glory of
her own deep, calm, and mighty existence."
* From an address delivered at Danvers, Mass., September
29, 1854, at the dedication of the institute for purposes of
literature, munificently founded by Mr. George Peabody. the
eminent London banker, in his native town in Massachusetts.
CONNECTICUT ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES: GEORGE W. DOANE.
289
Let the case of a busy lawyer testify to the price-
less value of the love of reading. He conies home,
his temples throbbing, his nerves shattered, from a
trial of a week ; surprised and alarmed by the charge
of the judge, and pale with anxiety about the verdict
of the next morning, not at all satisfied with what
he lias done himself, though lie does not 3Tetsee how
he could have improved it ; recalling with dread and
self-disparagement, if not with envy, the brilliant
effort of Ids antagonist, and tormenting himself with
the vain wish that he could have replied to it — and
altogether a very miserable subject, and in as unfavor-
able a condition to accept comfort from wife and chil-
dren as poor Christian in the first three pages of the
Pilgrim's Progress. With a superhuman effort he
opens his book, and in a twinkling of an eye he is
looking into the full " orb of Homeric or Miltonic
song," or he stands in the crowd breathless, yet
swayed as forests or the sea by winds — hearing and
to judge the Pleadings for the Crown ; or the philo-
sophy which soothed Cicero or Boethius in their
afflictions, in exile, in prison, and the contemplation
of death, breathes over his petty cares like the sweet
south ; or Pope or Horace laugh him into good
humor, or he walks witli ./Eneas and the Sybil in the
mild light of the world of the laurelled dead — and
the court-house is as completely forgotten as the
drean: of a preadamite life. Well may lie prize that
endeired charm, so effectual and safe, without which
the brain had long ago been chilled by paralysis, or
set on fire by insanity !
To these uses, and these enjoyments ; to mental cul-
ture, and knowledge, and morality — the guide, the
grace, the solace of labor on all its fields, we dedicate
this charity ! May it bless you in all your successions ;
and may the admirable giversurvive to see that the
debt which he recognises to the future is completely
discharged ; survive to enjoy in the gratitude, anil
love, and honor of this generation, the honor, and
love, and gratitude, with which the latest will as-
suredly cherish his name, and partake and transmit
his benefaction.
CONNECTICUT ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES.
The Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences
was formed at New Haven, Conn., March 4, 1799,
by an association of gentlemen. Its object was to
concentrate the efforts of literary men in Connec-
ticut in the promotion of useful knowledge.
Previous to this, the Connecticut Society of
Arts and Sciences was established in the vear
1780. This Society published, in 178S, at New
Haven, a very valuable paper, by Jonathan Ed-
wards, D.D., on the language of the Muhheka-
neew Indians (8vo., pp. 17), but after a few
years the Society gradually died out.
In October, 1799, the Academy was incorporated
by the Legislature of Connecticut. At the first
meeting, Dr. Timothy Dwight was elected the
President, and he was annually re-elected to this
office until his death in 1817. He had taken an
active part in the establishment of the institution,
and was one of its most efficient members.
In addition to the ordinary business of receiving
communications on scientific subjects, the Aca-
demy, soon after its organization, engaged with
great zeal in the enterprise of preparing a full
statistical history of the cities, towns, and parishes,
of the state of Connecticut. About the same time
(Dec. 1799), they made an unsuccessful endeavor,
' with the concurrence of the American Academy
and the American Philosophical Society, to pro-
cure an enlargement of the objects, and a greater
VOL. n. — 19
particularity in the details of the National Census
of 1800.
In the course of a few years, statistical and his-
torical accounts of about thirty towns in Con-
necticut had been received.
The publication of these accounts was com-
menced in 1811 with that of the city of New
Haven, by the Rev. Timothy Dwight (8vo. pp. 84).
In 1815, the Academy published a Statistical Ac-
count of several Towns in the County of Litchfield,
Conn. (8vo. pp. 40). In 1819 was published,
under the patronage of the Academy, a Statistical
Account of the County of Middlesex, by the Eev.
D. D. Field (Middletown, 8vo. pp. 154).
These were only a small part of the town his-
tories which had been received and arranged for
the press. But so little interest was at that period
generally felt in such matters, that it was not
deemed desirable to continue the publication, and
most of these communications still remain im-
printed.
Several scientific papers having been from time
to time read before the Academy, it was decided
in 1809, to publish a selection from them. Ac-
cordingl}', in 1810, there appeared at New Haven
the first part of the Memoirs of the Connecticut
Academy of Arts and Sciences (8vo. pp. 21(5),
Part second followed in 1811, part third in ISIS,
and part fourth in 181 G, completing a volume of
412 pages.
On the establishment of The American Journal
of Science and Arts by Professor Siiiiman, the
Academy discontinued the further issue of their
Memoirs in a separate form, arid adopted this work
as their medium of publication. This important
journal was commenced in July, 1818, and was
sustained for many years at the private expense of
Professor Siiiiman. In April, 1838, Benjamin
Siiiiman, Jr., became associate editor, and has so
continued. The first series of the Journal was
completed in 1846, and comprises 50 volumes, the
last one being a full Index to the forty-nine
volumes preceding. A second series was com-
menced in 184(1, under the editorship of Professors
B. Siiiiman, B. Siiiiman, Jr., and James D. Dana,
with whom other scientific gentlemen have since
been associated, and it has now reached its
twentieth volume. This journal is well known
and appreciated throughout the learned world, and
has become a very extensive repository of tiie
scientific labors of our countrymen, and has clone
much to stimulate research and to diffuse kuow-
ledge.
Among many important papers communicated
by members of the Academy, and presented to the
public through the Journal of Science, may be
named the elaborate Essay on Musical Tempera-
ment, by Prof. A. M. Fisher ; also, several papers
on Meteorological Topics, and especially on the Ro-
tative Character of Atlantic Gales and of Other
Great Storms, by Win. 0. Eedfield ; and most of the
numerous papers on Meteoric Showers, and on the
Aurora Borealis, by Professor Olmsted and
others.*
GEORGE "W. DOAUE.
George Washington Doane was born in Tren-
ton, N. J., May 27, 1799. He was partly edu-
* See the Historical Sketch of the Conn. Acad, by E. C.
Ilerrick, in Am. Quar. Reg., pp. 13-23. Aug., 1810.
290
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
cated in New York by the Rev. Edmund D.
Barry, a classical instructor who taught three
generations of pupils, and who died rector of the
Episcopal church of St. Matthew in Jersey City,
at the age of seventy-six, in 1852. Pursuing his
studies at Geneva in Western New York, Mr.
Doane entered Union College, where he was gra-
duated in 1818. He was then for a short time a
student of law in the city of New York, in the
office of Richard Harrison. In 1821 he was or-
dained deacon in the Episcopal Church by Bishop
Hobart, and was for four years an assistant
minister in Trinity church, Kew York. In 1824
he was appointed Professor of Rhetoric and
Belles Lettres in the new Washington, now Tri-
nity, College, Hartford, Ct. In 1828 he went to
Boston as assistant minister of Trinity church, of
which he became rector in 1830. In 1 829 he was
married to Eliza Greene Perkins. On the 31st
of October, 1832, he was consecrated Bishop of
New Jersey, and the nest year became rector of
St. Mary's Church at Burlington.
At this beautiful town on the banks of the De-
laware Bishop Doane, in addition to the more im-
mediate duties of his diocese, has devoted himself
to the cause of education, in connexion with two
institutions known as St. Mary's Hall and Bur-
lington College. The former, commenced in 1837,
is a female seminary : the latter is an incorporat-
ed institution for the usual purposes of education,
and was commenced in 1846.
In 1841 Bishop Doane visited England at the
request of the Rev. Dr. Hook to preach the sermon
at the consecration of the new parish church at
Leeds, — the first instance of an American bishop
preaching in an English pulpit under the new
act authorizing the admission of the transatlantic
clergy.
The literary productions of Dr. Doane have
been numerous, though mostly confined to ser-
mons and charges, and church periodical literature.
He has edited the Missionary, a monthly religious
newspaper and journal of his diocese. In 1842 a
volume of his sermons was published by the
Rivingtons in London.
He is the author of numerous short poems chiefly
of a lyrical or simple devotional character, which
have appeared from time to time in the journals. In
1824 he published a volume of his early poetical
writings entitled Songs by the IVay, chiefly devo-
ti'onal ; with Translations and Imitations. Seve-
ral of them have been included in the collection
of hymns in use in the Protestant Epi.-copal
Church. The translations are of Latin hymns,
from the Italian of Metastasio, and from the odes
of Horace. lis has also edited Keble's Christian
Year, introducing additions from Croswell and
others, and a Selection from the Sermons and
Poetical Remains of the Rev. Benjamin Davis
"Winslow, his assistant in St. Mary's Church.
In all these, and in the prose writings of Bishop
Doane, there is an elegant taste, evidence of good
English scholarship, and spirited expression. His
pulpit style is marked by brevity and energy ;
witnessing to an activity of mind which has
characterized his numerous labors in his dio-
cese and in the cause of education. The latter
have not been without financial difficulties,
through which Bishop Doane has struggled,
with success to the cause in which he has been
engaged, though with no improvement to his
pecuniary fortunes.
OX A. VERY OLD WEDDING-RING.
The Drri"f — Two hearts united.
The Motto — Dear 1 jve of mine, my heart is thine.
I like that ring — that ancient ring,
Of massive form, and virgin gold,
As firm, as free from base alloy,
As were the sterling hearts of old.
I like it — for it wafts me back,
Far, far along the stream of time,
To other men, and other days,
The men and days of deeds sublime.
But most I like it, as it tells
The tale of well-requited love ;
How youthful fondness persevered,
And youthful faith disdained to rove —
How warmly he his suit preferred,
Though she, unpityii g, long denied,
Till, softened and subdued, at last,
He won his fair and blooming bride. —
How, till the appointed day arrived,
They blamed the lazy-footed houis —
How then, the white-robed maiden train,
Strewed their glad way with freshest flowers —
And how, before the holy man,
They stood, in all their youthful pride,
And spoke those words, and vowed those vows,
Which bind the husband to his bride:
All this it tells ; — the plighted troth—
The gift of every earthly thii g —
The hand in hand — the heart in heart —
For this I like that ancient ring.
I like its old and quaint device;
" Two blended hearts" — though time may wear
them,
Ko mortal change, no mortal chance,
" Till death," shall e'er in sunder tear them.
Year after year, 'neath sun and storm,
Their hopes in heav'n, their trust iu God,
In changeless, heartfelt, holy love,
These two the world's rough pathways trod.
Age might impair their youthful fires,
Their strength might fail, 'mid life's bleak weather.
Still, hand in hand, they travelled on —
Kind souls ! they slumber now together.
I like its simple poesy too:
" Mine own dear love, this heart is thine !"
Thine, when the dark storm howls along,
As when the cloudless sunbeams shine.
"This heart is thine, mine own dear love I"
Thine, and thine only, and for ever;
Thine, till the springs of life shall fail,
Thine, till the cords of life shall sever.
Remnant of days departed long,
Emblem of plighted troth unbroken,
Pledge of devoted faithfulness,
Of heartfelt, holy love, the token :
Tv'hat varied feelings round it cling! —
For these I like that ancient ring.
"Let my prayer he as the evening sacrifice.'1
Softly now the light of day
Fades upon my sight away ;
Free from care, from labor free,
Lor.D, I would commune with Thee !
Thou, whose all-pervading eye
Kaught escapes, without, within.
Pardon each infirmity,
Open fault, and secret sin.
CALEB GUSHING ; THE SEDG WICKS.
291
Soon for me, the light of day
Shall for ever pass away ;
Then, from sin and sorrow free,
Take me, Loan, to dwell with Thee I
Thou who sinless, yet hast known
All of man's infirmity ;
Then, from Thy eternal throne,
Jesus, look with pitying eye.
CALEB GUSHING.
Caleb Ohshinq, the son of Captain John S".
Cushing, an eminent shipowner of Salisbury,
Massachusetts, was born at that place January 7,
1800. He was fitted for College at the Public
School, and graduated at Harvard with the
honors of the salutatory oration, at the early age
of seventeen. He delivered a poem before the
Phi Beta Kappa Society in 1819, and an oration
on the durability of the Federal Union, on taking
his degree of Master of Arts. In 1819 he was ap-
pointed a tutor at Harvard, an office which lie
filled until July, 1821. In 1822 he commenced
the practice of the law, in 1825 was elected to the
H >use of Representatives, and the next year to the
Senate of the State. In the same year he pub-
lishe 1 a History of Neiaburyport, and a treatise on
The Practical Principles of Political Economy.
In 1821 he married a daughter of Judge Wilde of
Boston. In 182G he was an unsuccessful candidate
for election to the Federal House of Representa-
tives. He passed the years from 1829 to 1832 in
foreign travel, and on his return published two
small volumes of tales and sketches entitled
Reminiscences of Spain — fhe Country, its Peo-
ple, History, and Monuments, and a Review,
Historical aid Political, of the late Revolution in
France, and the Consequent Events in Belgium,
Poland, Great Britain, and other parts of Europe
— also in two volumes. In 1833 and 1834, Mr.
dishing was again elected by the town of New-
buryport to the State Legislature, where his speech
on the currency and public deposits attracted
great favor.
In 1833 he was elected to Congress, and re-
mained a member of the House of Representatives
until 1843. In 1830 he delivered an eloquent
vindication of the New England character in reply
to an ouslaughtby Benjamin Hardin, of Kentucky.
He was an active member in the debates and
business of the House. In 1840 he wrote a
popular campaign Life of General Harrison.
He afterwards supported the administration of
President Tyler, by whom he was appointed, in
1843, Commissioner to China for the negotiation
of a commercial treaty. He sailed in July in the
steam-frigate Miss juri. The vessel was burnt on
the twenty-second of Augu4, while off Gibraltar,
and the minister proceeded by the overland route
to his destination. A treaty was negotiated and
signed July 3, 1844. He returned home by way
of the Pacific and Mexico.
In 1846 Mr. Cashing was elected to the Legisla-
ture, and the next year was an unsuccessful candi-
date for the governorship of his State. He advo-
cated an appropriation of twenty thousand dollars
for the benefit of the Massachusetts volunteers
in the Mexican war, but without success. He
was elected colonel by these volunteers, and ac-
companied them to Mexico, where he was ap-
pointed a brigadier-general, and took part in the
battle of Buena Vista. He was afterwards, at his
request, transferred to the army of General Scott,
under whom he served during the remainder of
the war. {"
On his return, in 1849, he was again elected to
the State Legislature. He was chosen in 1851
the first mayor of Newbuiwport, and in 1852 was
appointed Attorney-General of the United States
by President Pierce.
Mr. Ouslling is the author of several addresses
delivered on various anniversary occasions, and
has contributed a number of articles to the North
American Review.* Activity and energy have
characterized his course whether in or out of
office. An epigrammatic epitaph by Miss Hannah
F. Gould, and the reply of Mr. Cushing, illustrate
the character and the ready talent of the man : — •
Lay aside all ye dead,
For in the next bed
Reposes the body of Gushing,
He has crowded his way
Through the world, they say,
And, even though dead, will be pushing.
nere lies one whose wit,
Without wounding, could hit, — ■
And green grows the grass that's above her;
Having sent every beau
To the regions below,
She has gone down herself for a lover.
Caroline, the wife of Mr. Cushing, is author
of Letters Descriptive of Public Monuments,
Scenery, and Manners, in France and Spain, two
pleasant volumes of reminiscences of her tour in
Europe with her husbund.t
TIIEODORE SEDGWICK— CATHARINE M. SEDGWICK
— THEODORE SEDGWICK.
TnEODOnE, the eldest son of Theodore Sedgwick,
one of the judges of the Supreme Court of Massa-
chusetts, was born in Sheffield, Berkshire, Mass.,
on the last day of the year 1781. lie passed his
boyhood at Stockbridge, where his father re-
moved in 1788, completed his literary studies at
Yale College in 1799, studied law in the office of
Peter Van Schaack in Kinderhook, New York,
and commenced practice in Albany in partnership
with Harmanus Bleecker, afterwards the repre-
sentative of the United States at the Hague. In
1808 he married Miss Susan Ridley, a grand-
daughter of Governor Living-ton. He rapidly
rose to eminence at the bar, but, finding his health
failing, retired from practice in 1822 to the estate
»* Oration at Newburyport July 4. 1S32
Oration, July 4, 1S33," for Ihe American Colonization Society. "
Address before the American Institute of Instruction, 1S34.
Eulogy on Lafayette, delivered at Dover, N. II., 1S34.
Popular Eloquence, an Address before the Literary Societies
of Amherst College, Aug. 23. 1S36.
Progress of America," an Oration delivered at Springfield,
Mass., July 4, 1S89.
Oration on the Errors of Popular Reformers, delivered
before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Cambridge, 1839.
Articles on Americus Vespnccius, Boccaccio, and Columbus,
North Am. Review, xii. 41S; xix. 68 ; xxi. 39S.
t Loring's Boston Orators, pp. 513-524.
292
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
left by his father, who died in 1813, at Stock-
bridge.
In 1824 he was elected a member of the state
house of representative*, and was again chosen
in 1825 and 1827. He was twice nominated
for Congress, but failed of his election owing
to the minority of his party. He was an active
politician though not a violent partisan, and ex-
pressed himself with clearness and decision on all
the great questions and issues of the day. He
took much interest in agriculture, and was twice
president of the Berkshire Agricultural Society.
In 1836 Mr. Sedgwick published the first part
of a work entitled Public and Private Economy.
In this he traces the history of property and po-
verty, and the means to acquire the one and avoid
the other, in a clear and interesting maimer, show-
ing the absolute necessity to a community of a
spirit of thrift, economy, and industry — and of a
safe system of currency and credit, based upon
actual values, for the successful prosecution of its
business relations. In 1838 and 1830 Mr. Sedg-
wick enlarged his work by the addition of a second
and third part, principally devoted to an account
of his observations in England and France during
a tour in the summer of 1836. The condition of
the masses in these countries, the extravagance of
government, and the lack of provision for cheap
conveniences or essentials of social life, are the
chief topics discussed.
On the 6th of November, 1839, Mr. Sedgwick,
who had just completed an address at a political
meeting at Pittsfield prior to the state election,
was seized by a fit of apoplexy which soon after
caused his death.
^T^^*^^/: c^£^
CATiiAnrxE Mama Sedgwick, the daughter of
the Hon. Theodore Sedgwick, was born at Stock-
bridge, Massachusetts. A member of a well
trained family, she received an excellent educa-
tion, and in 1822 published her first work, A New
England. Tale. This was commenced as a reli-
gious tract, but expanding in the writer's hands
be}Tond the limits of such publications, she was
induced by the solicitations of her friends to ex-
tend it to the size of a novel. Its success war-
ranted their anticipations, and induced the writer
to continue in the career so auspiciously com-
menced. In 1827 she published Redwood, a no-
vel of the ordinary two-volume length. Hope
Leslie, or Early Times in America, a novel of the
same size, followed in the same year; Clarence,
a Tale of our Own Times, in 1830; Le Bussu, in
1832 ; and the Linwoods, or Sixty Years Since in
America, in 1835. A collection of shorter tales,
published by her in various magazines, appeared
in the same year.
In 1836 she published The Poor Rich Man and
the Rich Poor Man, a popular tale, designed to
show the superior advantages for happiness of a
life of cheerful labor and domestic content in a
comparatively humble sphere, over one of extra-
vagance and makeshift in a more prominent po-
sition. The success of this soon led to the publi-
cation, in 1838, of a story of a similar character,
Lire and Let Lire ; and a delightful volume of
juvenile tales, A Love To'kenfor Children, which
was followed \i\ Stories for Young Persona. Means
and Ends, or Self-Training, an attractive and sen-
sible little volume of advice to young ladies on
education and the formation of character, ap-
peared about the same time.
In 1840 Miss Sedgwick published Letters from
Abroad to Kindred at Home, in two volumes; a
pleasant, sketchy account of some of the places
she had seen, and the people she had met, during
a recent tour in Europe.
Miss Sedgwick has contributed to the Lady's
Book, Milton Harvey, A Huguenot Family,
Scenes from Life in Toicn, Fanny McDermot,
and other tales. She has also written for other
periodicals.
Miss Sedgwick's life has been principally passed
in the place of her birth, where she still resides.
Stockliridge is one of the most beautiful villages
of Berkshire, but its wide-spread celebrity is to be
ascribed far more to the reputation which Miss
Sedgwick's descriptions and works have given it,
than to its great natural advantages.
The best trait of Miss Sedgwick's writings is
the amiable home-sentiment which runs through
them: her pen is always intent to improve life
and cultivate its refinements; but besides this
practical trait she has cultivated the imaginative
element in American fiction with success. The
Indian character in Hope Leslie is identified in
the local feeling with the streams and mountain
scenery of the region in which the author resides.
TnEODOEE Sedgwick, a nephew of Miss Sedg-
wick, and a lawyer of the city of New York, is
the author of a carefully prepared Life of Wil-
liam Livingston of New Jersey, published in
1833; of an elaborate work, A Treatise on the
Measure of Damages, or an Lnquiry into the
Principles which govern the Amount of Compen-
sation recovered in Suits-at-Law ; and of nume-
rous articles on social, literary, and political to-
pics in the periodicals of the day. In 1840 he
prepared a collection of the Political Writings of
William Leggett.
Mr. Sedgwick was the first president of the
New York Crystal Palace Company.
THE SKDGWICKS.
203
THE RESCUE OF EVERELL BY MAGAWISCA — FROM HOPE LESLIE.
Magawisca, ill the urgency of a necessity that
could b:ook no delay, had forgotten, or regarded as
useless, the sleeping potion she had infused into the
Mohawk's draught; she now saw the powerful agent
was at work for her, and with that quickness of ap-
prehension that made the operations of her mind as
rapid as the impulses of instinct, she perceived that
every emotion she excited but hindered the effect of
the potion. Suddenly seeming to relinquish all pur-
pose and hope of escape, she threw herself on a mat,
ami hid her face, burning with agonizing impatience,
in her mantle. There we must leave her, and join
that fearful company who were gathered together to
witness what they believed to be the execution of
exact and necessary justice.
Seated around their sacrifice-rock — their holy of
holies — they listened to the sad story of the Pequod
chief with dejected countenances and downcast eyes,
save when an involuntary glance turned on Everell,
who stood awaiting his fate, cruelly aggravated by
every moment's delay, with a quiet dignity and calm
resignation that would have become a hero or a
saint, Surrounded by this dark cloud of savages,
his fair countenance kindled by holy inspiration, he
looked scarcely like a creature of earth.
There might have been among the spectators
some who felt the silent appeal of the helpless, cou-
rageous boy ; some whose hearts moved them to in-
terpose to save the selected victim; but they were
restrained by their interpretation of natural justice,
as controlling to them as our artificial codes of law3
to us.
Others, of a more cruel or more irritable dispo-
sition, when the Pequod described his wrongs and
depicted his sufferings, brandished their tomahawks,
and would have hurled them at the boy ; but the
chief said, ">'ay, brothers, the work is mine; he
dies by my hand — for my first-born — life for life ;
he dies by a single stroke, for thus was my boy cut
off. The blood of sachems is in his veins. He has
the skin, but not the soul of that mixed race, whose
gratitude is like that vanishing mist," and he point-
ed to the vapor that was melting from the moun-
tain tops into the tia isparent ether ; " and their pro-
mise? like this," and he snapped a deal branch from
the pine beside which he stoo I, and broke it in frag-
ments. " Boy as he is, he fought for his mother as
the e :gle fights for its young. I watched him in
the mountain-path, when the blood gushed from his
torn feet ; not a word from his smooth lip betrayed
his pain."
Mo lOnotto embellished his victim with praises, as
the ancients wreathed theirs with flowers. He bran-
dished his hatchet over Everell's head, and cried ex-
ultingly, "See, he flinches not. Tims stood my boy
when they flashed their sabres before his eyes and
bade him betray his father. Brothers: My people
have told me I bore a woman's heart towards the
enemy. Ye shall see. I will pour out this English
boy's blood to the last drop, and give his flesh and
bo.es to the dogs and wolves."
He then motioned to Everell to prostrate himself
on the rock, his face downward. In this position the
boy would not see the descending stroke. Even at
this moment of dire vengeance the instincts of a mer-
ciful nature asserted their rights. •»
Everell sank calmly on his knees, not to supplicate
life, but to commend his soul to God. He clasped
his hands together. He did not — he could not speak ;
his soul was
Eapt in still communion, that transcends
The iinpei-fect offices of prayer.
At this moment a sunbeam penetrated the trees
that inclosed the area, and fell athwart his brow
and hair, kindling it with an almost supernatural
brightness. To the savages, this was a token that
the victim was accepted, and they sent forth a shout
that rent the air. Everell bent forward anil pressed
his forehead to the rock. The chief raised the dead-
ly weapon, when Magawisca, springing from the pre-
cipitous side of the rock, screamed "Forbear!" ami
interposed her arm. It was too late. The blow
was levelled — force and direction given ; the stroke,
aimed at Everell's neck, severed his defender's arm,
and left him unharmed. The lopped, quivering
member dropped over the precipice, Mononotto
staggered and fell senseless, and all the savages, ut-
tering horrible yells, rushed towards the fatal spot.
" Stand back !" cried Magawisca. " I have bought
his life with my own. Fly, Everell — nay, speak
not, but fly — thither — to the east !" she cried, more
vehemently.
Everell's faculties were paralysed by a rapid suc-
cession of violent emotions. He was conscious only
of a feeling of mingled gratitude and admiration for
Ids preserver. He stood motionless, gazing on her.
"I die in vain, then," she cried, in an accent of such
despair that lie was roused. He threw his arms
around her, and pressed her to his heart as he would
a sister that had redeemed his life with her own, and
then, tearing himself from her, he disappeared. Ko
one offered to follow him. The voice of nature rose
from every 1 irt, and, responding to the justice of
Magawisea's claim, bade him " God speed I" To
all it seemed that his deliverance had been achieved
by a miraculous aid. All — the dullest and coldest —
paid involuntary homage to the heroic girl, as if she
were a superior being, guided and upheld by super-
natural power.
Everything short of a miracle she had achieved.
The moment the opiate dulled the senses of her keep-
er, she escaped from the hut ; and aware that, if she
attempted to penetrate to her father through the
semicircular line of spectators that enclosed him,
she would be repulsed, and probably borne off the
ground, she had taken the desperate resolution of
mounting the rock where only her approach would
be unperceived. She did not stop to ask herself if
it were possible; but, impelled by a determined spirit,
or rather, we would believe, by that inspiration that
teaches the bird its unknown path, and leads the
goat, with its young, safely over the mountain crags,
she ascended the rock. There were crevices in it,
but they seemed scarcely sufficient to support the
eagle with his grappling talon; and twigs issuing
from the fissures, but so slender that they waved
like a blade of grass under the weight of the young
birds that made a nest on them ; and yet, such is the
power of love, stronger than death, that with these
inadequate helps Magawisca sealed the rock and
achieved her generous purpose.
TnE SnAKEP.S AT HANCOCK — FROM REDWOOD.
The Shaker society at Hancock, in Massachusetts,
is one of the oldest establishments of this sect,
which has extended its limits far beyond the antici-
pations of the "unbelieving world," and now boasts
that its outposts have advanced to the frontiers of
civilization — to Kentucky — Ohio — and Indiana; and
rejoices in the verification of the prophecy, " a
little one shall become a thousand, and a small one
a strong nation."
The society is distributed into several families
of a convenient size,* for domestic arrangements,
* No family, we believe, is permitted to exceed a hundred
members. Hear and admire, ye housewives.
294
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN* LITERATURE.
and the whole body is guided and governed by
" elder brothers" and " elder sisters," whose " gifts"
of superior wisdom, knowledge, or cunning, obtain
for them these titles, and secure to them their rights
and immunities. There are gradations of rank, or,
as they choose to designate their distinctions, of
"privilege" among them; but none are exempt
from the equitable law of their religious commu-
nity, which requires each individual to " labor with
his hands according to his strength."
A village is divided into lots of various dimen-
sions. Each inclosure contains a family, whose
members are clothed from one storehouse, fed at the
same board, and perform their domestic worship to-
gether. In the centre of the inclosure is a laige
building, which contains their eating-room and kit-
chen, their sleeping apartments, and two large rooms,
connected by folding-doors, where they receive
their visitors, and assemble for their evening reli-
gious service. All their mechanical and manual la-
bors, distinct from the housewifery (a profane term
III this application), are performed in offices at a con-
venient distance from the main dwelling, and within
the inclosure. In these offices may be heard, from
the rising to the setting of the sun, the cheerful
sounds of voluntary industry — sounds as significant
to the moral sense, as the smith's stroke upon his
anvil to the musical car. One edifice is erected over
a cold perennial stream, and devoted to the various
operations of the dairy — from another proceed the
sounds of the heavy loom and the flyi: g shuttle,
and the buzz of the swift wheels. In one apartment
is a group of sistei's, selected chiefly fi om the old
and feeble, but nniong whom wc:e also some of the
young and tasteful, weavi. g the delicate basket —
another is devoted to the dress-makers (a class that
obtains even among Shaking Quakers), who are em-
ployed in fashioning, after a uniform model, the
stiiped cotton for summer wear, or the sad-colored
winter russet ; here is the patient teacher, and there
the ii genious manufacturer ; and wherever labor is
performed, there are many valuable contrivances by
which toil is lightened and success insured.
The villages of Lebanon* and Hancock have been
visited by foreigners and strangers from all parts of
our Union ; if they are displeased or disgusted by
some of the absurdities of the Shaker faith, and by
their singular worship, none have withheld their
admiration from the results of their industry, inge-
nuity, order, frugality, and temperance, 'lhe per-
fection of these virtues among them may, perhaps,
be traced with propriety to the founder of their
sect, who united practical wisdom with the wildest
fanaticism, and who proved that she understood the
intricate machine of the human mind, when she de-
clared that temporal prosperity was the indication
and would be the reward of spiritual fidelity.
The prosperity of the society's agriculture is a
beautiful illustration of the philosophical remark,
that " to temperance every day is bright, and every
hour propitious to diligence." Their skilful cultiva-
tion preserves them from man}' of the disasters that
fall like a curse upon the slovenly husbandry of the
farmers in their vicinity. Their gardens always
flourish in spite of late frosts and early frosts —
blasts and mildew ravage their neighboi-s' fields
without invading their territory — the mischievous
daisy, that spreads its starry mantle over the rich
meadows of the " world's people," does not presume
to lift its yellow head in their green fields — and
even the Canada thistle, that bristled little warrior,
armed at all points, that comes in from the north,
• The village at Lebanon is distinguished as the United So-
cieties' centre of anion.
extirpating in its march, like the hordes of barba-
rous invaders, all the fair fruits of civilization, is not
permitted to intrude upon their grounds.
It is sufficiently manifest that this felicity is the
natural consequence and appropriate reward of their
skill, vigilance, and unwearied toil ; but they be-
lieve it to be a spiritual blessing — an assurance of
peculiar favor, like that which exempted the Israel-
ites from the seven ligyptian plagues — an accom-
plishment of the promise that every one that
" hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or
father, or mother, or viife, or children, or lands, for
my name's sake, shall receive a hundred fold:'
The sisters, too, have their peculiar and appropri-
ate blessings and exemptions. They are saved from
those scourges of our land of liberty and equality,
" poor help," and " no help." There are no scold-
ing mistresses nor eye-servants among them.
It might be curious to ascertain by what magical
process these felicitous sisters have expelled from
their thrifty housewifery that busy, mischievous
principle of all evil in the domestic economy of the
" world's people," known in all its Protean shapes
by the name of " bad luck ;" the modern successor
of Robin Goodfellow, with all the spite, but with-
out the genius of that frolic-loving little spirit,
he who
Frights the maidens of the villagery,
Skims milk, and sometimes labors in the qnern,
And bootless makes the breathless housewife churn,
And sometimes makes the drink to bear no baiin.
How much broken china, spoiled batches of
bread, ruined tempers, and other common domestic
disasters might be avoided by the discovery of this
secret ; what tribes of mice, ants, flies, and other
household demons, might be driven from their
I strongholds! Perhaps those provoking solvers of
j mysteries, who are so fond of finding out the " rea-
son of the thing," that they are daily circumscrib-
ing within most barren and inconvenient limits
the dominion of the imagination, will pretend to
have found the clue to this mystery in the exact
order and elaborate neatness of the sisterhood.
The sisteis themselves, certainly, hint at a sub-
lime cause of their success, when in reply to a
stranger's involuntary admiration of their stainless
walls, polished floors, snow-white linen, and all the
detail of their precise arrangement and ornamental
neatness, they say, with the utnmst gravity, " God
is the God of order, not of confusion." lhe most
signal triumph of the society is in the discipline of
the children. Of these there are many amoi g them ;
a few are received together with their " believing"
parents; in some instances orphans, and even orphan
families are adopted ; and many are brought to the
society by parents, who, either from the despair of
poverty or the carelessness of vice, choose to com-
mit their offspring to the guardianship of the
Shakers. Now that the first fervors of enthusiasm
are abated, and conversions have become rare, the
adoption of children is a substantial aid to the con-
tinuance and preservation of the society. These
little born rebels, natural enemies to the social com-
pact, lose in their hands their prescriptive right to
uproar and misrule, and soon become as silent, as
formal, and as orderly as their elders.
"VWe hope we shall not be suspected of speaking
the language of panegyric rather than justice, if we
add that the hospitalities of these people ate never
refused to the weary wayworn traveller, nor their
alms to the needy ; and that their faith (however
absurd and indefensible its peculiarities) is tempered
by some generous and enlightened principles, which
those who had rather learn than scntf would do well
to adopt. In short, those who know them well,
HANNAH F. LEE ; GEOEGE WOOD.
295
and judge them equitably, will not withhold from
them the praise of moral conduct which they claim,
in professing themselves, as a community, a " harm-
less, just, and upright people."
HANNAH F. LEE.
Mrs. Hannah F. Lee, the author of numerous
popular writings, is a native of Newburyport,
Massachusetts, the daughter of an eminent physi-
cian of that place. She has been for many years
a widow. Her residence is at Boston.
^X,
In 1832, when the autobiography of Hannah
Adams appeared, the "notices in continuation by
a friend," forming half of the volume, were from
her pen. Her first distinct publication was a no-
vel, Grace Seymour, published at New York, the
first edition of which was mostly burned in the
great fire of 1885. In 1838, appeared anony-
mously, The Three Experiments of Living, a
work which she wrote as a sketch of those
times of commercial difficulty, without reference
to publication. By the agency of the eminent
philologist, John Pickering, it was brought be-
fore the public, and attained at once extraor-
dinary success. This was followed immediately
by a volume of romantic biography, Historical
Sketches of the Old Painters, taking for the
subjects the lives of Leonardo da Vinci, Michael
Augelo, Correggio, and others. With a similar
view of popularizing the lessons of history, Mrs.
Lee wrote the works entitled Luther, and his
Times ; Granmer, and his Times ; and the Hugue-
nots in France and America ; books of careful
reading and graphic description.
Mrs. Lee is also the author of a series of do-
mestic tales, illustrating the minor morals of life
and topics of education, as Elinor Fulton ; a
sequel to Three Experiments of Lining ; Liich
Enough, the title of which indicates its purpose.
Rosanna, or Seenesin Boston, written for the bene-
fit of a charity school ; The Contrast, or Different
Modes of Education ; The World before you, or
the Log Cabin; and in 1819 a volume of Stories
from Life, for the Young. Still regarding the
tastes of youthful readers, with a style and subject
calculated to gain the attention of all, she pub-
lished, in 1852, a familiar History of Sculpture
and Sculptors. A Memoir of Pierre Toussaint, a
negro, born a slave in St. Domingo, who lived in
New fork to an advanced age, and who had
been a devoted humble friend of her sister, Mrs.
Philip Schuyler — a curious and interesting bio-
graphy, published at Boston in 1853 — completes
the list of Mrs. Lee's useful and always interest-
ing productions.*
GEOKGE WOOD,
TnE author of Peter Schlemihl in America, was
born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, and was
* Mrs. Halo's Woman's Record.
educated by the distinguished litterateur Samuel
L. Knapp, then a young and talented lawyer, from
whom his pupil imbibed his first love of literature.
His mother removed with her family in 1816 to
Alexandria, District of Columbia, and thore he
found employment as a clerk in a commission
house. In December, 1810, he was appointed by
Calhoun, then Secretary of War, a clerk in his
department. He was connected with the Trea-
sury department from 1822 to 1815, for thirty-
three years, when he came to New York to re?ido.
In the latter city he wrote his Peter Schlemihl in
America, which was published in Philadelphia in
1848. It is a sketchy satirical work of the school
of Southey's " Doctor," adopting a slight outline
of incident from the famous invention of Von
Chainisso, and making it a vehicle for the humo-
rous discussion of social manners, fashionable edu-
cation and affectations, the morals of the stock
exchange ; and above all some of the religious and
philosophical notions of the day, as Puseyisin and
Fourierism. The author's humorous hits are not
equally successful, but his curious stores of read-
ing are always entertaining; and with a better
discipline in the art of literature bis matter would
appear to more advantage. After the publication
of this book be returned to Washington, where he
has since resided. A second work from his pen
is announced at Boston with the title, The Modern
Pilgrims.
TITE CIRCLE OF FINANCIERS — FROM PETER SCIILEMIHL.
It is now some twenty years since I came to this
city, merely to pass the winter and spring, and to
return to Europe in June following. I had not been
in the country for some years, and wishing to be as
quiet as possible, I took private rooms at the " Star
Hotel," and entered my name as Thomas Jones, and
for a while was perfectly secure in my incognito ;
but accidentally meeting with some old friends,
who had become conspicuous operators in Change
Alley, 1 was drawn out from my retreat and almost
compelled to accept their earnest and most hospitable
invitations to their several houses. I assure you I
was not at all prepared for the astonishing changes I
found in their circumstances. Men whom I had left
dealing in merchandise and stocks, in small sums,
living in modest houses at a rent of four or five hun-
dred dollars a year, now received me in splendid
mansions, costing in themselves a fortune, and these
were filled with the finest furniture, and adorned
with mirrors of surpassing size and beauty. Their
walls were covered with pictures, more remarkable
for their antiquity than any beauty I could discern
in them, but which they assured me were from the
pencils of the " old masters." One of them even
showed a " Madonna in the Chair," of which he had
a smoky certificate pasted on the back, stating it to
be a duplicate of that wonder of the art in the Pitti
palace; and another had a " Pornarini," which he
convinced me was genuine, though I was somewhat
296
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
skeptical at first, but of which I could no longer
doubt when he showed me in the depth of the color-
ing of the shadow of her dress, the monogram of Ra-
phael himself. There was one picture to which my
especial attention was called, and upon which I was
specially requested to pass my opinion. It seemed
to me a mere mass of black paint, relieved by some
few white spots ; but what it was designed to repre-
Bent was altogether beyond my skill to discover ;
and finding myself so perfectly at a loss, and not
daring to venture a guess, I candidly confessed the
embarrassment in which I was placed. My friends, I
for it was at a dinner party, all cried out, " it was ;
capital," " a most admirable criticism," there was
" nothing but black paint to be seen," etc. ; but our |
host, not at all disconcerted, said that " the picture j
was a ' Salvaior Hosa,' and we should see it to be
so, and we should enjoy our surprise." So he di-
rected all the shutters to be closed save a single half
window ; and to be sure, there were discernible some
armed men at the entrance of what we were told was
a cave, in the .act of throwing dice, and in the fore-
ground some pieces of plate. "There," said he,
" there's the triumph of art I"
He looked for applause, and it was given ; for who
could refuse to applaud the taste of a gentleman
who gave good dinners, and whose wines were fault-
lees? To be sure the merits of a picture so plastered
with dark brown and black paint as to be undistin-
guishable, were not so much to my taste as his din-
ners and wines were ; yet as he assured us it was a
genuine " Salvator Rosa," having swallowed his
wines, I must needs do the same with his pictures.
I assure you, my dear madam, that this is no exaggera-
tion ofthe"o!d masters" which I have had exhibited
to me in this country. But whatever may have
been my misgivings as to the genuineness of the par-
ticular " old masters," I had no doubt as to the sums
paid for them, of which they showed me the re-
ceipted bills in order to make " assurance doubly
sure." And though even then I might have had
some lurking suspicions that in these matters my
friends may have taken the copy for the original, I
could not be mistaken as to the solidity and costli-
ness of the rich plate with which their tables were
literally covered. I have visited merchants of other
countries, but none whose riches were more apparent
than that of my friends in Babylon. It seemed as
if the lamp of Aladdin had come into their pos-
session, and that the wealth I saw in all their
houses was created by some process purely ma-
gical.
Nor was my surprise limited by these exhibitions
of taste and luxury. Their entertainments were
varied and costl3T, their wines unsurpassed, except
in the palaces of some of the prjnces of the German
Empire. Tis true, they had no Johannisberg in
their bottles, but the labels were in their proper
places on the outside of them ; and I was assured,
and had no reason to doubt, that every bottle cost
as much as the Johannisberg would have done had
Prince Metternich brought his few hundred pipes
into the wine market, instead of supplying only the
tables of kings and emperors, as lie is accustomed to
do. The wine was indeed admirable, and was drunk
with a gusto, and the glass was held up to the eye
before drinking with that knowing air which few
have any knowledge of, and which distinguishes
men who know what they drink and how to drink.
Our conversation, I found, took a uniform turn to
stocks ; to grand systems of improvement of the
country ; digging canals, laying down railroads, and
establishing new lines of packets, with some peculi-
arity of terms as to making a good " corner" on this
stock, and " hammering down" another stock, and
" bursting a bank" now and then ; all of which. I
was told, were " fair business transactions." They
sometimes held a long talk as to getting up a
" leader" for the organs of the party for a particular
purpose ; and on such occasions two or more would
retire to a side-table to prepare the article, which
was to be read and approved by the assembled
party ; or it might be to get up a set of patriotic
resolves for congress, for their legislature, or for a
ward committee. Indeed, there were few tilings
these friends of mine did not take in hand; and so
varied and multiform were their movements, that I
was perfectly at a loss to conceive to what all these
things tended. I was indeed charmed by the frank-
ness with which they alluded to these matters
before me, almost a stranger as I was to some of
them ; and seeing that they spoke of their moneyed
affairs as being so prosperous, of which, indeed, I
had the most marked and beautiful manifestations
iu everything that surrounded me, I ventured to
mention, with no little diffidence, and as one hazard-
ing a very great request, to a compliance with
which I had no claims whatever, that I had some
spare capital in foreign stocks which paid very low
interest, and if they could point out a way of a
better investment of this ruoney, it would be con-
ferring on me a very great favor to let me take
6ome small amount of their stocks, which seemed so
safe and lucrative. With a frankness and cordiality
altogether irresistible, they at once told me it would
gratify them all to make me a partner in their
plans, all of which were sure^to succeed. Nothing
could have been more hearty than their several ex-
pressions of readiness to aid and serve me ; and
although I have had some acquaintance with men, I
assure you I was for once perfectly disarmed of all
suspicion of guile iu these capitalists and financiers.
They asked me what amount of capital I had at
command; when I told them that the amount of
funds invested in stocks of the Bank of Amsterdam,
which was then paying me but two and a half per
cent., was some eight hundred thousand dollars, but
that in the French funds I had some six millions of
francs, besides other stocks in the Ei glish funds, all
of which 1 would willingly transfer to stocks paying
six and seven per cent, per annum. The looks of
pleasure and surprise witli which they received this
announcement should have excited in me some
suspicion and watchfulness ; but I must confess,
their expressions of pleasure at beii g able to serve
me were so natural, and had so much of frank and
noble bearing in them, and were seasoned with so
many agreeable things complimentary to myself,
that, I confess to you, my dear madam, I became
the dupe of my own vanity.
The next week or two passed as the previous
weeks had done; dinners almost every day; con-
certs, the opera, or the churches; soirees, evening
parties, with glorious suppers, followed in unbroken
succession. There were no more nor less attentions
on the part of my friends, but somehow I found
myself every day more and more in the society of
two or three of these friends, who were either more
assiduous in their attentions, or by a concert of
action on the part of the others, these, more adroit,
were appointed to manipulate me ready for the
general use of the set. From these friends I first
received the idea of settling in Bnbylon the Less
for a few years, in which I was assured I could
double my capital ; and although at first the idea
did not present itself to me in an attractive form,
yet by degrees it was made to wear a very bright
and cheerful aspect ; so that at length I consented
to entertain the idea as one which might possibly
be adopted.
HENRY CARY.
297
HENEY CAET.
This gentleman, whose meditative and humorous
essays are known to the public hy the signature
of " John Waters," is a native of Boston, and a
resident of New York. In the latter city, he
has pursued the business of an East India mer-
chant, and has become a man of wealth. He also
fills the office of assistant president of the Phenix
Fire Insurance Company in New York. His birth
dates at the close of the last century.
His writings, which have been contributed to the
New York American, under the editorship of Mr.
Charles King, and the Knickerbocker Magazine,
extending over a period of perhaps twenty years,
consist of quaint poems in imitation of the old
English ballad measures, or stanzas for music ;
sentimental, descriptive, critical, and humorous
essays; generally what might be embraced under
the words, practical a3sthetics. Books, pictures,
wines, gastronomy, love, marriage are his topics,
to which he occasionally adds higher themes; for
like a true humorist his mirth runs into gentle
melancholy. His tastes may be described as Ho-
ratian. He pursues refined enjoyments, and ele-
vates material things of the grosser kmd, as the
pleasures of the table, byT the gusto corporeal and
intellectual with which he invests them. He is
eloquent on the cooking of a black-fish, capable
of sublimity on oysters, which he can raise from
their low oozy beds to the height of the constel-
lations, and plays marvellously with the decanters.
The home-feelings and old conservative associa-.
tions have in his pen a defender, all the more
effective by his habit of sapping a prejudice, and
insinuatinga moral, in a light, jesting way. When
he treats of deeper sentiments, of the affections
and religion, as he sometimes does, it is in a pure,
fervent vein.
We present two of his papers from the Knick-
erbocker, which show his delicate handling in his
different manners.
DO NOT STRAIN TOtJR PUNCH,
One of my friends, whom I am proud to consider
such ; a Gentleman, blest with all the appliances of
Fortune, and the heart to dispense and to enjoy
them; of sound discretion coupled with an enlight-
ened generosity; of decided taste and nice discern-
ment in all other respects than the one to which I
shall presently advert ; successful beyond hope in
his cellar; almost beyond example rich in his wine
chamber ; and last, not least, felicitous, to say no
more, in his closet of Rums — this Gentleman, thus en-
dowed, thus favored, thus distinguished, has fallen,
can I write it? into the habit of — straining his
Puxcn !
When I speak of Rums, my masters, I desire it to
be distinctly understood that I make not the remo-
test allusion to that unhappy distillation from mo-
lasses which alone is manufactured at the present
day throughout the West Indies since the emanci-
pation of the Blacks; who desire nothing but to
drink, as they brutally express it, "to make drunk
come" — but to that etherial extract of the sugar-
cane, that Ariel of liquors, that astral spirit of the
nerves, which, in the days when planters were born
Gentlemen, received every year some share of their
attention, every year some precious accession, and
formed by degrees those stocks of Rum, the last re-
liques of which are now fast disappearing from the
face of Earth.
And when I discourse on Punch, I would fain do
so with becoming veneration both for the concoction
itself, and, more especially, for the memory of the
profound and original, but alas! unknown inventive
Genius by whom this sublime compound was first
imagined, and brewed — by whose Promethean talent
and touch and Shakespearian inspiration, the discord-
ant elements of Water, Fire, Acidity, and Sweetness
were first combined and harmonized into a beverage
of satisfying blessedness, or of overwhelming Joyl
My friend then — to revert to him — after having
brewed his Punch according to the most approved
method, passes the fragrant compound through a
linen-cambric sieve, and it appears upon his hospi-
table board in a refined and clarified state, beauttful
to the ej'e perhaps, but deprived and dispossessed
by this process of those few lobes and cellular inte-
guments, those little gushes of unexpected piquancy,
furnished by the bosom of the lemon ; and that, when
pressed upon the palate and immediately dulcified
by the other ingredients, so wonderfully heighten
the zest, and go so far to give the nameless enter-
tainment and exhilaration, the unimaginable plea-
sure, that belong to Punch !
Punch ! — I cannot articulate the emphatic word
without remarking, that it is a liquor that a man
might "moralize into a thousand similes!" It is
an epitome of human life! Water representing the
physical existence and basis of the mixture ; Sugar '
its sweetness; Acidity its animating trials; and
Rum, the aspiring hope, the vaulting ambition, the
gay and the beautiful of Spiritual Force!
Examine these ingredients separately. What is
Water by itself in the way of J03', except for bath-
ing purposes? or Sugar, what is it, but to infants,
when alone? or Lemon juice, that, unless diluted,
makes the very nerves revolt and shrink into them-
selves ? or Rum, that in its abstract and proper state
can hardly be received aud entertained upon the
palate of a Gentleman? and yet co .ibi.ie them all,
aud you have the full harmony, ihe heroism of ex-
istence, the diapason of human life !
Let us not then abridge our Water lest we dimi-
nish our animal being. Kor change the quantum of
our Rum, lest wit and animation cease from among
us. 2\or our Sugar, lest we fiwd by sad experience
that " it is not good for man to live alone." And,
when they occur, let us take those minor acids in
the natural cells in which the Lemon nourished them
for our use, aud as they may have chanced to fill
into the pitcher of our destiny. In short, let us not
refine too much. My dear sirs, let us not strain our
Punch !
When I look around me on the fashionable world,
in which I occasionally mingle, with the experience
and observation of an old man, it strikes me to be
the prevailing characteristic of the age that people
have departed from the simpler and I think the
healthier pleasures of their Fathers. Parties, balls,
soirees, dinners, morning calls, and recreations of all
sorts are, by a forced and unnatural attempt at over-
refinement, deprived of much of their enjoyment.
Young men and maidens, old men and widows, either
give up their pitchers in despair, or venturing upon
the compound — strain their Punch.
Suppose yourself for the moment transported into
a ball-room in a blaze of light, enlivened by the
most animating music, and with not one square foot
of space that is not occupied by the beauty and fa-
shion of the day. The only individuals that have
the power, except by the slowest imaginable side-
long movement, of penetrating this tile of enchant-
ment, are the Redowu-Wnltzers ; before whom every
person recedes for a few inches at each moment, then
to resume his stand as wave after wave goes by.
You can catch only the half-length portraits of
298
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
the dancers ; but these are quite near enough to en-
able you to gain by glimpses their full characteristic
dev elopements of countenance. Read them; for
every conventional arrangement of the features has
been jostled out of place by the inspiriting bob-a-
bob movement of the dance.
Look before you — a woman's hand, exquisitely
formed, exquisitely gloved in white and braceleted,
with a wrist " round as the circle of Giotto," rests
upon the black-cloth dress of her partner's shoulder;
as light, as airy, and as pure, as a waif of driven
snow upon a cleft of mountain rock, borne thither
in some relenting lull or wandering of the tempest ;
and beautiful! too beautiful it seems for any lower
region of the Earth.
fehe turns towards you in the revolving movement,
and you behold a face that a celestial inhabitant of
some superior star might descend to us to love and
hope to be forgiven ! Now listen, for this is the ex-
pression of that face:
" Upon my word this partner of mine is really a
nice person ! how charmingly exact his time is ! what
a sustaining arm he has, and how admirably, by his
good management, he has protected my beautiful
little feet against all the maladroit waltzers of the
set ! I have not had a single bruise notwithstanding
the dense crowd ; and my feet will slide out of bed
to-morrow morning as white and spotless as the
bleached and balmy linen between which I shall re-
pose. Ah ! if he could only steer us both through
life as safely and as well ! but, poor fellow ! it would
never do. They say he has no fortune, and for my
part all that I could possibly expect from papa would
be to furnish the house. How then should we be
ever able to — strain our Punch •"
And he — the partner in this Waltz — instead of
growing buoyant and elastic, at the thoughts that
belong to his condition of youth and glowing health ;
— at the recollection of the ground over which he
moves; — of the government of his own choice, the
noblest because the freest in the world, that rules it;
— of the fourteen hundred millions of unoccupied
acres of fertile soil, wooing him to make his choice
of climate, that belong to it ; — of the deep blue sky
of Joy and health that hangs above it ; — of the God
that watches over and protects us all ; — and, lastly,
of this precious being as the Wife that might make
any destiny one of happiness by sharing it — what
are the ideas that occupy his souls'
He muses over the approaching hour of supper,
speculates upon his probable share of Steinberger
Cabinet Wein, and doubts whether the Restaurateur
who provides may or may not have had considera-
tion enough to — strain the Punch.
Bear with me once more, gentle Reader, while I
recite the title of this essay, " Do not strain your
Punch."
on perception.
His are the mountains, and Ihe valleys his,
And the resplendent rivers: his to enjoy
With a propriety that none can feel.
But who, with filial confidence inspired,
Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye.
And smiling: say, "My Father made them all!"
Are they not his by a peculiar right,
And by an emphasis of interest his.
Whose eyes they fill with tears of holy joy,
Wh se heart with praise, and whose exalted mind,
"With worthy thoughts of that unwearied Love,
That planned, and built, and still upholds a world
So clothed with beauty ?
Cowpee.
Oh. Lady ! we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone does nature live!
*****
Ah 1 from the soul itself must issue forth
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud,
Enveloping the earth!
And from the soul itself must there be sent
A sweet and powerful Voice, of its own Lirth,
Of all sweet sounds the life and element!
O pure of heart 1 thou need'st not ask of me
"What this strong music in the soul may be;
"What and wherein it doth subsist.
This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist,
This beautiful, and beauty-maki'iis: power:
Joy, O beloved, Joy, that ne er was given
Save to the pure, and in their purest hour.
Life of our life, the' parent and the birth.
Which wedding nature to us gives ui dower,
A new Heaven and new Earth
Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud.
This is the strong Voice, this the luminous cloud!
Our inmost selves rejoice !
And thence flows all that glads or ear or sight,
A!l melodies the echoes of that Voice,
Ail colors a suffusion from i hat light.
COLEEIDGE, rCOM TUE GREEK.
Joy, 0 my masters! joy to the young, the fair. th»
brave, the middle-aged, the old, and the decrepit:
joy, true joy, to every Christian soul of mortal man !
Joy, O beloved ! that over the once sterile passages
of earth, radiant spirits of song and beauty e»ncu as
these should have passed for thine inexhaustible d3
light . ! scattering flowers that can never fade and
breathing music incapable of death ! revealing to
thee treasures, by which thou art surroumled. i icher
than all " barbaric gold and pearl;" disclosing Lhe
latent glories of thine own nature; and proving thai
not to any future state of existence is deferred that
highest of the beatitudes, " Blessed are the pure in
heart, for they shall see God."
Yes! — where, to the sensual and the proud, there
exist only darkness and dulness and vague chaotic
masses of unformed nature, to thee, 0 pure in heart,
there shall spring forth a new Heaven and a new
Earth, wrought out in thy presence, and fashioned
by the hand of Him whose spirit breathes now upon
thy spirit, as once He breathed upon the dust of the
ground and formed the father of thy race !
Thine are the mountains, ard the valleys thine,
And the resplendent rivers I
I have placed at the head of this essay a fountain
of golden light ; and all that I can hope or can desire
is, to behold some one young listener kneel with me at
its brink, and fill his urn with Joy. So great a part
of mjT own life has been wasted in quest of that
which is not bread, nor light, nor joy, nor spiritual
sustenance, that all its waning hours would be made
comparatively rich by the consciousness of having
pointed out to only one inquiring spirit the way that
I have myself so lately found.
And therefore I venture- to write these few un-
learned words upon rEFCELTiON, and upon the tem-
per in which thii gs should be perceived ; with which
they should be beheld, and studied, and welcomed
to the heart. The experience that is requisite to
acquire this temper is within the compass of the
human life of ever}- soul ; and almost every moment
of that life may be made a step towards the attain-
ment of it. There is no position upon the surface of
the earth so remote or desolate as not to yield full
scope to the largest aspirations after such knowledge
to the pure in heart. Indeed solitude, er the soli-
tary communings of the soul within itself, are as in-
dispensable to the acquisition of all spiritual know-
ledge, as the bustle and intercourse of ordinary life
are to that which is merely worldly.
When that mysterious impersonation of the Evil
principle was permitted to tempt the Saviour of
mankind towards the consequences of ill-regulated
ambition, all the Kingdoms of the Earth were ex-
posed in rotation to his view, and all the tumultuary
glories of their dominion offered to his acceptance
and enjoyment: and again, it was suggested to him
that he should cast ,is body to the earth from a pin-
FRANCIS LIEBEE.
299
uncle of the temple, that thousands to do him honor
might witness his miraculous escape from injury: —
but it was in the lone stillness of the cloud-capt
mountain, and from the narrow cleft of the over-
hanging rock, that the Almighty, yielding in part to
the request of the august legislator of Israel, caused
His goodness to pass in review before the Eyes of
His astonished and enlightened servant; and when
Moses descended from the mountain, it was necessary
to veil his face from the people, because of the efful-
gence of spiritual life that beamed from it I
This should teach us that it is in retirement from
■what is called the world, that the soul mainly de-
rives its spiritual good, while the crowd and occu-
pations of society, not necessarily but more fre-
quently, subject us to temptation and error. Joy
then, 0 listener, in the mountain, and the valley, and
the resplendent river! Let not an imagination of
self-appropriation enter into thy thoughts, but enjoy
because it is His gift, alike to thee and to all man-
kind.
Who owns Mont Blanc ? whose is the Atlantic, or
the Indian o^eai? Thine, thou rich one! thine to
sail over, thine to gaze upon, thine to raise thy
hands from, upwards toward Heaven in thanks for
the glories of thy Ki ig! Whose are the worlds on
■which thy sight shall then rest, and the boundless
sea of blue in which thy soul is bathed with delight ?
And, when thine eyes return again to earth in
tears of holy joy, who formed the granitic peak,
that ol lest of His earthly creatures ? or placed upon
the ridges and summits of the Alleghany chain of
mountains, the later wonder of those stupendous
masses of limestone rock that rise in perpendicular
structure to the clou Is ?
The traveller, emigrating to the west, descends
from the covered wagon that contains his bed and
his reposing children, and prepares his breakfast and
his journey in the dawn of morning, before day has
yet visited the vales below; and the smoke of his
tire, gui le 1 by the vast wall of rock, mounts in an
unbroken eolu nn to the skies. The small and deli-
c Ltely-peueitle 1 11 >wers that are scatte.'e I at his feet
or are trodden under by them, and that seem as if
they could only abide in solitude, who plaited them ?
And the vine that creeps upward and finds for its
tendrils jutting points and crevices that are inscru-
table to the eye of man, how beautifully does its
bright green foliage wave in contrast with the dark-
grey of the towering mass of rock ! And the azure,
the purple, gre; i, and gol leu birds and insects that
play around an I welcome the earliest s mbeams with
a vivacity and joy that prove their lives to have
been one long festival of native sport and pleasure!
Everywhere, around, abroad, above, color, color,
color, the unspeakable la ignago of God's goodness
and love, with which He writes His promises in the
Heavens and unnumbered comforts on the soul of
man !
Now it is in this spirit that, when returning and
mingling with the world, our powers of perception
should be exercised and sustained. Teach thyself
to enjoy the fortunes of thy friends, and enumerate
the advantages of all mankind around thee as if they
were all thine own. Do this without one envious,
or repining, or selfish thought,
Ann from thy soul itself shall i*sne forth
A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud
Enveloping the earth !
Thou art childless perhaps, or poor, or embar-
rassed with debt, or old, and broken-hearted in thy
hopes. But the hearth of one of thy friends is clus-
tering with immortal gems of beauty and intelli-
gence of every age and promise ; go among them in
this spirit; thou shalt be more welcome than ever,
and every child shall be thine own !
And the one only daughter of another friend, in
whom all his hopes are centred, and all to be real-
ized— that opening bud of grace a.d beauty, of re-
finement, gentle. .ess, and truth — let her be to thee a
Treasury of Joy! There can need no word, no re-
gard that might by possibility be deemed intrusive,
no earnest expression even of thy trust in the hap-
piness of all her womanly affections. But wdien
thine e}"e sees her then let it give witness to her, and
when thine ear hears her then let it bless her! Do
this with a full heart and silent lips, and thou shalt
share largely in the bright fortune of thy friend.
Her image and her silvery voice shall come visit
thee in thy walks or at thy lonely fire-side, and
thou shalt count her among the jewels of thy soul.
The riches of another, thou shalt find unexpect-
edly to be thy wealth; and in his youth and vigor
thou shalt become suddenly strong. Let another
freely own the statuary or the painting, so that the
sight of its magical beauties or its delicious hues bo
accorded to thee. And another the library ; delight
thou that the knowledge it contains is opened by
the freshness of Ids heart to thy thankful and devout
acquisition. Rejoice in his resources; share, at least
in thought, in all his pleasures; his generosity; his
acquisitions and his success in life so superior to thine
own. Walk with him; build with him; delight in
his garden ; admire his fruits and flowers; love his
dog; listen with him in rapture to his birds, thou
shalt find cadences in their song sweeter than were
ever known to thee before; and drink his wine with
him in an honest and cheery companionship, with
grateful reference to that Bkixu wdio planted the
\ iiie to gladden the heart of man and warm it into
social truth and tenderness.
Thus, that which many have esteemed the hard-
est requisition of Christianity, that we should lovo
others, namely, as ourself, shall prove to thee a
source of the richest and most refined and unfailing
pleasure; and, without diminishing the abundance
of those who surround thee, make thee a large and
grateful sharer in it.
Thou shalt walk over the Earth like a Visitant
from above, enjoying and promoting Virtue in every
form ; and unfoldi. g, out of the beautiful and useful,
the cheerful and the good. Thoughts for the hap-
piness of others shall rise whispering from tli3r heart,
in prayerful words, to the Spirit of Truth ; and thou
shalt know that they have all been heard. Thou
shalt look upward for illumination, or for support,
and no cloud intervene between thee and the Source
of Light and Strength.
Young and old shall come forth to greet thee
with open-handed Joy. And, if thou shouldest be
Woman — flowers shall spring up to mark thy foot-
steps, the skies smile over thee, and the woods grow
gay and musical at thine approach ; for thou hast
the happiness of others for their own sake at thine
heart, thy pure heart, thy true heart, thy Woman's
heart —
And thence, flows all that plads or ear or sight,
Ail melodies the echoes of that voice,
All colors, a suffusion from that light
FRANCIS LIEBEE.
Francis Lieber, professor of History and Political
Philosophy and Economy in the State College of
South Carolina at Columbia, a member of the
French Institute, and author of numerous volumes
winch have for their range the most important to-
pics of government and society, was born at Berlin,
March 18, 1800. His boyhood fell upon the period
300
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
of the Napoleonic " state and woe," and of the
oppression of his native country. As a child his
feelings were so impressed by the gloom of his
family, that when the French entered Berlin in
his sixth year, he was so moved by the spectacle
as to be taken from the windows in a fit of loud
sobbing. He himself relates another instance of
sensibility in his life, when he first stood, in his
youth, before the Madonna di San Sisto of Raphael,
at Dresden. In a student's journey he walked
there from Jena, living on bread and plums by
the way. He was so overcome by his feelings be-
fore the picture, that his emotion attracted the
attention of a lady, whom he afterwards discovered
to be one of the daughters of the great Tieck.
She spoke to him, and encouraged his sentiment.
The generous, sensitive nature of the boy was
soon to be tried in a rugged school. At the age
of fifteen, while he was studying medicine in the
royal Pepiniere, the war broke out anew against
Napoleon. Lieber escaped the appointment of
army-surgeon, which his youth revolted at, and
entered as a volunteer with one of his brothers the
regiment Colberg, which was stationed nearest
the French frontier. He fought at Ligny and
Waterloo, and received two severe wounds at the
assault of Namur, on the 20th June. He was left
for two da3"s on the battle-field. On his return
home he became a zealous follower of Dr. Jabn,
while at the same time he prepared himself with
ardor for the University of Berlin.
In 1819, soon after Sand's murder of Kotzebue
had directed the attention of the government to the
patriots, Lieber was arrested. After an imprison-
ment of four months he was dismissed, as it was
stated " nothing could as yet be discovered against
him," except general liberalism, while he was in-
formed that he would not be permitted to study
in a Prussian University, and that lie could never
expect " employment" in the stafe. He went to
the University of Jena, where he took at once
the degree of Doctor, to acquire the privileges of
an "academic citizen" of that institution.
In 1820 the government informed him that he
might pursue his studies in the University of
Halle, but that he must never expect employment
in " school or church." He passed his time here
in the most retired way ; yet the police inter-
ferences were so annoying that he resolved to live
in Dresden. In the autumn of 1821 he travelled
on foot through Switzerland to Marseilles with a
view of embarking there as " Philhellene" for
Greece. After a life of great privations in Greece
for several months, during which he was reduced
to the utmost want, he found himself obliged to
reembark for Italy, where, in the house of the
Prussian minister, Niebuhr, at Rome (which held
at that time the distinguished Bunsen as Secretary
of Legation), he found the kindest reception. In
Niebuhr's house lie wrote his German work,
Journal of my Sojourn in Greece in the year
1822. (Leipsig, 1823.) This work was translated
into Dutch, with the tempting title of the German
Anacharsis, with a fancy portrait of the author.
The Dutch publisher sent a box of very old Hock
to the author, as an acknowledgment of the profit
he had made out of the involuntary Anacharsis.
After about a year's residence in Rome, Lieber
travelled with Niebuhr to Naples and back to Ger-
many, where, in spite of the most positive assur-
ances that henceforth he might live unmolested
in Prussia, he was again imprisoned, in Kopnick,
chiefly because he resolutely declined to give
information concerning former associates. During
this imprisonment, when he was allowed book
and pen, he studied vigorously, reading Bayle's
Dictionary and writing poems. When the in-
vestigation was over, he was offered a fellow-
prisoner as a companion ; but he preferred his
books and verses. At length Niebuhr was called
from Bonn to assist the Prussian Council of State,
and did not rest till he saw his friend once more
out of prison. When Lieber was released he
selected some of his poems, and sent them to Jean
Paul, with whom he had no acquaintance, asking
the veteran philosopher for a frank opinion. Not
hearing from him, Lieber set down the silence for
disapproval. He was soon obliged to leave the
country, and many years afterwards, when he
was settled in South Carolina, Mrs. Lee, the
American author of the Life of Jean Paul, wrote
to ask him whether he was the famous Lieber to
whom Richter had addressed the beautiful and
encouraging letter on certain poems of his compo-
sition. Upon inquiry it was found that Jean
Paul had written to Lieber. but the letter had
never reached him. Jean Paul was now dead,
and Lieber, in a distant country, no more wrote
German poetry. He penned, however, a sonnet
on the occasion, which was widely circulated in
Germany.
The poems written in prison he published in
Berlin, under the assumed name of Franz Arnold.
Having been informed that a third arrest was
pending, he took refuge, in 181:5, in England,
where, he lived a year in London, supporting him-
self by literary labors, and as a private teacher.
While in Loudon he wrote a pamphlet, in German,
on the Lancastrian method of instruction, and
also contributed to several German periodicals
and journals.
In 1827 be came to the United States, where at
first he delivered lectures on subjects of history
FRANCIS LIEBER.
301
and politics in several cities. He also founded a
swimming school in Boston, according to the
principles which General Pl'uel, whose pupil he
had been in Berlin, had introduced in the Prussian
army. Dr. Lieber is a capital swimmer. He
several times tried his skill with John Quincy
Adams, when the latter was President of the
United States.
In 1828 he commenced the publication, at
Philadelphia, of the Encyclopaedia Americana,
which was completed in 18:32. He took as his
ba~is Brockhaus1 Conversations-Lexicon. He then
lived in Boston, where, not long after his arrival,
he was visited by Justice Story, with whom a
friendship sprang up, which continued during the
life of the jurist. Story contributed many articles
to the Encyclopedia, which are enumerated in his
Life by his son, and feelingly acknowledged in
Iieber's work on Civil Liberty and Self-Govern-
ment.
While engaged in editing the cyclopaedia he
had occasion to address Joseph Buonaparte, then
in this country, on some points respecting the life
of Napoleon. This led to a considerable corres-
pondence and a personal acquaintance, which Dr.
Lieber has lately commemorated in an article in
Putnam's Magazine on the publication of his
deceased friend's correspondence.*
While in Boston he also published a translation
of a French work on the July Revolution of 1830,
and a translation of the Life of Caspar Hauser
by Feuerbach, one of the foremost writers on
criminal law in Germany. This translation passed
through several editions.
In 1832 Dr. Lieber removed to New York,
where he wrote a translation of the work of his
friends De Beaumont and De Tocqueville on the
Penitentiary System in the United States, with an
introduction and numerous notes, which, in turn,
were translated in Germany. While in New
York he received the honorable charge of writing
a plan of education and instruction for Girard
College, which was published by the board of
directors, and forms a thin octavo volume. In
1S34 he settled in Philadelphia, where he began a
Supplement to his Encyclopedia; but the times
proved inauspicious, during the bank derange-
ment, and the publishers deferred the work for a
time.
In Philadelphia he published two works —
Letters to a Gentleman in Germany on a Trip to
Niagara, republished in London as " The Stranger
in America," a change made Ijy the London pub-
lisher, and Reminiscences of an Intercourse with
Niebuhr the Historian, also republished in Lon-
don. The latter has been translated into German
by Mr. lingo, son of the jurist of the name.
In 1838- J he published his Political Et hies at
Boston in two large octavo volumes, with the usual
typographical luxury of the press of Messrs. Lit-
tle and Brown. This work is divided into two
parts. The first treats of Ethics, general and po-
litical; the second, which goes more into detail,
of the morals of the state and of the citizen. The
grand rules of right are laid down according to
the exalted code of principle and honor, as the
various questions are passed in review, in which
private morality is in contact with the law ;
* Putnam's Monthly, Jan., 1S55.
civil or social regulation. The work does not
deal in abstractions, but discusses such topics
as the liberty of the press, war and its mani-
fold relations, voting, combinations for different
purposes, the limitation of power, &c.
This was succeeded after a considerable interval
in 1853 by a somewhat similar work on Civil
Liberty and Self- Government, published at Phi-
ladelphia. It is a calm, ingenious, rational ana-
lysis of the essential principles and forms of free-
dom in ancient and modern states; exhibiting a
much abused idea in its practical relation witli
, the cheeks and counterchecks, and various ma-
chinery of political and legal institutions. As in
. his other works, the subject is everywhere illus-
; trated by examples and deductions from history
and biography, the author's wide reading and ex-
perience affording him, apparently, inexhaustible
material for the purpose.
His Legal Ilermeneutics or Principles of Inter-
pretation and Construction in Law and Politics,
is one of Dr. Lieber's chief works. The separa-
tion of interpretation from construction, and the
ascertainment of principles peculiar to each, has
been adopted by eminent American jurists, as Dr.
Greenleaf in his work on Evidence.
His Essays on Labor and Property is one of
his most important contributions to the science of
political economy.
In 184-t, Lieber visited Europe. While in Ger-
many, he published two small works in German;
one on Extra Mural and Intra Mural Executions,
in which measures were proposed which the
Prussian government lias adopted avowedly on
his suggestion; and Fragments on Subjects of
Penology, a term which was first used by Lieber
for the science of punishment, and which has
since been adopted botli in Europe and America.
In 1818 he again visited Europe, and while at
Frankfort, published in German The Independence.
of the Lain, The Judiciary, and a Letter on Two
Houses of Legislature.
Of the numerous remaining publications of Lie-
ber, we may mention his Translation of Rams-
horii's Latin Synonymies, in use as a school-book;
his interesting compilation — Great Erents describ-
ed hy Great Historians or Eye- Witnesses ; The
Character of the Gentleman, which takes a wide
view of the quality, carrying it into provinces of
public and social life where it has been too often
forgotten. He thus seeks the gentleman in war,
in politics, diplomacy, on the bench, at the bar,
and on the plantation.
His Essays on Subjects of Penal Law and the
Penitentiary Systems, published by the Philadel-
phia Prison Discipline Society ; on the Abuse of
the Pardoning Power, re-published as a docu-
ment by the Legislature of New York; Remarks
on Mrs. Frfs Views of Solitary Confinement, pub-
lished in England; a Letter on the Penitentiary
System, published by the Legislature of South
Carolina, are so man}' appeals to practical philan-
thropy.
To these are to be added a pamphlet addressed
to Senator Preston, urging international copy-
right law; a Letter on Anglican and Galilean
Liberty, translated into German with many notes
and additions by Mittermaier, the German Crimi-
nalist and Publicist; a paper on the Vocal Sounds
of Laura Bridgman, the Blind Deaf-Mute, com-
302
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
pared with the Elements of Phonetic Language,
published in the Smithsonian collections ; a thin
volume of English poetry, The West and Other
Poems. If wanting in the ease and elegance of
more polished productions, Dr. Lieber's occasional
verses, like his other compositions, are marked by
their force and meaning. Of one of them, an Ode
on a proposed ship-canal between the Atlantic and
Pacific, Prof. Longfellow remarked. " It is strong
enough to make the canal itself it' it could be
brought to bear."
In this enumeration, we have not mentioned
the review and minor articles of Lieber ; nor do
we pretend to have given all the pamphlets which
have proceeded from his active pen. Dr. Lieber
is at present engaged on an Encyclopaadiac work
of facts, to be entitled " The People's Dictionary
of General Knowledge."
These various writings are severally character-
ized by the same qualities of ingenuity of thought,
sound sense, and fertile illustration, drawn from
books and intercourse with the world ; and de-
pendent to no inconsiderable degree, it may be
added, upon a vigorous constitution and happy
temperament.
In the just observation of Brockhaus' German
Conversations-Lexicon " his works have a cha-
racter wholly peculiar to themselves, since they
are. the result of German erudition and philoso-
phical spirit, combined with English manliness
and American liberty."
Since 1835, Dr. Lieber has been employed as
Professor of History and Political Economy in
South Carolina College at Columbia ; to which
has been added a professorship of Political Eco-
nomy. In connexion with this duty, Dr. Lieber
delivered an Inaugural on " History and Political
Economy as necessary branches of superior edu-
cation in Free States," abounding in ingenious
and learned suggestion. As the most concise in-
dication of the spirit which he infuses into the
teaching of the liberal studies of his professorship,
we may mention the furnishing and decorations
of his lecture room. This is, in some respects,
unique, though its peculiarity is one which might
be followed to advantage in all seats of learning.
In place of the usual bare walls and repulsive ac-
cessories of education, it is supplied with busts of
the great men of ancient and modern times, set
np on pedestals, and bracketed on the walls, which
also bear Latin inscriptions ; while the more im-
mediate utilities are provided for in the large sus-
pended maps and blackboards. A hand-writing
on the wall exhibits the weighty and pithy apho-
rism—
I?ON SCnOLzE SED VIT^E — V1T.E UTEIQTJE.
Another on a panel saved by Dr. Lieber from
the recent consumption by fire of the former Col-
lege Chapel in which Preston, Legarc, and other
distinguished men were graduated, records the
favorite saying of Socrates in Greek characters —
XAAEIIA TA KAAA
The busts, to which each class as it enters Col-
lege makes an addition of a new one by a sub-
scription, now number Cicero, Shakespeare," So-
crates, Homer, Demosthenes, Milton, Luther, and
the American statesmen, Washington, Hamilton,
Calhoun, Clay, McDuffie, and "Webster. One of
the blackboards is assigned to the illustration of
the doctor's historical lectures. It is called the
" battle blackboard" and is permanently marked
in columns headed, — name of the war; in what
country or province the battle ; when; who vic-
torious, over whom ; effects of the battle ; peace.
Oscar Montgomery Lieber, a son of Dr. Lieber,
has published several works in connexion with
his profession of Mining Engineer. His Assay er^s
Guide, which appeared at Philadelphia in 1852,
has met with distinguished success.*
TnE GENTLEMANLY CHARACTER IN POLITICS ASP INSTITUTIONS
— FROM THE ADDRESS ON THE CHARACTER OF THE GENTLEMAN.
The greater the liberty is which we enjoy in any
sphere of life, the more binding, necessarily, be-
comes the obligation of self-restraint, and conse-
quently the more important all the rules of action
which flow from our reverence for the pure charac-
ter of the gentleman — an importance which is en-
hanced in the present period of our country, because
one of its striking features, if I mistake not, is an
intense and general attention to rights, without a
parallel and equally intense perception of corres-
ponding obligations. But right and obligation are
twins — they are each other's complements, and can-
not be severed without undermining the ethical
ground on which we stand — that ground on which
alone civilization, justice, virtue, and real progress .
can build enduring monuments. Right and obliga-
tion are the warp and the woof of the tissue of
man's moral, and therefore likewise of man's civil
life. Take out the on*1, and the other is in worth-
less confusion. We must return to this momen-
tous principle, the first of all moral government,
and, as fairness and calmness are two prominent in-
gredients in the character of the gentleman, it is
plain that this reform must be materially promoted
by a general diffusion of a sincere regard for that
character. Liberty, which is nothing else than the
enjoyment of unfettered action, necessarily leads to
licentiousness without an increased binding power
within ; for liberty affords to man indeed a free
choice of action, but it cannot absolve him from the
duty of choosing what is right, fair, liberal, urbane,
and handsome.
Where there is freedom of action, no matter in
what sphere or what class of men, there always
have been, and must be, parties, whether they be
called party, school, sect, or " faction." These will
necessarily often act against each other; but, as a
matter of course, they are not allowed to dispense
with any of the principles of morality. The prin-
ciple that everything is permitted in politics is so
shameless and ruinous for all, that I need not dwell
upon it here. But there are a great many acts
which, though it may not be possible to prove them
wrong according to the strict laws of ethics, never-
theless appear at once as unfair, not strictly honor-
able, or ungentlemanlike, and it is of the utmost im-
portance to the essential prosperity of a free country,
that these acts should not be resorted to ; that in the
minor or higher assemblies and in all party struggles,
even the intensest, we ought never to abandon the
standard of a gentleman. It is all important that
parties keep in " good humour," as Lord Clarendon
said of the whole country. One deviation from fair-
ness, candor, decorum, and " fair play," begets an-
other and worse in the opponent, and from the
kindliest difference in opinion to the fiercest struggle
of factions sword in hand, is but one unbroken gia-
* Brockhaus' Conversations-Lexicon.
FRANCIS LIEBER.
303
dual descent, however great the distance may be,
while few things are surer to forestall or arrest this
degeneracy thau a common and hearty esteem of the
character of the gentleman. We have in our country
a noble example of calmness, truthfulness, dignity,
fairness, and urbanity — the constituents of tfae cha-
racter which occupies our attention, in the father of
our country; for Washington, the wise and steadfast
patriot, was also the high-minded gentleman. AVhen
the dissatisfied officers of his army informed him that
they would lend him their support, if lie was willing
to build himself a throne, he knew how to blend the
dictates of his oath to the commonwealth, and of his
patriotic heart, with those of a gentlemanly feeling
towards the deluded and irritated. In the sense iu
which we take the term here, it is not the least of
his honors that, through all the trying periods and
scenes of his remarkable life, the historian and
moralist can write him down, not only as Washing-
ton the Great, not only as Washington the Pure, but
also as Washington the Gentleman. * * * I
must not omit mentioning, at least, the importance
of a gentlemanly spirit in all international transac-
tions with sister nations of our race — and even with
tribes which follow different standards of conduct
and morality. Nothing seems to me to show more
irresistibly the real progress which human society
has made, than the general purity of judges, and the
improvement of the whole administration of justice,
with the leading nations, at least, on the one hand,
and the vastly improved morals of modern interna-
tional intercourse, holding diplomatic fraud and in-
ternational trickery, bullying, and pettifogging, as
no lers unwise than immoral History, and that of
our own times, especially, teaches us that nowhere
is the vaporing braggadocio more out of place, and
the true gentleman more in his proper sphere, thau
in conducting international affairs. Fairness on the
one hand, and collected self-respect on the other,
will frequently make matters easy, where swagger-
ing taunt, or reckless conceit and insulting folly,
may lead to the serious misunderstanding of entire
nations, and a sanguinary end. The firm and digni-
fied carriage of our Senate, and the absence of petty
passion or vain-gloriousness in the British Parlia-
ment, have brought the Oregon question to a fair
and satisfactory end — an affair which, but a short
time ago, was believed by many to be involved in
difficulties which the sword alone was able to cut
short. Even genuine personal urbanity iu those to
whom international affairs are intrusted, is very
frequently of the last importance for a happy ulti-
mate good understanding between the mightiest
nations.
We may express a similar opinion with reference
to war. Nothing mitigates so much its hardships,
and few things, depending on individuals, aid more
in preparing a welcome peace, than a gentlemanly
spirit in the commanders, officers, and, indeed, in all
the combatants towards their enemies, whenever an
opportunity offers itself. I might give you many
striking proofs, but I observe tiiat my clepsydra is
nearly run out. Let me merely add, as a fact
worthy of notice, that political assassination, especial-
ly in times of war, was not looked upon in antiquity
as inadmissible; that Sir Thomas More mentions the
a;sassination of the hostile captain, as a wise measure
resorted to by his Utopians; that the ambassadors
of the British Parliament, and later, the Common-
wealth-men in exile, were picked off by assassination ;
while Charles Fox, during the war with the French,
arrested the man who offered to assassinate Napo-
leon, informed the French government of the fact,
and sent the man out of the country ; and Admiral
Lord St Vincent, the stern enemy of the French, di-
rected his secretary to write the following answer to
a similar offer made by a French emigrant : " Lord St.
Vincent has not words to express the detestation in
which he holds an assassin." Fox and Vincent acted
like Christians and gentlemen.
I have mentioned two cheering characteristics of
our period, showing an essential progress in our
race. I ought to add a third, namely, the more
gentlemanly spirit which pervades modern penal
laws. I am well aware that the whole system of
punition has greatly improved, because men have
made penology a subject of serious reflection, and
the utter fallacy of many of the principles, in which
our forefathers seriously believed, has at length
been exposed. But it is at the same time impossible
to study the history of penal law without clearly
perceiving that punishments were formerly dictated
by a vindictive ferocity — an ungentlemanly spirit
of oppression. All the accumulated atrocities heaped
upon the criminal, and not unfrequently upon his
innocent kin, merely because he was what now
would gently be called "in the opposition," mako
us almost hear the enraged punisher vulgarly utter,
" Now I have you, and you shall see how I'll man-
age you." Archbishop Laud, essentially not a
gentleman, but a vindictive persecutor of every one
who dared to differ from his coarse views of State
and Church, presided in the Star-Chamber, and ani-
mated its members when Lord Keeper Coventry
pronounced the following sentence on Dr. Alexander
Lcighton, a Scottish divine, for slandering Prelacy :
" that the defendant should be imprisoned in the
Fleet during life — should be fined ten thousand
pounds — anil, after being degraded from holy orders
by the high commissioners, should be set in the
pillory in Westminster — there be whipped — after
being whipped, again be set m the pillory — have
one of his ears cut off — have his nose slit — be
branded in the face with a double S. S., for Sower
of Sedition — afterwards be set in the pillory in
Cheapside, and there be whipped, and after being
whipped, again be set in the pillory and have his
other ear cut off." The whole council agreed.
There was no recommendation to pardon or mitiga-
tion. The sentence was inflicted. Could a gentle-
man have proposed, or voted for so brutal an accu-
mulation of pain, insult, mutilation and ruin, no
matter what the fundamental errors prevailing in
penal law then were? Nor have I selected this,
from other sentences, for its peculiar cruelty. Every
student iu history knows that the}' were common at
the time, against all who offended authority, even
unknowingly. Compare the spirit which could over-
whelm a victim with such brutality, and all the
branding, pillory, and whipping still existing in
many countries, with the spirit of calmness, kind-
ness, yet seriousness and dignity which pervades
such a punitory scheme as the Pennsylvania eremi-
tic penitentiary system, which for the very reason
that it is gentlemanly, is the most impressive and
penetrating, therefore the most forbidding of all.
Let me barely allude to the duties of the gentle-
man in those countries in which slavery still exists.
Plato says, genuine humanity and real probity are
brought to the test, by the behavior of a man to
slaves, whom he may wrong with impunity. He
speaks like a gentleman. Although his golden rule
applies to all whom we may offend or grieve with
impunity, and the fair and noble use of any power
we may possess, is one of the truest tests of a gentle-
man, yet it is natural that Plato should have made
the treatment of the slave the peculiar test, because
slavery gives the greatest power. Cicero says wo
should use slaves no otherwise thau we do our day-
laborers.
304
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
TITE 6H1P CANAL — FEOM THE ATLANTIC TO THE PACIFIC.
An Ode to the American People and tlieir Congress, on read'
ing the Message of Vie United States President in Decem-
ber, 1847.
Rend America asunder
And unite the Binding Sea
That emboldens Man and tempers —
Make the ocean free.
Break the bolt that bars the passage,
That our River richly pours
Western wealth to "western nations ;
Let that sea be ours —
Gin's by all the hardy whalers,
By the pointing Oregon,
By the west-impelled and working,
Unthralled Saxon son.
Long indeed they have been wooing,
The Pacific and his bride ;
Now 'tis time for holy wedding —
Join them by the tide.
Have the snowy surfs not struggled
Many centuries in vain
That their lips might seal the union ?
Lock then Main to Main.
When the mighty God of nature
Made this favored continent,
He allowed it yet unsevered,
That a race be sent,
Able, mindful of his purpose,
Prone to people, to subdue,
And to bind the land with iron,
Or to force it through.
What the prophet-navigator,
Seeking straits to his Catais,
But began, now consummate it —
Make the strait and pass.
Blessed the eyes that shall behold it,
When the pointing boom shall veer,
Leading through the parted Andes,
While the nations cheer!
There at Suez, Europe's mattock
Cuts the briny road with skill,
And must Daiien bid defiance
To the pilot still i
Do we breathe this breath of knowledge
Purely to enjoy its zest ?
Shall the iron arm of science
Like a sluggard rest?
Up then, at it! earnest people!
Bravely wrought thy scorning blade,
But there's fresher fame in store yet,
Glory for the spade.
What we want is naught in envy,
And for all we pioneer ;
Let the keels of every nation
Through the isthmus steer.
Must the globe be always girded
Ere we get to Bramah's priest ?
Take the tissues of your Lowells
Westward to the East.
Ye, that vanquish pnin and distance,
Ye, enmeshing Time with wire,
Court ye patiently for ever
Yon Antarctic ire?
Shall the mariner for ever
Double the impending capes.
While his longsome and retracing
Needless course he shapes?
What was daring for our fathers,
To defy those billows fierce,
Is but tame for their descendants;
We are bid to pierce.
Ye that fight with printing armies,
Stfftle sons on forlorn track,
As the Romans flung their eagles,
But to win them back.
Who, undoubting, worship boldness,
And, if baffled, bolder rise,
Shall we lag when grandeur beckons
To this good emprize?
Let the vastness not appal us;
Greatness is thy destiny.
Let the doubters not recall us ;
Venture suits the free.
Like a seer, I see her throning,
WiNLAxn strong in freedom's health,
Warding peace on both the waters,
Widest Common-wealth.
Ci'owned with wreaths that still grow greener,
Guerdon for untiring pain,
For the wise, the stout, and steadfast:
Rend the land in twain.
Cleave America asunder,
This is worthy work for thee.
Hark ! The seas roll up imploring
" Make the ocean free."
GEORGE BANCROFT.
George Bancroft, the eminent American his-
torian, was born at Worcester, Massachusetts, in
the year 1800. His father, Aaron Bancroft, was
the distinguished Coiigregationalist clergyman of
that place.* He took particular care of his son's
education, which was pursued at the academy of
Dr. Abbot, at Exeter, New Hampshire. A con-
temporary letter, dated October 10, 1811, written
by the eminent Dr. Xathan Barker, of Eortsmouth,
to Dr. Bancroft, records a visit to the school,
with special mention of the promising George.
" I have this day," writes this friend of the fa-
mily, " made a visit at Exeter, and spent an hour
with George. I found him in good health, and
perfectly satisfied with his situation. He appears
to enter into the studies which he is pursuing
with an ardor and laudable ambition which gives
promise of distinction, and which must be pecu-
liarly grateful to a parent. I conversed with him
on his studies, and found him very ready to make
discriminating remarks — and as much as I ex-
pected from him. I was surprised at the intelli-
gence with which he conversed, and the maturity
of mind which he discovered. ******
I found that lie had become acquainted with the
distinctions which are conferred on those who
excel, and was desirous of obtaining them. I
was much pleased with the zeal which he dis-
covered on this subject. He said there were
prizes distributed every year, or every term (I
forgot which), to those who excelled in particular
studies. He expressed a great desire to obtain
one, but said he was afraid he should not succeed,
for he was the youngest but three in the aca-
demy, and he did not think he should gain a prize,
but he would try. These, you may say, are tri-
fling things, but they discover a disposition of
* Ante, vol. i. p. 40T.
GEORGE BANCROFT.
305
mind, with which I thitik yon must be gratified.
I made inquiries of Mr. Abbot concerning him.
He observed that he was a very fine lad ; that
he appeared to have the stamina of a dis-
tinguished man; that he took his rank among
the first scholars in the academy, and that he
wished I would send him half a dozen such
boys."
The word of promise thus spoken to the fa-
ther's ear has not been broken to the world.
In 1817, before he had completed his seven-
teenth year, the youth received his degree of Ba-
chelor of Arts at Cambridge. The next year
he went "to Europe, and studied at Gottingenand
Berlin, where he availed himself of the best op-
portunities of literary culture presented by those
eminent universities. Before his return to Ame-
rica, in 1822, he had made the tour of England,
Switzerland, Germany, and Italy. His mind was
now richly furnished with the treasures of ancient
literature, with the superadded modern metaphy-
sical culture of the German universities. The
thoroughness of his studies is shown in the phi-
losophical summaries of Roman history and po-
licy, and of the literature of Germany, then
rapidly gaining the ascendant, which he not
long after published in America; while a thin
volume of poems, published at Boston in 1823,
witnesses to his poetical enthusiasm for the arts
and nature, as he traversed the ruins of Italy and
the sublime scenery of Switzerland. He also at
this time, from his eighteenth to his twenty-
fourth year, wrote a series of poetical transla-
tions of some of the chief minor poems of Schil-
ler, Goethe, and other German authors, which
appeared in the North American Review, and
have been lately revived by the author, in his
Collection of Miscellanies. He also wrote for the
early volumes of Walsh's American Quarterly
Review, a number of articles, marked by their
academic and philosophic spirit; among others, a
striking paper on the Doctrine of Temperaments ;
a kindred philosophical Essay on Ennui ; and
papers on Poland and Russia, of historical saga-
city and penetration.
Immediately on his return to the United States,
Mr. Bancroft had been appointed Tutor of Greek
at Harvard, where he continued for a year; sub-
sequently carrying out his plans of education, in
connexion with his friend Dr. J. G. Cogswell, as
principal of the Round Hill school, at Northamp-
ton, Massachusetts.
Mr. Bancroft early became a politician, attach-
ing himself to the Democratic party. One of the
fruits of his promotion of its interests was his
appointment from President Van Buren, in 1838,
to the collectorship of the port of Boston. He
retained this office till 1841. In 1844 he was the
candidate of the Democratic minority, in Mas-
sachusetts, for the office of Governor. He was
invited by President Polk, in 1845, to a seat in
the Cabinet a-< Secretary of the Navy, the duties
of which he discharged with his customary energy
and efficiency in the cause of improvement. The
next 3'ear he was appointed Minister Plenipoten-
tiary to Great Britain, and held this distinguished
position till 1849. He then returned to the
United States, and became a resident of the city
of New York.
Here he has established his home, and here he
vol. ii. — 20
is to be met with in the fashionable, literary, and
political circles of the city. He has filled the
office of President of the American Geographical
Society ; is a distinguished member of the Ame-
rican Ethnological and New York Historical
Societies ; and has on several occasions appeared
as a public orator, in connexion with these and
other liberal interests of the city. His summers
are passed at his country-seat at Newport,
Rhode Island.
Bancroft's Residence.
The most important work of Mr. Bancroft's
literary career, his History of the United States,
from the Discovery of the American Continent,
appeared in a first volume, in 1834. It struck a
new vein in American History, original in design
and conception. Terse and pointed in style, in
brief, ringing sentences, it took the subject out
of the hands of mere annalists and commenta-
tors, and raised it to the dignity and interest of
philosophical narration. The original preface
stamped the character of the work, in its leading
motives, the author's sense of its importance, and
his reliance on the energetic industry which was
to accomplish it. The picturesque account of the
colonial period gave the public the first impres-
sion of the author's vivid narrative; while the
tribute to Roger Williams was an indication of
the allegiance to the principles of liberty which
was to characterize the work. The second and
third followed, frequently appearing in new
editions.
The interval of Mr. Bancroft's absence in Eu-
rope was profitably employed in the prosecution
of his historical studies, for which his rank of
ambassador gave him new facilities of original
research in the government archives of London
and Paris. Approaching the revolutionary pe-
riod he was at that stage of the narrative where
this aid became of the utmost importance. It
was freely rendered. The records of the State
Paper Office of Great Britain, including a vast
array of military and civil correspondence, and
legal and commercial detail, were freely placed at
his disposal by the Earl of Aberdeen, Viscount
Palmerston, Earl Grey, and the Duke of New-
castle, who then held the office of Secretary
of State. The records of the Treasury, with
its series of Minutes and Letter Books, were,
in like manner, opened by Lord John Rus-
306
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
sell : while in the British Museum and in the
private collections of various noble families, the
most interesting manuscripts were freely rendered
to the historian. Among- the latter were the pa-
pers of Chatham, the Earl of Shelburne, the Duke
of Grafton, the Earl of Dartmouth, and several
hundred notes which passed between George the
Third and Lord North.
M. Guizot, the French minister, extended simi-
lar courtesies in Paris, -where Mr. Bancroft was
aided by M. Mignet, M. Lamartine, and De
Tocqueville. The relations of America with
other European states of the Continent were also
examined.
Iu addition to these resources abroad, the pro-
gress of his work secured to Mr. Bancroft at home
frequent valuable opportunities of the examina-
tion of original authorities in private and public
collections in all parts of the country. Among
these are the numerous manuscripts of the apostle
of American liberty, Samuel Adams.
Thus armed, and, with the daily increasing re-
sources of the already vast American historical
library, fed by a thousand rills of publication, of
biography; family memoirs, town and state histo-
ries, and the numerous modes of antiquarian de-
velopment, Mr. Bancroft enters on each successive
volume of his national work with an increased
momentum. Resuming the record in 1852 with
the publication of the fourth volume, which traces
the period from 1748, the author advanced rapidly
to the fifth and sixth, the last of which, bringing
the narrative to the immediate commencement of
the Revolution preceding the actual outbreak in
Massachusetts, appeared in 1854. Here, on the
threshold of the new era, the author pauses for a
while ; we may be sure to gather new strength
for the approaching conflict.
The speciality of Mr. Bancroft's history is its
prompt recognition and philosophical development
of the elements of liberty existing in the country
i — from the settlement of the first colonists to the
matured era of independence. He traces this
spirit in the natural conditions of the land, in men
and in events. History, in his view, is no acci-
dent or chance concurrence of incidents, but an
organic growth which the actors control, and to
which they are subservient. The nation became
free, he maintains, from 'the necessity of the
human constitution, and because it deliberately
willed to be free. To this end, in his view,
■ all thoughts, all passions, all delights ministered.
To detect this prevailing influence, this hidden
impulse to the inarch of events, in every variety
of character, in every change of position, whether
in the town meeting of New England or the
parliament of England ; whether in the yeoman or
the governor; in the church or at the bar; in the
habits of the sailor or of the pioneer; in the
rugged independence of New England or the un-
easy sufferance of Louisiana : this is our historian's
ever present idea. The ardor of the pursuit may
sometimes bend reluctant facts to its purpose, and
the keener eye of retrospection may read with
more certainty what lurked dimly in anticipation;
but the main deduction is correct. The history
of America is the history of liberty. The author
never relaxes bis grasp of this central law. Hence
the manly vigor and epic grandeur of his story.
With this leading idea Mr. Bancroft associates
the most minute attention to detail. His page is
crowded with facts brought forward with the air
of realities of the time. He does not disdain
to cite in his text the very words of the old actors
as they were uttered in the ballad, the sermon, the
speech, or the newspaper of the day. This gives
verisimilitude to his story. It is a history of the
people as well as of the state.
In 1855 Mr. Bancroft published a volume of
Literary and Historical Miscellanies, containing
a portion of his early Essays from the Reviews ;
his poetical translations from the German ; several
historical articles to which we have alluded, and
a few occasional discourses, including an address
in memory of Channing, in 1842 ; an oration
commemorative of Andrew Jackson, spoken at
Washington in 1845, and the eloquent discourse
at the celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of
the New York Historical Society, on "The Ne-
cessity, the Reality, and the Promise of the Pro-
gress of the Human Race'' — topics which were
handled by the light both of modern science and
philosophy.
To this enumeration of Mr. Bancroft's writings
we may add an Abridgment of his History of the
Colonization of the United States; and among
.other speeches and addresses, a lecture on " The
Culture, the Support, and the Object of Art in a
Republic," in the course of the New York Histo-
rical Society in 1852 ; and another before the
Mechanics' Institute of New York in 1853, on
" The Office, Appropriate Culture, and Duty of
the Mechanic."
COMPARISON" OF JOHN LOCKE AND WILLIAM PENN.*
Every hope of reform from parliament vanished.
Bigotry and tyranny prevailed more than ever, and
Penn, despairing of relief in Europe, bent the whole
energy of his mind to accomplish the establishment
of a free government in the js'ew World. For that
* Fiom th'o Second Volume of the History.
GEORGE BANCROFT.
307
"heavenly end," lie was prepared by the severe
discipline of life, and the love, without dissimulation,
which formed the basis of his character. The senti-
ment of cheerful humanity was irrepressibly strong
in his bosom; as with John Ehot and Roger Wil-
liams, benevolence gushed prodigally from his ever-
overflowing heart, and when, in his late old age, his
intellect was impaired, and his reason prostrated by
apoplexy, his sweetness of disposition rose serenely
over the clouds of disease. Possessing an extraordi-
nary greatness of mind, vast conceptions, remarkable
fur their universality and precision, and "surpassing
in speculative endowments," conversant with men,
and books, and governments, with various languages,
and the forms of political combinations, as they
existed in England and France, in Holland, and the
principalities and free cities of Germany, lie yet
sought the source of wisdom in his own soul.
Humane by nature and by suffering; familiar with
the royal family; intimate with Sunderland and
Sydney; acquainted with Russell, Halifax, Shaftes-
bury, and Buckingham ; as a member of the Royal
Society, the peer of Newton and the great scholars
of his age, — he valued the promptings of a free mind
more than the awards of the learned, and reverenced
the single-minded sincerity of the Nottingham shep-
herd more than the authority of colleges and the
wisdom of philosophers. And now, being in the
meridian of life, but a year older than was Locke,
when, twelve years before, he had framed a consti-
tution for Carolina, the Quaker legislator was come
to the New World to lay the foundations of states.
Would he imitate the vaunted system of the great
philosopher? Locke, like William Penn, was tole-
rant; both loved freedom; both cherished truth in
sincerit}7. But Locke kindled the torch of liberty at
the fires of tradition; Penn at the living light in the
soul. Locke sought truth through the senses and
the outward world ; Penn looked inward to the
divine revelations in every mind. Locke compared
the soul to a sheet of white paper, just as Hobbes had
compared it to a slate, on which time and chance
might scrawl their experience ; to Penn, the soul was
an org,m which of itself instinctively breathes divine
harmonies, like those musical instruments which are
so curiously and perfectly framed, that, when once
set in motion, they of themselves give forth all the
melodies designed by the artist that made them.
To Locke, " Conscience is nothing else than our own
opinion of our own actions;" toPenn.it is the image
of Go 1, and his oracle in the soul. Locke, who was
never a father, esteemed " the duty of parents to
preserve their children not to be understood without
reward and punishment;" Penn loved his children,
with not a thought for the consequences. Locke,
who was never married, declares marriage an affair
of the senses; Penn reverenced woman as the object
of fervent, inward affection, made, not for lust, but
for love. In studying the understanding, Locke be-
gins with the Bourees of knowledge ; Penn with an
inventory of our intellectual treasures. Locke de-
duces government fro n .Noah and Adam, rests it
upon contract, and announces its end to he the
security of property ; Penn, far from going back to
Adam, or even to Noah, declares that " there must
be a people before a government," and, deducing the
right to institute government from man's moral
nature, seeks its fundamental rules in the immutable
dictates "of universal reason," its end in freedom
and happiness. The system of Locke lends itself to
contending factions of the most opposite interests
and purposes; the doctrine of Fox a id Penn, bein<*
but the common creed of humanity, forbids division
and insures the highest moral unity. To Locke,
happiness is pleasure ; things are good and evil only
in reference to pleasure and pain ; and to " inquire
after the highest good is as absurd as to dispute
whether the best relish be in apples, plums, or nuts ;"
Penn esteemed happiness to lie in the subjection of
the baser instincts to the instinct of Deity in the
breast, good and evil to be eternally and always as
unlike as truth and falsehood, and the inquiry after
the highest good to involve the purpose of existence.
Locke saj'S plainly, that, but for rewards and punish-
ments beyond the grave, " it is certainly right to eat
and drink, and enjoy what we delight in ;" Penn,
like Plato and Fenelon, maintained the doctrine so
terrible to despots, that God is to be loved for his
own sake, and virtue to be practised for its intrinsic
loveliness. Locke derives the idea of infinity from
the senses, describes it as purely negative, and
attributes it to nothing but space, duration, and
number ; Penn derived the idea from the soul, and
ascribed it to truth, and virtue, and God. Locke
declares immortality a matter with which reason has
nothing to do, and that revealed truth must be sus-
tained by outward signs and visible acts of power ;
Penn saw truth by its own light, and summoned the
soul to bear witness to its own glory. Locke be-
lieved "not so many men in wrong opinions as is
commonly supposed, because the greatest part have
no opinions at all, and do not know what they con-
tend for ;" Penn likewise vindicated the many, but it
was because truth is the common inheritance of the
race. Locke, in his love of tolerance, inveighed
against the methods of persecution as " Popish prac-
tices ;" Penn censured no sect, but condemned
bigotry of all sorts as inhuman. Locke, as an Ameri-
can lawgiver, dreaded a too numerous democracy,
and reserved all power to wealth and the feudal pro-
prietaries; Penn believed that God is in every con-
science, his light in every soul ; and therefore,
stretching out his arms, he built — such are his own
words — " a free colony for all mankind." This is the
praise of William Penn, that, in an age which had
seen a popular revolution shipwreck popular liberty
among selfish factions; which hail seen Hugh Peters
and Henry Vane perish by the hangman's cord and
the axe ; in an age when Sydney nourished tho
pride of patriotism rather than the sentiment of
philanthropy, when Russell stood for the liberties of
his order, and not for new enfranchisements, when
Harrington, and Shaftesbury, and Locke, thought
government should rest on property, — Penn did not
despair of humanity, and, though all history and ex-
perience denied the sovereignty of the people, dared
to cherish the noble idea of man's capacity for self-
government. Conscious that there was no room for
its exercise in England, the pure enthusiast, like
Calvin and Descartes, a voluntary exile, was come to
the banks of the Delaware to institute " the Holy
Experiment."
Er.ADDOCK'S DEFEAT, 1755.
Early in the morning of the ninth of July, Brad-
dock set his troops in motion. A little below tho
Youghiogeny they forded the Monongahela, and
inarched on the southern bank of that tranquil
stream, displaying outwardly to the forests the per-
fection of military discipline, brilliant in their daz-
zling uniform, their burnished arms gleaming in the
bright summer's sun, but sick at heart, and enfeebled
by toil mid unwholesome diet. At noon they forded
the Monongahela again, and stood between the rivers
that form the Ohio, only seven miles distant from
their junction. A detachment of three hundred and
fifty men, led by Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas Gage,
and closely attended by a working party of two hun-
dred an 1 fifty, under St. Clair, advanced cautiously,
with guides ai.d flanking parties, along a path but
308
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
twelve feet wide, towards the uneven woody coun-
try that was between them and Fort Duquesne. The
general was following with the columns of artillery,
baggage, and the main body of the army, when a
very heavy and quick fire was heard in the front.
Aware of Braddock's progress by the fidelity of
their scouts, the French had resolved on an ambus-
cade. Twice in council the Indians declined the
enterprise. " I shall go,'' said De Beaujeu, " and
will you suffer your father to go alone ? I am sure
we shall conquer;" and, sharing his confidence, they
pledged themselves to be his companions. At an
early hour, Contreeceur, the commandant at Fort Du-
quesne, detached De Beaujeu, Dumas, and De Lig-
nery, with less than two hundred and thirty French
and Canadians, and six hundred and thirty-seven
savages, under orders to repair to a favorable spot
selected the preceding evening: Before reaching it
they found themselves in the presence of the Eng-
lish, who were advancing in the best possible order ,
and De Beaujeu instantly began an attack with the
utmost vivacity. Gage should, on the moment, and
without waiting for orders, have sent support to his
flanking parties. His indecision lost the day. The
onset was met courageously, but the flanking guards
were driven in, and the advanced party, leaving
their two six-pounders in the hands of the enemy,
were thrown back upon the vanguard which the
general had sent as a reinforcement, and which was
attempting to form in face of a rising ground on the
right. Thus the men of both regiments were heap-
ed together in promiscuous confusion, among the
dense forest trees and thickset underwood. The ge-
neral himself hurried forward to share the danger
and animate the troops ; and his artillery, though it
could do little harm, as it played against an enemy
whom the forest concealed, yet terrified the savages
and made them waver. At this time De Beaujeu
fell, when the brave and humane Dumas, taking the
command, gave new life to his party : sending the
savages to attack the English in think, while he with
the French and Canadians, continued the combat in
front. Already the British regulars were raising
shouts of victory, when the battle was renewed, and
the Indians, posting themselves most advantageously
behind large trees "in the front of the troops and
on the hills which overhung the right flank," invisi-
ble, yet making the woods re-echo their war-whoop,
fired irregularly, but with deadly aim, at " the fair
mark" olfered by the "compact body of men be-
neath them." JSone of the English that were engag-
ed would sny they saw a hundred of the enemy, and
" many of the officers, who were in the heat of the
action the whole time, would not assert that they
saw one."
The combat was obstinate, and continued for two
hours with scarcely any change in the disposition of
either side. Had the regulars shown courage, the
issue would not have been doubtful : but terrified by
the yells of the Indians, and dispirited by a manner
of fighting such as they had never imagined, they
would not long obey the voice of their officers, but
fired in platoons almost as fast as they could load,
aiming among the trees, or firing into the air. In
the midst of the strange scene, nothing was so sub-
lime as the persevering gallantry of the officers.
They used the utmost art to encourage the men to
move upon the enemy; they told them off intosmall
parties of which they took the lend ; they bravely
formed the front ; they advanced sometimes at the
head of small bodies, sometimes separately, to reco-
ver the cannon, or to get possession of the hill ; but
were sacrificed by the soldiers, who declined to fol-
low them, and even fired upon them from the rear.
Of eighty-six officers, twenty-six were killed, —
among them, Sir Peter Halket, — and thirty seven
were wounded, including Gage, and other field .fB
cers. Of the men, one half were killed or wounde J,
Braddock braved every danger. His secretary was
shot dead ; both his English aids were disabled ear-
ly in the engagement, leaving the American alone to
distribute his orders. "I expected eveiy moment,"
said one whose eye was on "Washington, " to see him
fall. Nothing but the superintending care of Pro-
vidence could have saved him." "An Indian chief —
I suppose a Shawnee — singled him out with his rifle,
and bade others of his warriors do the same. Two
horses were killed under him; four balls penetrated
his coat." "Some potent Manitou guards his life,"
exclaimed the savage. " Death," wrote Washington,
" was levelling my companions on every side of me ;
but, by the all-powerful dispensations of Providence,
I have been protected." " To I he public," said Da-
vies, a learned divine, in the following month, "I
point out that heroic youth, Colonel Washington,
whom 1 cannot but hope Providence has preserved
in so signal a manner for some important service to
his country." "Who is Mr. Washington?" asked
Lord Halifax a few months later. " I know nothing
of him," lie added, " but that they say he behaved
in Braddock's action as bravely as if he really loved
the whistling of bullets." The Virginia troops show-
ed great valor, and were nearly all massacred. Of
three companies, scarcely thirty men were left alive.
Captain Peyronney and all his officers, down to a
corporal, were killed ; of Poison's, whose bravery
was honored by the Legislature of the Old Dominion,
only one was left. But " those they call regulars,
having wasted their ammunition, broke and ran, as
sheep before hounds, leaving the artillery, provisions,
baggage, and even the private papers of the general
a prey to the enemy. The attempt to rally them
was as vain as to attempt to stop the wild bears of
the mountain." "Thus were the English most scan-
dalously beaten." Of privates, seven hundred and
fourteen were killed or wounded ; while of theFrench
and Indians, only three officers and thirty men fell,
and but as many more wounded.
Braddock had five horses disabled under him; at
last a bullet entered his right side, and he fell mor-
tally wounded. He was with difficulty brought off
the field, and borne in the train of the fugitives. Ah
the first day he was silent; but at night he roused
himself to say, " Who would have thought it ?" The
meeting at Dunbar's camp made a day of confusion.
On the twelfth of July, Dunbar destroyed the re-
maining artillery, and burned the public stores and
the heavy baggage, to the value of a hundred thou-
sand pounds, — pleading in excuse that he had the
orders of the dying general, and being himself resolv-
ed, in midsummer, to evacuate Fort Cumberland, and
hurry to Philadelphia for winter quarters. Accord-
ingly, the next day they all retreated. At night
Braddock roused from his lethargy to say, "We shall
better know how to deal with thern another time,"
and died. His grave may still be seen, near the na-
tional road, about a mile west of Fort Necessity.
RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND.*
But if aristocracy was not excluded from towns,
still more did it pervade the rural life of England.
The climate not only enjoyed the softer atmosphere
that belongs to the western side of masses of land,
but was further modified by the proximity of every
part of it to the sea. It knew neither long continu-
ing heat nor cold ; and was more friendly to daily
employment throughout the whole year, within
* From the Chapter, England as it was in 1763, in tha Fifth
Volume of the History.
GEORGE BANCROFT.
309
doors or without, than any in Europe. The island
was "a. little world" of its own; with a "happy
breed of men" for its inhabitants, in whom the hardi-
hood of the Norman was intermixed with the gentler
qualities of the Celt and the Saxon, just as nails are
riittbed into steel to temper and harden the Damascus
blade. They loved country life, of which the mild-
ness of the clime increased the attractions ; since
every grass and flower and tree that had its home
between the remote north and the neighborhood of
the tropics would live abroad, and such only ex-
cepted as needed a hot sun to unfold their bloom, or
concentrate their aroma, or ripen their fruit, would
thrive in perfection: so that no region could show
6ucli a varied wood. The moisture of the sky
favored a soil not naturally very rich : and so fructi-
fied the earth, that it was clad in perpetual verdure.
Nature had its attractions even in winter. _ The
ancient trees were stripped indeed of their foliage;
but showed more clearly their fine proportions, and
the undisturbed nests of the noisy rooks among their
boughs ; the air was so mild, that the flocks and
herds still grazed on the freshly springing herbage;
and the deer found shelter enough by crouching
amongst the fern; the smoothly shaven grassy walk
was soft and yielding under the foot; nor was there
a month in the year in which the plough was idle.
The large landed proprietors dwelt often in houses
which had descended to them from the times when
England was gemmed all over with the most delicate
anil most solid structures of Gothic art. The very
lanes were memorials of early days, and ran as they
had been laid out before the conquest, and in mills
for grinding corn, water-wheels revolved at their
work just where they had been doing so for at least
eight hundred years. Hospitality also had its tradi-
tions; and for untold centuries Christmas had been
the most joyous of the seasons.
The system was so completely the ruling element
in English history and English life, especially in the
country, that it seemed the most natural organization
of society, and was even endeared to the dependent
people. Henee the manners of the aristocracy, with-
out haughtiness or arrogance, implied rather than
expressed the consciousness of undisputed rank ; and
female beauty added to its loveliness the blended
graces of dignity and humility — most winning, where
acquaintance with sorrow hail softened the feeling of
superiority, and increased the sentiment of compas-
sion.
Yet the privileged class defended its rural pleasures
and its agricultural interests with impassioned vigi-
lance. The game laws parcelling out among the
large proprietors the exclusive right of hunting,
which had been wrested from the king as too griev-
ous a prerogative, were maintained with relentless
severity ; and to steal or even to hamstring a sheep
was asmueh punished by death as murder or treason.
During the reign of George the Second, sixty-three
new capital offences had been added to the criminal
laws, and five new ones, on the average, continued
to be discovered annually ; so that the criminal code
of England, formed under the influence of the rural
gentry, seemed written in blood, and owed its miti-
gation only to executive clemency.
But this cruelty, while it encouraged and hardened
offenders, did not revolt the instinct of submission in
the rural population. The tenantry, for the most
part without permanent leases, holding lands at a
moderate rent, transmitting the occupation of them
from father to sou through many generations,
With calm desires that asked but little room,
elnng to the lord of the manor as ivy to massive old
walls. They loved to live in his light, to lean on his
support, to gather round him with affectionate defer-
ence rather than base cowering ; and, by their faith-
ful attachment, to win his sympathy and care ; happy
when he was such an one as merited their love.
They caught refinement of their superiors, so that
their cottages were carefully neat, with roses and
honeysuckles clambering to their roofs. They culti-
vated the soil in sight of the towers of the church,
near which reposed the ashes of their ancestors for
almost a thousand years. The whole island was
mapped out into territorial parishes, as well as into
counties, and the affairs of local interest, the assess-
ment of rates, the care of the poor and of the roads,
were settled by elected vestries or magistrates, with
little interference from the central government.
The resident magistrates were unpaid, being taken
front among the landed gentry ; and the local affairs
of the county, and all criminal affairs of no uncommon
importance, were settled by them in a body at their
quarterly sessions, where a kind-hearted landlord
often presided, to appal the convicted offender by the
solemn earnestness of his rebuke, and then to show
him mercy by a lenient sentence.
Thus the local institutions of England shared the
common character ; they were at once the evidence
of aristocracy and the badges of liberty.
TIIE KOSTOX MASSACF.E, 1770.
On Friday the second day of March a soldier of
the Twenty-ninth asked to be employed at Gray's
Ropewalk, and was repulsed ,m the coarsest words.
He then defied the ropemakers to a boxing match ;
and one of them accepting his challenge, he was
beaten off. Returning with several of his compa-
nions, they too were driven away. A larger number
came down to renew the fight with clubs and cut-
lasses, and in their turn encountered defeat. By
this time Gray and others interposed, and for that
day prevented further disturbance.
There was an end to the affair at the Ropewalk,
but not at the barracks, where the soldiers inflamed
each other's passions, as if the honor of the regiment
were tarnished. On Saturday they prepared blud-
geons, and being resolved to brave the citizens on
Monday night, they forewarned their particular ac-
quaintance not to be abroad. Without duly restrain-
ing his men, Carr, the Lieutenant-Colonel of the
Twenty-ninth, made complaint to the Lieutenant-
Governor of the insult they had received.
The council, deliberating on Monday, seemed of
opinion, that the town would never be safe from
quarrels between the people and the soldiers as long
as soldiers should be quartered among them. In the
present case the owner of the Ropewalk gave satis-
faction by dismissing the workmen complained of.
The officers should, on their part, have kept their
men within the barracks after night-fall. Instead
of it they left them to roam the streets. Hutchinson
should have insisted on measures of precaution, but
he, too, much wished the favor of all who had in-
fluence at Westminster.
Evening came on. The young moon was shining
brightly in a cloudless winter sky, ami its light was
increased by a new fallen snow. Parties of soldiers
were driving about the streets, making a parade
of valor, challenging resistance, and striking the in-
habitants indiscriminately with sticks or sheathed
cutlasses.
A band, which rushed out from Murray's Bar-
racks in Brattle street, armed with clubs, cutlasses,
and bayonets, provoked resistance, and an affray
ensued. Ensign Maul, at the gate of the barrack-
yard, cried to the soldiers, "Turn out and I will
6tand by you ; kill them ; stick them ; knock them
. down ; run your bayonets through them ;" and one
310
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN* LITERATURE.
soldier after another levelled a firelock, and threat-
ened to " make a lane" through the crowd. Just
before nine, as an officer crossed King street, now
State street, a barber's lad cried after him, " There
goes a mean fellow who hath not paid my master
for dressing his hair;" on which the sentinel sta-
tioned at the westerly end of the Custom-house, 0:1
the corner of King street and Exchange lane, left
his post, and with his musket gave the boy a stroke
on the head, which made hirn stagger, and cry for
pain.
The street soon became clear, and nobody trou-
bled the sentry, when a party of soldiers issued vio-
lently from the main guard, their arms glittering in
the moonlight, and passed on hallooing, " Where
are they? where are they? let them come." Pre-
sently twelve or fifteen more, uttering the same
cries, rushed from the south into King street, and so
by way of Cornhill, towards Murray's Barracks.
" Pray, soldiers, spare my life," cried a boy of
twelve, whom they met; " So, no; I'll kill you all,"
answered one of them, and knocked him down with
his cutlass. They abused and insulted several per-
sons at their doors, and others in the street, " run-
ning about like madmen in a fury," crying " Fire,"
which seemed their watchword, and " Where are
they? knock them down." Their outrageous beha-
vior occasioned the ringing of the bell at the head
of King street.
The citizens, whom the alarm set in motion, came
out with canes and clubs; and partly by the inter-
ference of well disposed officers, partly by the
courage of Crispus Attucks, a mulatto, and some
others, the fray at the barracks was soon over. Of
the citizens, the prudent shouted " Home, Home ;"
others, it was said, called out, " Huzza for the main
guard ; there is the nest;" but the main guard was
not molested the whole evening.
A body of soldiers came up Royal Exchange
lane, crying "Where are the cowards?" and brand-
ishing their arms, passed through King street.
From ten to twenty boys came after them, asking,
" Where are they, where are they ?" " There is
the soldier who knocked me down," said the bar-
ber's boy, and they began pushing one another
towards the sentinel. He primed and loaded his
musket. " The lobster is going to fire," cried a boy.
Waving Ins piece about, the sentinel pulled the trig-
ger. '• If you fire you must die for it," said Henry
Knox, who was passing by. " I don't care," replied
the sentry ; " damn them, if the}' touch me I'll fire."
" Fire and be damned," shouted the boys, for they
were persuaded he could not do it without leave
from a civil officer; and a young fellow spoke out,
"We will knock him down for snapping ;" while they
whistled through their fingers and huzzaed. " Stand
off," said the sentry, and shouted aloud, "Turn out,
main guard." "Iheyare killing the sentinel," re-
ported a servant from the Custom-house, running to
the main guard. "Turn out; why don't you turn
out ?" cried Preston, who was Captain of the day,
to the guard. " He appeared in a great flutter of spi-
rits," and " spoke to them roughly." A party of
six, two of whom, Kilroi and Montgomery, had been
worsted at the Ropewalk, formed with a corporal in
front, and Preston following. With bayonets fixed,
they haughtily " rushed through the people," upon
the trot, cursing them, and pushing them as they
went along. They found about ten persons round the
sentry, while about fifty or sixty came down with
them. " For God's sake," said Knox, holding Pres-
ton by the coat, " take your men back again ; if
they fire, your life must answer for the eonse-
quei ces." " I know what I am about," said he,
hastily, and much agitated. Kone pressed on them
or provoked them, till they began loading, when a
party of about twelve in number, with 6ticks in
their hands, moved from the middle of the street,
where they had been standing, gave three cheers,
and passed along the front of the soldiers, whose
muskets some of them struck as they went by.
" You are cowardly rascals," said they, " for bring-
ing arms against naked men ;" " lay aside your guns,
and we are ready for you." " Are the 6oldiers
loaded?" inquired Palmes of Preston. "Yes," he
answered, "with powder and ball." "Are they
going to fire upon the inhabitants ? " asked Theodore
Bliss. " They cannot, without my ordeis," replied
Preston ; while the " town-born" called out, " Come
on, you rascals, you bloody backs, you lobster
scoundrels, fire if you dare; we know you dare
' not." Just then Montgomery received a blow from
a stick thrown, which hit his musket ; and the word
" Fire " being given, he stepped a little on one side,
and shot Attucks, who at tlie time was quietly lean-
ing on a long stick. The people immediately began
to move off. " Don't fire," said La; gford, the watch*
I man, to Kilroi, looking him full in the face, but yet
he did so, and Samuel Gray, who was standing next
Langford with his hands in his bosom, fell lifeless.
' The rest fired slowly and in succession on the peo-
, pie, who were dispersing. One aimed deliberately
; at a boy, who was running for safety. Montgomery
then pushed at Palmes to stab him ; on which the
latter knocked his gun out of his hand, and level-,
ling a blow at him, hit Preston. Three persons
were killed, among them Attucks the mulatto ; eight
were wounded, two of them morlally. Of all the
eleven, not more than one had had any share in the
disturbance.
So infuriated were the soldiers, that, when the
men returned to take up the dead, they prepared to
fire again, but were checked by Preston, while the
Twenty-ninth regiment appeared under arms in
King street, as if bent on a further massacre. " This
is our time," cried soldiers of the Fourteenth ; and
dogs were never seen more greedy for their prey.
The bells rung in all the churches; the town
drums beat. " To arms, to arms," was the ery. And
I now was to be tested the true character of Boston.
All its sons came forth, excited almost to madness:
many were absolutely distracted by the sight of the
dead bodies, and of the blood, which ran plentifully
in the street, and was imprinted in all directions by
the foot-tracks on the snow. " Our hearts," says
; Warren, "beat to arms; almost resolved by one
stroke to avenge the death of our slaughtered breth-
ren." But they stood self-possessed and irresistible,
demanding justice, according to the law. " Did you
not know that you should not have fired without
the order of a civil magistrate ?" asked Hutchinson,
1 on meeting Preston. " I did it," answered Preston,
j " to save my men."
The people would not be pacified till the regiment
was confined to the guard-room and the barracks;
and Hutchinson himself gave assurances that instant
Inquiries should be made by the county magisti ates.
■ The body of them then retired, leaving about one
hundred persons to keep watch on the examination,
which lasted till three hours after midnight A
warrant was issued against Preston, who surren-
dered himself to the Sheriff ; and the soldiers who
composed the party were delivered up and com-
mitted to prison.
STUDY OF TnE INFINITE — FROM THE KTAV YORK HISTORICAL
SOCIETY ADDRESS. 1S04
The moment we enter upon an enlarged con-
sideration of existence, we may as well believe in
beings that are higher than ourselves, as in those
ROBERT GREENHOW ; S. G. GOODRICH.
311
that are lower ; nor is it absurd to inquire whether
there is a plurality of worlds. Induction warrants
the opinion, that the planets and the stars are
tenanted, or are to be tenanted, by inhabitants en-
dowed with reason ; for though man is but a new
coiner upon earth, the lower animals had appeared
through unnumbered ages, like a long twilight
before the day. Some indeed tremulously inquire,
how it may be in those distant spheres with regard
to redemption ? But the scruple is uncalled for.
Since the Mediator is from the beginning, he exists
for all intelligent creatures not less than for all
time. It is very narrow and contradictory to con-
fine his office to the planet on which we dwell. In
other worlds the facts of history may be, or rather,
by all the laws of induction, will be different ; but
the essential relations of the finite to the infinite are,
and must be, invariable. It is not more certain
that the power of gravity extends through the
visible universe, than that throughout all time and
all space, there is but one mediation between God
and created reason.
But leaving aside the question, how far rational
life extends, it is certain that on earth the capacity
of coining into connexion with the infinite is the
distinguishing mark of our kind, and proves it to be
one. Here, too, is our solace for the indisputable
fact, that humanity, in its upward course, passes
through the shadows of death, and over the relies
of decay. Its march is strown with the ruins of
formative efforts, that were never crowned with
success. How often does the just man suffer, and
sometimes suffer most for his brightest virtues !
How often do noblest sacrifices to regenerate a
nation seem to have been ottered in vain ! How
often is the champion of liberty struck down in the
battle, and the symbol which he uplifted, trampled
under foot! But what is the life of an individual
to that of his country ? Of a state, or a nation, at
a given moment, to that of the race? Tiie just
man would cease to be just, if he were not willing
to .perish for his kind. The scoria that fly from the
iron at the stroke of the artisan, show Flow busily
he plies his task ; the clay which is rejected from
the potter's wheel, proves the progress of his work ;
the chips of marble that are thrown off by the
chisel of the sculptor, leave the miracle of beauty
to grow under his hand. Nothing is lost. I leave
to others the questioning of Infinite power, why the
parts are distribute 1 as they are, and not otherwise.
Humanity moves on, attended by its glorious com-
pany of martyrs. It is our consolation, that their
sorrows and persecution and death are encountered
in the common cause, and not in vain.
ROBERT GREENHOW.
Robert Greenhow was born, in the year 1800, at
Richmond, Virginia. -He was the son of Robert
Greenhow, one of the leading citizens of the
place, who had at one time tilled the office of
mayor. Greenhow's mother perished in the con-
flagration of the Richmond theatre, and he him-
self narrowly escaped destruction in the same
calamity. At the age of fifteen he removed to
New York for the purpose of completing his edu-
cation. He here became a student in the office
of Drs. Hosack and Francis, and attended lectures
at the College of Physicians and Surgeons, where
he took his degree in 1821, having in the meantime
mixed freely in the best society of the city, and
gained universal respect by the extent of his acquire-
ments and the activity of his mind. He early de-
veloped the powers of an unusually retentive me-
mory, said to have been surpassed in the present
generation only by that of the historian Niebuhr, a
faculty that proved of the greatest service to him
through life. After leaving college he visited
Europe, where lie became intimately acquainted
with Lord Byron, and other distinguished men.
After his return he delivered a course of lectures
on chemistry before the Literary and Philosophical
Society of New York.
In consequence of commercial disasters which
at this period impaired his father's fortune, Green-
how was forced to rely on his own exertions for
support. By the influence of his old friend, Gene-
ral Morgan Lewis, he obtained, in 1'8'38, the
appointment of translator to the Department of
State at "Washington.
In 1837 he prepared, by order of Congress, a
Report upon the Discovery of the North-West
coast of North America. The researches which
he had previously made into the early history of
Oregon and California were of essential service to
himself and the country in this undertaking, as
they contributed greatly to establish the claims of
the United States secured by the Ashburton
negotiations. The report was afterwards enlarged
by the author, and published with the title of
History of Oregon ami California, which at Once
took the rank it has since maintained of a tho-
roughly reliable authority on the subject.
In December, 1848, Mr. Greenhow read a paper
before the New York Historical Society, involv-
ing curious speculation and research, on the pro-
babilities of the illustrious Archbishop Fenelon
having passed some of the years of his youth as a
missionary among the Iroquois or Five Nations in
the western part of the state.* In a previous
communication to the Society, dated Washington
City, November 16, 1814, lie recommends the
preparation of a Memoir on the Discovery of the
Atlantic Coasts of the United States, calling atten-
tion to the absence of popular information on the
first discovery of Chesapeake Bay.
In 1&50 Dr. Greenhow, on his way to California,
passed four months in the City of Mexico, engaged
in a minute examination of its monuments and
archives. After his arrival in California he was
appointed, in 1853, Associate Law Agent to the
United States Land Commission for the determi-
nation of California claims, holding its sessions in
San Francisco. His intimate acquaintance with
the Spanish language and the technicalities of
Mexican law, were of the greatest service in
facilitating the public business. On the resigna-
tion of the land agent he made an application for
the vacant office, which proved unsuccessful.
After the appointment of the new incumbent, he
resigned his post, to the great regret of all con-
nected with tiie Commission.
He died in the spring of the following year, in
consequence of the fracture of his thigh, occa-
sioned by falling, during a dark night, into.a deep
excavation opened in one of the streets of San
Francisco.
S. G. GOODRICH.
Samuel Griswold Goodrich, under his assumed
name of Peter Parley, ranks among the best
* Supplement to Proceedings of N. Y. Hist. Soc, 1S4S,
pp. 190-21)9.
312
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN" LITERATURE.
known of onr authors. He was born at Ridge-
field, Connecticut, August 19, 1793, and com-
menced life as a publisher in Hartford. In 1824
he visited Europe, and on his return established
himself as a publisher in Boston, where he com-
menced an original annual, The Token, which he
edited for a number of years, the contributions
and illustrations being the products of American
authors and artists ; Mr. Goodrich himself fur-
nishing several poems, tales, and sketches to the
successive volumes, and rendering a further ser-
vice to the public by his encouragement of young
and unknown authors, among whom is to be
mentione'd Nathaniel Hawthorne, the finest of
whose " Twice-told Tales" were first told in The
Token, and, strange to say, without attracting any
considerable attention. The famous Peter Parley
series was commenced about the same time ; Mr.
Goodrich turning to good account in his little
square volumes his recent travels in Europe, and
his tact in book arrangement and illustration.
The Geography was an especial favorite, and it is
probable that the primary fact of that science is
settled in the minds of some millions of school-
boys pa^t and present, in indissoluble connexion
with the couplet hy which it was first trans-
mitted thereto,
The world is round, and like a bail
Seems swinging in the air.
Mr. Goodrich has, however, higher if not broader
claims to poetic reputation, than are furnished by
the little production we have Cited. He has
found time, amid his constant labor as a compiler,
to assert his claims as an original author by the
publication, in 1837, of The Outcast, and Other
Poems ; in 1841, of a selection from his contribu-
tions in prose and poetry to The Token and va-
rious magazines, with the title, Sketches from a
Student's Window ; and in 1851, by an elegantly
illustrated edition of his Poems, including The
Outcast. In 1838, Mr. Goodrich published Fire-
side Education, by the author of Peter Parley's
Talex, a volume of judicious counsel to parents
on that impc irtant topic, presented in a popular
and attractive manner.
Mr. Goodrich is at present United States Con-
sul at Paris, where he has made arrangements
for the translation and introduction of his
Peter Parley series into France, under his own
supervision.
A simple enumeration of the various publica-
tions* of this gentleman under his own name, and
that of his friend of the knee-breeches and stout
cane, is the most significant comment which can
be presented on a career of remarkable literary
activity.
GOOD XIGUT.
The sun has sunk behind the hills,
The shadows o'er the landscape creep ;
A drowsy sound the woodland rills,
And nature folds her arms to sleep :
Good night — good night
The chattering jay has ceased his din —
The noisy robin sings no more —
The crow, his mountain haunt within,
Dreams 'mid the forest's surly roar :
Good night — good night.
The sunlit cloud floats dim and pale;
The dew is falling soft and still ;
The mist hangs tremblii g o'er the vale,
And silence broods o'er yonder mill :
Good night — good night.
The rose, so ruddy in the light,
Bends on its stem all rayless now,
And by its side the lily white,
A sister shadow, seems to bow :
Good night — good night.
* We present the titles of these writings as we find them in
Mr. Roorbach"s carefully prepared Bibliotheca Americana.
Ancient History, 12mo. ; Anecdotes of the Animal Kingdom,
16mo. ; Book of Government and Laws ; Book of Literature,
Ancient and Modern ; Enterprise, Industry, and Art of Man,
16mo. ; Fireside Education, 12mo. ; Glance at Philosophy,
Mental, Moral, and Social, 16mo. ; History of American In-
dians, 16mo. ; History of All Nations on a New and Improved
Plan, 13U0 pp. small 4to. ; Lights and Shadows of American
History ; Ligiits and Shadows of African History ; Lights and
Shadows of Asiatic History ; Lights and Shadows of European
History; Lives of Benefactors, including Patriots. Inventors,
Discoverers, &c. lGmo. : Lives of Celebrated Women, 16mo. ;
Lives of Eccentric and Wonderful Persons; Lives of Famous
Men of Modern Times ; Lives of Famous Men of Ancient
Times; Lives of Famous American Indians, 16mo. ; Lives of
Signers of Declaration of Independence; Manners :tnd Customs
of All Nations, 16mo. : Manners, Customs, and Antiquities of
American Indians ; Modern History, 12mo. : National Geo-
graphy. 4to. ; Pictorial History of England. France. Greece,
Home, and the United States, 12mo. ; Pictorial Geogiaphy of
the World, Svo. ; Pictorial Natural History, 12mo. ; Poems,
12mo. ; School Eeader, First, l&ino. ; School Header, Second,
ls'mo. ; School Reader, Third, ISmo. ; School Reader, Fourth,
12mo. ; School Eeader, Fifth, 12mo. : South America and
West Indies; Sow Well, Reap Well ; Sketches from a Stu-
dent's Window; Universal Geography; Wonders of Geology,
16mo. ; The World and its Inhabitants.
Parley's Arithmetic; Africa: America: Anecdotes; Asia;
Alexander Selkirk; Bible Dictionary : Bible Gazetteer ; Bible
Stories; Book of the United States ; Book of Books, a
Selection from Parley's Magazine ; Consul's Daughter ;
Captive of Nootka; Columbus; Common School His-
tory; Dick Boldhero, ISmo. ; Europe; Every-Day Book;
Fables; Farewell; First Book of History, Western Hemi-
sphere ; First Book of Beading and Spelling, ISmo. ; Fairy
Tales ; Flower Basket ; Franklin ; Gut, 16mo. ; Geography
for Beginners ; Gardener ; Greece : History of the World ;
History of North America ; Humorist's Tales; Home in the
Sea, ISmo. ; Illustrations of Astronomy ; Illustrations of Com-
merce ; Illustrations of History and Geography; Illustrations
of the Animal Kingdom ; Illustrations of the Vegetable King-
dom ; Islands ; Mines of Different Countries ; Moral Talcs ;
Make the Best of It ; Magazine ; Miscellanies ; New Geo-
graphy for Beginners ; New York ; Picture Book : Picture
Books, twelve kinds; Present: Pose Bud; Rome: Right is
Might, 18mo. ; Second Book of History, Eastern Hemisphere ;
Story of Captain Riley; Story of La Perouse ; Ship; Sea;
Sun, Moon, and Stars; Short Stories ; Short Stoiies for Long
Nights; Tales of Adventure ; Tales for the Times : Tales of
Sea and Land. ISmo. : Tale of the Revolution ; Third Book of
History, Ancient History ; Three Months on the Sea ; Truth-
Finder, or Inquisitive Jack-, 18mo. ; Universal History; Wit'
Bought : What to Do, and How to Do It ; Winter Evening
Tales : "Washington ; Wonders of South America ; Young
America, or Book of Government.
GEORGE HILL.
313
The bat may wheel on silent, wing —
The fox his guilty vigils keep —
The boiling owl his dirges sing ;
But love and innocence will sleep :
Good night — good uight !
TnE TEACIIER6 LESSON.
I saw a child some four years old,
Along a meadow stray ;
Alone she went — -unchecked — untold —
Her home not far away.
She gazed around on earth and sky —
Now paused, and now proceeded ;
Hill, valley, wood, — she passed them by
Unmarked, perchance unheeded.
And now gay groups of roses bright,
In circling thickets bound her — ■
Yet on she went with footsteps light,
Still gazing all around her.
And now she paused, and now she stooped,
And plucked a little flower —
A simple daisy 'twas, that drooped
Within a rosy bower.
The child did kiss the little gem,
And to her bosom pressed it ;
And there she placed the fragile stem,
And with soft words caressed it.
I love to read a lesson true,
From nature's open book —
And oft I learn a lesson new,
From childhood's careless look.
Children are simple — loving — true ;
'Tis Heaven that made them so ;
And would you teach them — be so too —
And stoop to what they know.
Begin with simple lessons — things
On winch they love to look :
Flowers, pebbles, insects, birds on wings —
These are God's spelling-book.
And children know His A, B, C,
As bees where flowers are set :
Would'st thou a skilful teacher bo ? —
Learn, then, this alphabet.
From leaf to leaf, from page to page,
Guide thou thy pupil's look,
And when he says, with aspect sage,
" Who made this wondrous book?"
Point thou with reverent gaze to heaven,
And kneel in earnest prayer,
That lessons thou hast humbly given,
May lead thy pupil there.
GEORGE HILL.
George Hill was born at Guilford, Connecticut,
in 1796. He completed his collegiate studies with
high honor at Yale in 1816 ; was then employed
in one of the public offices at Washington, and
entered the Navy in 182T as a teacher of mathe-
matics. In this capacity he made a cruise in the
Mediterranean, where his Ruins of Athens, and
several other poems suggested by its classic loca-
lities, were written. On his return, he was ap-
pointed librarian of the Department of State at
Washington. After hi? resignation of this situa-
tion, he was appointed United States Consul for
the southern portion of Asia Minor, a position lie
was also obliged to decline after a brief trial, in
consequence of ill-health. Returning to Washing-
ton, he became a clerk in one of the Depart-
ments.*
Mr. Hill published, anonymously, The Ruins
of Athens, with a few short poems, in 1831.
These were reprinted, with a few others, in an
edition bearing his name in 1839.*
The Ruins of Athens is a poem occupied with
description and reflection, suggested to the author
on a visit to the city, while yet under the sway
of the Turks. It contains forty-one Spenserian
stanzas, and is written in a subdued and care-
ful manner. Titania's Banquet is a successful
imitation of the Masques of the Elizabethan
era, but the subject was, for obvious reasons,
an injudicious choice for the author. The
remainder of the volume is occupied by a few
lyrical pieces, suggested by themes of domestic or
national interest; several sonnets and imitations
of the manner of Swift, Prior. Burns, Ilerrick, and
others — a favorite exercise with the writers of the
last century which we do not often meet with in
the poets of the present day.
MEDITATION AT ATnENS — FROM THE RUINS OF ATHENS.
Approach ! but not thou favored one, thou light
And sportive insect, basking in the ray
Of youtli and pleasure, heedless of the night.
Dreamer ! the shapes that in thy pathway play,
Thy morning pathway, elsewhere chase! away!
Come not, till like the fading weeds that twine
Yon time-worn capital, the thoughts, that prey
On hopes of high but baffled aim, decline,
And weary of the race the goal unwon resign.
Is thy hearth desolate, or trod by feet
Whose unfamiliar steps recall no sound
Of such, as, in thine early days, to greet
Thy coming, hastened? are the ties that bound
Thy heart's hopes severed? hast thou seen the
ground
Close o'er her, thy young love? and felt, for thee
That earth contains no other? look around!
Here thou may'st find companions: — hither flee!
Where Ruin dwells, and men, nay, gods have ceased
to be!
Wall, tower, and temple crushed and heaped in one
Wide tomb, that echoes to the Tartar's cry
And drum heard rolling from the Parthenon,
The wild winds sweeping through it, owl's grey
eye
Gleaming among its ruins, and the sigh
Of the long grass that unmolested waves,
The race whose proud old monuments are by
To mock, but not to shame them, recreants, slaves,
The very stonesshould arm heaped on heroic graves!
Here let me pause, and blend me with the things
That were, — the shadowy world, that lives no
more
But in the heart's cherished imaginings, —
The mighty and the beautiful of yore.
It may not be : the mount, the plain, the shore,
Whisper no living murmur, voice nor tread,
But the low rustling of the leaves and roar
Of the dull ceaseless surf, and the stars shed
Their light upon the flower whose beauty mocks the
dead.
The Morn is up, with cold and dewy eye
Peeps, like a vestal from her cloister, forth.
* Everest's Poets of Connecticut, p. 277.
t The Ruins of Athens ; Titania's Banquet, a Mask,
other poems. By G. Hill. Boston : 1S89. Svo. pp. 10U.
514
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
In blushing brightness ; the grey peaks on high
Lift her old altars in the clear blue north ;
The clouds ascend, on light winds borne, that come
Laden with fragrance ; and from each high-place,
Where every god in turn has found a home,
Nature sends up her incense, and her face
Unveils to Him whose shrine and dwelling are all
space.
Morn hushed as midnight! save perchance is heard
At times the hum of insect, or the grass
That sighs, or rustles by the lizard stirred :
And still we pause ; and may, where empire was
And ruin is, no stone unheeded pass, —
No rude Memorial, that seems to wear
Vestige of that whose glory, as a glass
Shattered but still resplendent, lives, — and share
The spirit of the spot, the "dream of things that
were."
Land of the free, of battle and the Muse!
It grieves me that my first farewell to thee
Should be my last : that, nurtured by the dews
Of thy pure fount, some blossoms from the tree,
Where many a lj-re of ancient minstrelsy
Now silent hangs, I plucked, but failed to rear',
As 't is, a chance-borne pilgrim of the sea,
I lay them on thy broken altar here,
A passing worshipper, but humble and sincere.
LIBERTY.
There is a spirit working in the world,
Like to a silent subterranean fire ;
Yet, ever and anon, some Monarch hurled
Aghast and pale attests its fearful ire.
The dungeoned Nations now once more respire
The keen and stirring air of Liberty.
The struggling Giant wakes, and feels he's free.
By Delphi's fountain-cave, that ancient Choir
Resume their song; the Greek astonished hears,
And the old altar of his worship rears.
Sound on! Fair sisters! sound your boldest lyre, —
Peal your old harmonies as from the spheres.
Unto strange Gods too long we've bent the knee,
The trembling mind, too long and patiently.
A. B. LONGSTEEET,
The author of Georgia Scenes, and a native of
that state, born at the close of the last century,
has practised at intervals the somewhat diverse
occupations of law and the ministry of the Metho-
dist Church. He was for several years President
of Emory College, at Oxford, Georgia. In his
youth he was an intimate of George MeDuffie
and others, who became leading men of the South, \
an 1 the adventures which he shared with these
furnish some of the anecdotes of his capital book
of humor, entitled, Georgia Scenes, Characters,
Incidents, &c, in the First Half Century of the
Republic, by a Native Georgian, which first ap- i
peared in a newspaper of the state, and sub- i
sequently in a volume from the press of the
Harpers, in New York, in 1840. " They consist,"
the author tells us in his preface, " of nothing
more than fanciful combinations of real incidents
and characters ; and throwing into those scenes,
which would be otherwise dull and insipid, some
personal incident or adventure of my own, real !
or imaginary, as it would best suit my purpose ;
usually real, but happening at different times and
under different circumstances from those in which
they are here represented. I have not always, ;
however, taken tins liberty. Some of the scenes
are as literally true as the frailties of memory i
would allow them to he." In style and subject
matter they are vivid, humorous descriptions, by
a good story teller, who employs voice, manner,
and a familiar knowledge of popular dialogue in
their narration. They are quaint, hearty sketches
of a rough life, and the manners of an unsettled
country — such as are rapidly passing away in nu-
merous districts where they have prevailed, and
which may at some future and not very distant
day, be found to exist only in such genial pages
as Judge Long-street's. Besides these collected
Sketches, the author has been a contributor of
similar papers, descriptive of local character, to
the Magnolia, conducted by Mr. Simms, and the
Orion, another magazine of South Carolina, edited
by Mr. W. C. Richards.
GEORGIA THEATRICS — FROM THE GEORGIA SCENES.
If my memory fail me not, the 10th of June, 1809,
found me, at about 11 o'clock in the forenoon,
ascending a long and gentle slope in what wns called
" The Dark Corner" of Lincoln. I believe it took
its name from the moral darkness which reigned
over that portion of the county at the time of which
I am speaking. If in this point of view it was but a
shade darker than the rest of the county, it was in-
conceivably dark. If any man can name a trick or
sin which had not been committed at the time of
which I am speaking, in the very focus of all the
county's illumination (Lincolnton), he must himself
be the most inventive of the tricky, and the very
Judas of sinners. Since that time, however (all hu-
mor aside), Lincoln has become a living proof " that
light shineth in darkness." Could I venture to
mingle the solemn with the ludicrous, even for the
purposes of honorable contrast, I could adduce from
this county instances of the most numerous and
wonderful transitions from vice and folly to virtue
and holiness, which have ever, perhaps, been wit-
nessed since the days cf the apostolic ministry. So
much, lest it should be thought by some that what
I am about to relate is characteristic of the county
in which it occurred.
Whatever may be said of the moral condition
of the Dark Corner at the time just mentioned,
its natural condition was anything but dark. It
smiled in all the charms of spring ; and spring
borrowed a new charm from its undulating grounds,
its luxuriant woodlands, its sportive streams, its
vocal birds, and its blushing flowers.
Rapt with the enchantment of the season and the
scenery around me, I was slowly rising the slope,
when I was startled by loud, profane, and boisterous
voices, which seemed to proceed from a thick covert
of undergrowth about two hundred yards in the
advance of me, and about one hundred to the right
of my road.
" You kin, kin you ? "
" Yes, I kin, and am able to do it! Boo-oo-oo !
Oh, wake snakes, and walk your chalks ! Brim-
stone and fire ! Don't hold me, Nick Stoval !
The fight's made up, and let's go at it. my
soul if I don't jump down his throat, and gallo.p
every ehitterling out of him before you can say
' quit !' " •
" Now, Nick, don't hold him ! Jist let the wild-
eat come, and I'll tame him. Ned'll see me a fair
fight, won't you. Ned ?" •
" Oh, yes ; I'll see you a fair fight, blast my old
shoes if I don't."
" That's sufficient, as Tom Haynes said when he
saw the elephant. Now let him come."
Thus they went on, with countless oaths inter-
BENJAMIN F. FRENCH; FRANCIS PATRICK KENRICK.
315
spersed, which I dare not even hint at, and with
much that I could not distinctly hear.
In Mercy's name ! thought I, what band of ruffians
has selected this holy season and this heavenly re-
treat for such Pandanuouian riots! I quickened my
gait, and had come nearly opposite to the thick
grove whence the noise proceeded, when my eye
caught indistinctly, and at intervals, through the
foliage of the dwarf-oaks and hickories which inter-
vened, glimpses of a man or men, who seemed to be
in a violent struggle ; and I could occasionally catch
those deep-drawn, emphatic oaths which men in
conflict utter when they deal blows. I dismounted,
and hurried to the spot with all speed. I had over-
come about half the space which separated it from
me, when I saw the combatants come to the ground,
and, after a short struggle, I saw the uppermost
one (for I could not see the other) make a heavy
plunge with both his thumbs, and at the same
instant I heard a cry in the accent of keenest tor-
ture, " Enough ! My eye's out !"
I was so completely horrorstruck, that I stood
transfixed for a moment to the spot where the cry
met me. The accomplices in the hellish deed which
had been perpetrated had all fled at mjT approach ;
at least I supposed so, for they were not to be
seen.
" Now, blast your corn-shucking soul," said the
victor (a youth about eighteen years old) as he rose
from the ground, " come cutt'n your shines 'bout me
agin, next time I come to the Courthouse, will you!
Get your owl-eye in agin if you can !" .
At this moment he saw me for the first time. He
looked excessively embarrassed, and was moving
off, when I called to him, in a tone emboldened by
the sacre lness of my office and the iniquity of his
crime, " Come back, you brute ! and assist me in
relieving your fellow-mortal, whom you have ruined
for ever!"
My rudeness subdued his embarrassment in an in-
stant; and, with a taunting curl of the nose, he
replied, " You needn't kick before you're spurr'd.
There a'nt nobody there, nor ha'nt been nothcr. I
was jist seeiu' how I could 'a' font" So saying, he
bounded to his plough, which stood in the corner
of the fence about fifty yards beyond the battle
ground.
And, would you believe it, gentle reader ! his re-
p#rt was true. All that I had heard and seen was
nothing more nor less than a Lincoln rehearsal ; in
which the youth who had just left me had played
all the parts of all the characters of a Courthouse
fight.
I went to the ground from which he had risen,
and there were the prints of his two thumbs,
plunged up to the balls in the mellow earth, about
the distance of a man's eyes apart ; and the ground
around was broken up as if two stags had been en-
gaged upon it.
BENJAMIN F. FRENCH.
Bf.x.tamin" F. French was born in Virginia, -June
8, 1799. After receiving a classical education he
commenced the study of the law, a pursuit he
was obliged to abandon in consequence of ill
health. In 1825, having previously contributed
a number of essays and poems to various periodi-
cals, he published Biographia Americana, and
shortly after Memoirs of Eminent Female Writ-
en. In 18:30 lie removed to Louisiana, in order
to enjoy a milder climate. Although actively en-
gaged in planting ami in commercial pursuits, he
collected and translated many interesting docu-
ments in the French and Spanish languages relat-
ing to the early history of Louisiana. These he
published, with selections from the narratives of
Purchas and others in the English language, in a
series of live volumes octavo, with the title, His-
torical Collections of Louisiana, embracing many
rare and valuable Documents relating to the Na-
tural, Civil, and Political History of that State,
compiled with Historical and Biographical Notes,
and an, Introduction., by B. F. French. The suc-
cessive volumes appeared in 1846, 1850, 1851,
1852, 1853 ; and two additional volumes, bringing
the annals of the country down to the period of
its cession to the United States, are nearly ready
for publication. Mr. French has also in prepara-
tion two volumes of Historical Annals relating to
the history of North America, from its discovery
to the year 1850. He has of late been a resident
of this city. Before leaving New Orleans he made
a donation of a large portion of his extensive pri-
vate library to the Fisk Free Library of that city.
FRANCIS PATRICK KENRICK,
Archbishop of Baltimore, and one of the first
Latinists of the country, was born in Dublin, De-
cember 3, 1797. In 1815 he went to Rome, where
he studied in the College of the Propaganda, and
was ordained priest in 1821. In the same year
he removed to Kentucky, and became professor
in St. Joseph's College, Bardstown. In 1828 he
wrote a series of letters, in an ironical vein, to
the Rev. Dr. Blackburn, President of the Pres-
byterian College, Danville, who had opposed the
dyctrines of his church on the subject of the Eu-
charist, in a number of articles signed Omega,
entitled Letters of Omih-ron to Omega. In 1829
he published four sermons preached in the cathe-
dral at Bardstown. On the sixth of June, Trinity
Sunday, 1830, he was consecrated bishop, and
removed to Philadelphia, as the coadjutor of the
Rt. Rev. Bishop Council of that diocese, to whose
office he succeeded in 18412.
In 1839 and 1840 he issued a work in the Latin
language on dogmatic theology, in four volumes
octavo, Theologia Dogmatica, which was followed
in 1841, '2, and '3 by three volumes in the same
language, entitled Theologia Moralis.*
In 1837 he published a series of letters address-
ed to the Rt. Rev. John II. Hopkins, Protestant
Episcopal Bishop of Vermont, On the Primacy
of the Holy See and the Authority of General
Councils, in reply to a work by that prelate.
These were followed by a work on the Primacy,
published in 1845, of which the letters we have
just mentioned formed a large portion. A Ger-
man translation of this work appeared in 1852.
In 1841 Bishop Kenrick published a duodecimo
volume on Justification, and in 1843 a treatise of
similar size on Baptism. In 1849 he published a
Translation of the Four Gospels, consisting of a
revision of the Rhernish version, with critical notes,
and in 1851 a similar translation of the remain-
ing portion of the New Testament, ne removed
in the same year to Baltimore on his appointment
as archbishop of that see.
Dr. Kenrick .has recently published a series of
letters with the title of A Vindication of the Ca-
tholic Church,^ designed as a reply to Bishop
* Svo. Pliila.
t 12mo. pp. 2S3.
316
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
Hopkins's " ' End of Controversy' Controverted,"
or " Refutation of Milner's 'End of Controversj'.' "
He has also prepared Concilia Provincialia,
Baltimori habita. Ah anno 1829 usque ad an-
num 1849. Baltimori: 1S51.
CHAELES PETTIT MTLVAIXE.
Citap.les Pettit MTlvaixe was born at Burling-
ton, New Jersey, near the close of the la--t cen-
tury. After being graduated at Princeton in
1816, he studied theology under the direction of
the Kev. Dr. Charles Wharton, of Burlington.
He was ordained and -settled at Georgetown, D- C.
While in this place he became acquainted with
the Hon. John C. Calhoun, at whose instigation
he received, and was induced to accept the chap-
laincy at West Point, where he passed several
years, until he received a call to the rectorship
of St. John's Church, Brooklyn.
In the winter of 1831-32 Dr. M'Bvaine de-
livered a series of lectures as a part of the course
of instruction of the University of the City of
New York, which had then just commenced
operations. In these lectures, which were col-
lected and published in 1832,* the writer confines
himself to the historical branch of his subject,
the chief topics dwelt upon being the authenticity
of the New Testament, the credibility of the
Gospel history, its divine authority as attested by
miracles and prophecy, and the argument in favor
of the truth of the Christian faith, to be drawn
from its propagation and the fruits it has borne.
In 1832 Dr. M'Uvaine was consecrated Bishop of
Ohio, where he lias since remained, his residence,
when not occupied in the visitation of his diocese,
being at Cincinnati.
Bishop M'Uvaine is the author of several ad-
dresses and other productions condemnatory of
the doctrines common'y known as those of the
" Oxford Tracts," and has recently, at the request-
of the Convention of his diocese, published a
volume of sermons.t
STEPHEN H. TYNG.
Stephen Higgixson Tyxg, one of the most ener-
getic and popular preachers of the day, was born
at Newbury port, Massachusetts, March 1, 1800.
His father, the Hon. Dudley Atkins Tyng, an
eminent lawyer of that state, married a daughter
of the Hon. Stephen Higginson, of Boston, a
member of the Convention which framed the
Constitution of the United States. He was gra-
duated at Harvard at the early age of seventeen.
He at first engaged in mercantile pursuits, but
after a short period commenced the study of
theology, was ordained deacon in 1821 by Bishop
Griswold, and took charge in the same year of
St. George's Church, Georgetown, D. C. In 1823
he removed to Queen Ann's Parish, Prince George
County, Maryland, and in 1829 became rector
of St. Paul's Church, Philadelphia, a charge he
resigned in 1833, when he was invited to the
Church' of the Epiphany in the same city. In
* The Evidences of Christianity in their external division,
exhibited in a course of lectures delivered in Clinton Hall, in
the winter of 1831-82, under the appointment of the Univer-
sity of the City of New York. By C. P. M'Uvaine, D D
G. and C. and H. Carville. 1S32.
t The Truth and the Life: Twenty-two Sermons by the Et.
Kev. C. P. M'Uvaine. Carters. 1855. 6vo. pp. 5vj8.
1845 he removed to New York, in acceptance of
a call to the rectorship of St. George's Church, a
position which he still retains. Since his incum-
bency the congregation have removed from the
venerable edifice in Beokman street, long identi-
fied with the labors of the late highly respected
Dr. James Milnor, which has again become one
of the chapels of Trinity parish, to one of the
largest and most costly edifices devoted to publio
worship in the city. The activity of the parish
is in proportion to its wealth and numbers — a mis-
sionary whose field of action is among the poor
of the neighborhood, and a Sunday school of over
one thousand scholars, forming a portion of its
parochial system. These results are due in a
great measure to the activity of the rector, who
is also a prominent member of many of the re-
ligious societies of the country, and an earnest
advocate of the temperance and other social move-
ments of the day.*
Dr. Tyng has long maintained a high reputa-
tion as a pulpit orator. His style of writing is
energetic and direct. Hi3 readiness and felicity
as an extempore speaker on anniversary and other
occasions are also remarkable. His chief publi-
cations are his Lectures on the Law and the Gos-
pel; The Israel of God; Chriit is All ; Chris-
tian Titles* an enumeration of the appellations
applied to believers in the Scriptures, with ap-
propriate comments. He has also published Re-
collections in Europe, drawn from personal ob-
servations during a brief tour abroad. Dr. Tyng
has recently become associated in the editorship
of the Protestant Churchman of this city.
ALEXAXDEE YOUNG,
Oxe of the most useful and accomplished histo-
rical scholars of New England,- was born in
Boston, September 22, 1800. After a careful
preliminary training at the Latin School, he
entered Harvard College, where he completed his
course in 1820. He next became an assistant
teacher in the school in which his own education
had been obtained, under the same principal,
Benjamin A. Gould. After a short period of
service he returned to Cambridge to devote him-
self to preparation for the ministry. Immediately
after his ordination he became, in 1824, pastor of
the New South Church, one of the leading Unita-
rian congregations of Boston, a position he filled
with great success for the long period of twenty-
nine years — the connexion closing only with life.
In 1839 he commenced his editorial labors by the
preparation of a series, the Library of the Old
English Prose Writers, in nine volumes. It was
the first attempt in the United States to emulate
the example of the best scholars of the day in
England in the revival of the treasures of the
Elizabethan literature, and did much to extend a
knowledge of writers like Owen Felitham, Selden,
Fuller, Izaak Walton, and Latimer, among general
readers.
In 1841 Dr. Young published The Chronicles
of the Pilgrim Fathers of the Colony of Plymouth,
* In November. 1S52, Dr. Tyng delivered an oration at the
centennial anniversary of the initiation of Washington as a
member of the Ancient and Honorable Fraternity of Free
and Accepted Masons, in which, after passing several points of
his character in review, he closed with a special tribute to his
religious profession.
SAMUEL SEABURY ; JOnN 0. CHOULES ; GEORGE P. MARSH.
31T
from 1602 to 1625; now first collected from
Original Records and Contemporaneous Docu-
ments. This was succeeded, in 1846, by The
Chronicles of the First Planters of the Colony of
Massachusetts Bai/, from 1623 to 1636; now first
collected from Original Records and Contempo-
raneous Manuscripts, and Illustrated with Notes.
SAMUEL SEABURY.
Samttel Seabury, the son of the Rev. Charles
Seabury, and grandson of Bishop Seabury, was
born in the year 1801. He entered at an early
age on the preparation for a mercantile career,
but his taste for study, although little fostered
by educational advantages, disinclined him for
business pursuits. By great diligence and eco-
nomy he fitted himself for the duties of a
schoolmaster, and while thus occupied devoting
his leisure hours to hard study, gradually, by his
unaided efforts, made himself a learned man. In
acknowledgment of these exertions, the compli-
mentary degree of A.M. was conferred upon him
by Columbia College.
Having completed a course of theolog:.?al study,
he was ordained Deacon by Bishop Hobart, April
12, 1826, and Priest, July 7, 1828. He com-
menced his ministerial labors as a missionary at
Huntington and Oyster Bay, Long Island, and was
afterwards transferred to Ballet's Cove, now
Astoria. In 1830 he became Professor of Lan-
guages in the Flushing Institute, afterwards St.
Paul's College, where he remained until he re-
moved to New York in 1834, to take charge of
the Churchman, a weekly religious newspaper.
He conducted this journal with great energy and
ability until 1849, when, in consequence of his en-
grossing parochial duties as rector of the Church
of the Annunciation, a parish founded by him in
1838, he resigned his position as editor, and has
since devoted himself entirely to ministerial
labors.
Dr. Seabury is the author of The Continuity
of the Church of England in the Sixteenth Cen-
tury * a work designed to show '.' that the Church
of England, in renouncing the jurisdiction of the
Bishop of Rome, and reforming itself from the
errors and corruptions of Popery, underwent no
organic change, but retained the ministry, faith,
and sacraments of Christ, and fulfilled the condi-
tions necessary to their transmission." The work
consists of, two discourses delivered by the author,
to which lie has added an appendix of far greater
length, enforcing the positions of his connected
argument. Dr. Seabury has published other dis-
courses, and his articles, if collected from the
Churchman and elsewhere, would occupy several
volumes.
JOHN 0. CHOULES.
TnE Rev. John Overton Choules, a clergyman of
the Baptist denomination, was born in' Bristol,
England, Feb. 5, 1801. He came to the United
States in 1824, and for three years was principal
of an academy at Red Hook, on the Hudson, New
York. He has since filled several parish relations
* The Continuity of the Chureli of England in the Sixteenth
Century. Two Discourses: with an Appendix and Notes.
By Samuel Seabury, D.D. Second edition. New York : 1S53.
Svo., pp. 174.
at New York, in the neighborhood of Boston, at
Jamaica Plains, and is at present pastor of the
Second Baptist Church, at Newport, R. I.
nis literary publications have been, apart from
numerous contributions to the periodicals and
newspapers, several successful compilations, edi-
tions of other authors, and a book of travels. In
1829 he edited J. Angell James's Church Member's
Guide, published by Lincoln and Edmonds, at
Boston, 1829; in 1830 The Christian Offering;
and in 1831 The Beauties of Collyer, for the same
publishers. A History of Missions, in two volumes,
quarto, with plates, prepared by Dr. Choules, was
published by Samuel Walker of Boston. In 1843
he edited for the Harpers an edition of Neal's
History of the Puritans ; and in 1846 furnished a
prefaceand some notes to Mr. John Forster's Lives
of the Statesmen of the Commonwealth. He has
also edited Hinton's History of the United States,
in quarto.
Young Americans Abroad, or Vacation in
Europe, is the title of a volume in which Dr.
Choules describes an excursion tour with several
of his pupils. In 1853 he accompanied Capt.
Vanderbilt, with a select party of friends, in his
notable pleasure excursion to Europe in the North
Star, a steamer of twenty-five hundred tons, which
visited Southampton, the Baltic, and the waters
of the Mediterranean to Constantinople. Of this
unique voyage Dr. Choules published an account
on his return, in his volume — The Cruise of the
Steam Yacht North Star; a Narrative of the
Excursion of Mr. VanderbilVs Party to England,
Russia, Denmark, France, Spain, Italy, Malta,
Turkey, Madeira, &o.
One of the specialities of Dr. Choules is his ac-
quaintance with the sterling old literature of the
Puritans, of which he has an admirable collection
.in his library. His taste in books is generally ex-
cellent, and few men, it may be remarked, have
mingled more with living celebrities, or have a
better stock of the unwritten personal anecdote
of the present day. It was Dr. Choules's good
fortune to enjoy the personal friendship of the late
Daniel Webster, of whom, in an obituary sermon
delivered at Newport, November 21, 1852, he
presented a number of interesting memorials.
GEORGE P. MARSH
Is a native of Vermont, born in Woodstock, in
1801. He was educated at Dartmouth, and short-
ly after settled in Burlington, in the practice of
the law. In 1843 lie was elected to Congress,
and remained in the House of Representatives till
1849, when he was appointed by the administra-
tion of President Taylor Resident Minister at Con-
stantinople, an office which he held till 1853.
Mr. Marsh's literary reputation rests upon his
scholarship in an acquaintance with the North-
ern languages of Europe, in which he is a profi-
cient, bis Compendious Grammar of the Old
Northern or Icelandic language, compiled and
translated from the Qramvma/rs of Rash (Burling-
318
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
ton, 1838); several articles on Icelandic Litera-
ture, in the American Whig and Eclectic Review,
and two Addresses, in which he has pursued the
Gothic element in history. One of these dis-
courses, entitled The Goths in New England,
delivered in 183G at Middlebury College, traced
in a novel manner the presence of the race in
the Puritans, who settled that portion of the
country. In 1844 he delivered an address before
the New England Society of the City of New
York, in which he sketched, from his favorite
point of view of the superiority of the Northern
races, the influences at work in the-formation and
development of the Puritan character. The style
of these addresses is animated, and their positions
have been effective in securing public attention.
ANGLO-SAXON INFLUENCES OF HOME.*
In the sunny climes of Southern Europe, where a
sultry and relaxing day is followed by a balmy and
refreshing night, and but a brief period intervenes
between the fruits of autumn and the renewed pro-
mises of spring, life, both social and industrial, is
chiefly passed beneath the open canopy of heaven.
The brightest hours of the livelong day are drugged
in drowsy, listless toil, or in'dolent repose ; but the
evening breeze invigorates the fainting frame, rouses
the flagging spirit, and calls to dance, and revelry,
and song, beneath a brilliant moon or a starlit sky.
No necessity exists for those household comforts,
which are indispensable to the inhabitants of colder
zones, and the charms of domestic life are scarcely
known in their perfect growth. But in the frozen
North, for a large portion of the year, the pale and
feeble ra3Ts of a clouded sun but partially dispel, for
a few short hours, the chills and shades of a linger-
ing dawn, and an early and tedious night. Snows
impede the closing labors of harvest, and stiffening
frosts aggravate the fatigues of the wayfarer, and
the toils of the forest. Repose, society, and occupa-
tion alike, must, therefore, be sought at the domestic
hearth. Secure from the tempest that howls with-
out, the father and the brother here rest from their
weary tasks; here the family circle is gathered
around the evening meal, and lighter labor, cheered,
not interrupted, by social intercourse, is resumed,
and often protracted, till, like the student's vigils, it
almost " outwatch the Bear." Here the child grows.
up under the ever watchful eye of the parent, in the
first and best of schools, where lisping infancy is
taught the rudiments of sacred and profane know-
ledge, and the older pupil is encouraged to con over
by the evening taper, the lessons of the day, and
seek from the father or a more advanced brother, a
solution of the problems which juvenile industry lias
found too hard to master. The members of the do-
mestic circle are thus brought into closer contact;
parental authority assumes the gentler form of per-
suasive influence, and filial submission is elevated
to affectionate and respectful observance. The ne-
cessity of mutual aid and forbearance, and the per-
petual interchange of good offices, generate the ten-
derest kindliness of feeling, and a lasting warmth of
attachment to home and its inmates, throughout the
patriarchal circle.
Among the most important fruits of this domesti-
city of life, are the better appreciation of the worth
of the female character, woman's higher rank as an
object, not of passion, but of reverence, and the re-
ciprocal moral influence which the two sexes exercise
over each other. They are brought into close com-
* From the Address before the New England Society.
munion, under circumstances most favorable to pre-
serve the purity of woman, and the decorum of man,
and the character of each is modified, and its excess-
es restrained, by the example of the other. Man's
rude energies are softened into something of the
ready sympathy and dexterous helpfulness of wo-
man ; and woman, as she learns to prize and to reve-
rence the independence, the heroic firmness, the pa-
triotism of man, acquires and appropriates some
tinge of his peculiar virtues. Such were the influ-
ences which formed the heart of the brave, good
daughter of apostolic John Knox, who bearded that
truculent pedant, James I., and told him she would
rather receive her husband's head in her lap, as it
fell from the headsman's axe, than to consent that
he should purchase his life by apostasy from the reli-
gion he had preached, and the God he had worship-
ped. To the same noble school belonged that goodly
company of the Mothers of New England, who shrank
neither from the dangers of the tempestuous sea, nor
the hardships and sorrows of that first awful winter,
but were ever at man's side, encouraging, aiding,
consoling, in every peril, every trial, every grief.
Had that grand and heroic exodus, like the mere
commercial enterprises to which most colonies owe
their foundation, been unaccompanied by woman, at
its first outgoing, it had, without a visible miracle,
assuredly failed, and the world had wanted its fair-
est example of the Christian virtues, its most une-
quivocal tokens, that the Providence, which kindled
the pillar of fire to lead the wandering steps of its
people, yet lias its chosen tribes, to whom it vouch-
safes its wisest guidance and its choicest blessings.
Other communities, nations, races, may glory in the
exploits of their fathers ; but it has been reserved to
us of IS" ew England to know and to boast, that Pro-
vidence has made the virtues of our mothers a yet
more indispensable condition, and certain ground,
both of our past prosperity and our future hope.
The strength of the domestic feeling engendered
by the influences which I have described, and the
truer and more intelligent mutual regard between
the sexes, which is attributable to the same causes,
are the principal reasons why those monastic insti-
tutions, which strike at the very root of the social
fabric, and are eminently hostile to the practice of
the noblest and loveliest public and private virtues,
have met with less success, and numbered fewer vo-
taries in Northern than in Southern Christendom.
The celibacy of the clergy was last adopted, and first
abandoned, in the North ; the follies of the Stylites,
the lonely hermitages of the Thebaid, the silence of
La Trappe, the vows, which, seeming to renounce
the pleasures of the world, do but abjure its better
sympathies, and in fine, all the selfish austerities of
that corrupted Christianity, which grossly seeks to
compound by a mortified body for an unsubdued
heart, originated in climates unfavorable to the
growth and exercise of the household virtues.
THOMAS COLE.
TnoMAS Cole, the artist, with whom the use of
the pen for both prose and verse was as favorite
an employment as the handling of the pencil,
though so thoroughly identified with American
landscape, was a native of England. He was born
at Bolton-le-Moor, Lancashire, February 1, 1801.
His father was one of those men who seem to pos-
sess every virtue in life, and still to be separated
by some " thin partition" from success. He was
a manufacturer ; and the son, in his very boy-
hood, became a kind of operative artist, engraving
simple designs for calico. He had, as a youth, a
natural vein of poetry about him which was en-
THOMAS COLE.
319
couraged by an old Scotchman, who repeated to
him the national ballads of his country ; while his
imaginative love of nature was heightened by
falling in with an enthusiastic description of the
beauties of the North American states. In 1819,
the family came to Philadelphia, where Cole
worked on rude wood-engraving for a short time,
with an episode of a visit to the island of St. Eus-
tatia, till they left for the west, settling at Steu-
benville, Ohio, where the young artist passed a life
of poverty and privation, travelling about the coun-
try as a portrait painter ; groping his way slowly,
but effectually, in the region of art. His love of
nature and the amusements of his favorite flute
alleviated the roughness of the track. Finding,
in spite of prudence and econonvy, a near prospect
of starvation before him in that country, at that
time, he turned towards the great cities of the
Atlantic. An anecdote of this period is curious,
but perhaps not uncommon on such occasions. He
was taking a solitary walk, unusually agitated by
a recent conversation with his father. " Well,"
said he to himself, aloud, at the same moment
picking up a couple of good-sized pebbles, " [ will
put one of these upon the top of a stick ; if I can
throw and knock it off with the other, I will be a
painter; if I miss it, I will give up the thought
for ever." Stepping back some tenor twelve paces
he threw, and knocked it off. He turned and
went home immediately, and made known his
unalterable resolution.*
At Philadelphia he patiently struggled and suf-
fered, selling a couple of pictures for eleven dol-
lars, and ornamenting various articles, such as bel-
lows, brushes, and japan -ware, with figures, views,
birds, and flowers. In 1825, at New York, abet-
ter fortune awaited him. His first success iden-
tified him with his chosen scenery of the Catskills.
lie had visited that region, and painted on his re-
turn a view of the Falls. This was purchased
by Colonel Trumbull, who made it a theme of li-
beral eulogy ; and, with the friendship and appre-
ciation of Dunlap and Durand, Cole made the
acquaintance of the public. He was a prosperous
painter at once.
His pictures, from that time, may be divided
into three classes: his minute and literal presenta-
tions of wild American scenery ; his Italian views
of Florence and Sicily, the result of his two Euro-
pean visits; and his moral and allegorical series,
as the Course of Empire and the Voyage of Life.
In 1830, and subsequently, he resided on the Hud-
son, near the village of Catskil], where his death
took place February 11, 1847, at the age of forty-
six.
Though no separate publications of his nume-
rous writings have appeared, they are well repre-
sented in the congenial life by his friend, the Rev.
Mr. Noble. He wrote verses from his boyhood.
Without ever possessing the highe-t inevitable
tact of poetic invention, to fix the enthusiastic
conception in permanent classic expression, and
lacking the advantage of that early scholastic
training which might greatly have helped him to
supply this deficiency by condensation, his nume-
rous poems are never wanting in feeling and deli-
cacy. They were not offered to the public for
judgment; and when they are withdrawn from
Thomas Cole.
the sanctity of his portfolio, they should be judg-
ed for what they were, private confessions and
consolations to himself, to his love of nature and
the devotion of the religious sentiment. The en-
tire narrative of his life is studded, in his biogra-
phy, with passages from these poems as they occur
in his journals; fragments artless, simple, and sin-
cere, always witnessing to the delights of nature,
and expressing the fine spirituality which he
sought in his ideal pictures, and which beamed
from his eye and countenance.
In 1835 he composed a dramatic poem in twelve
parts, called The Spirits of the Wilderness, the
scene of which is laid in the White Mountains. It
was further prepared for the press in 1837, but
still remains unpublished. His biographer speaks
of it as "a work of singular originality and much
poetic power and beauty." He was also, at the
period of his death, collecting a volume of miscel-
laneous poems for publication.
Cole was also a good writer of prose. He once,
in early life, wrote for the Philadelphia Saturday
Evening Post a tale called " Emma Moreton,
which embraced incidents and descriptions drawn
from his recent visit to the West Indies. He pro-
jected a work on Art. His letters are easy and
natural. Several of his sketches of travel, A
Visit to Volterra and Vallombrosa in 1831, and
an Excursion to South Penh of the Catskills, in
1846, have been published in the Literary World
from the pages of his autobiographical diary
which he entitled Thoughts and Reminiscences.*
His Eulogy was pronounced by his friend Bry-
ant, in an elaborate and thoughtful oration deli-
vered before the National Academy of Design, at
the church of the Messiah in New York, in May,
1848. During his life the poet had dedicated to
him a fine sonnet on occasion of his first journey
to Europe.
SONWET.
Thine eyes shall see the light of distant skie9 :
Yet, Cole! thy heart shall bear to Europe's strand
A living image of thy native land,
Such as on thy own glorious canvas lies.
Lone lakes — savannas where the bison roves —
Rocks rich with summer garlands solemn
streams —
Skies, where the desert eagle wheels and screams —
Spring bloom ami autumn blaze of boundless groves.
Fair scenes shall greet thee where thou goest — fair,
Life by Noble, p. 42.
* Literary World for 1849. Nos. 102, 105, 114
320
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
But different — everywhere tlie trace of men,
Paths, homes, graves, ruins, from the lowest glen
To "where life shrinks from the fierce Alpine air.
Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,
But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.
Bryant.
A SUNSET.
I saw a glory in the etherial deep ;
A glory such as from the higher heaven
Must have descended. Earth does never keep
In its embrace such beauty. Clouds were driven
As by God's breath, into unearthly forms,
And then did glow, and burn with living flames,
And hues so bright, so wonderful and rare,
That human language cannot give them names ;
And light and shadow strangely linked their arms
In loveliness: and all continual were
In change; and with each change there came new
charms.
Nor orient pearls, nor flowers in glittering dew
Nor golden tinctures, nor the insect's wings,
Nor purple splendors for imperial view,
Nor all that art or earth to mortals brings,
Can e'er compare with what the skies unfurled.
These are the wings of angels, I exclaimed,
Spread in their mystic beauty o'er the world.
Be ceaseless thanks to God that, in his love,
He gives such glimpses of the life above,
That we, poor pilgrims, on this darkling sphere,
Beyond its shadows may our hopes uprear.
TWILIGHT.
The woods are dark ; but yet the lingering light
Spreads its last beauty o'er the western sky.
How lovely are the portals of the night,
"When stars come out to watch the daylight die.
The woods are dark ; but yet yon little bird
Is warbling by her newly furnished nest.
No sound beside in all the vale is heard ;
But she for rapture cannot, cannot rest.
THE TEEAD OF TIME.
Hark 1 I hear the tread of time,
Marching o'er the fields sublime.
Through the portals of the past,
"When the stars by God were cast
On the deep, the boundless vast.
Onward, onward still he strides,
Nations clinging to his sides:
Kingdoms crushed he tramples o'er:
Fame's shrill trumpet, battle's roar,
Storm-like rise, then speak no more.
Lol he nears US' — awful Time —
Bearing on his wings sublime
All our seasons, fruit and flower,
Joy and hope, and love and power:
Ah, he grasps the present hour.
******
Underneath his mantle dark,
See, a spectre grim and stark,
At his girdle like a sheath,
"Without passion, voice or breath,
Ruin dealing : Death — 'tis Death !
Stop the ruffian, Time ! — lay hold ! —
Is there then no power so bold ? —
None to thwart him in his way ? —
Wrest from him his precious prey,
And the tyrant robber slay S
Struggle not, my foolish soul :
Let Time's garments round thee roll.
Tune, God's servant — think no scorn-
Gathers up the sheaves of corn,
Which the spectre, Death, hath shorn.
Brightly through the orient far
Soon shall rise a glorious star:
Cumbered then by Death no more,
Time shall fold his pinions hoar,
And be named the Evermore.
SONG OF A 6PIEIT.
An awful privilege it is to wear a spirit's form,
And solitary live for aye on this vast mountain peak;
To watch, afar beneath my feet, the darkly-heaving
storm,
And see its cloudy billows over the craggy ramparts
break ;
• To hear the hurrying blast
Torment the groaning woods,
O'er precipices cast
The desolating floods ;
To mark in wreathed fire
The crackling pines expire ;
To list the earthquake and the thunder's voice
Round and beneath my everlasting throne ;
Meanwhile, unscathed, untouched, I still rejoice,
And sing my hymn of gladness, all alone.
*******
First to salute the sun, when he breaks through the
night,
I gaze upon him still when earth has lost her light
When silence is most death-like,
And darkness deepest cast ;
The streamlet's music breath-like,
And dew is settling fast;
Far through the azure depth above is heard my
clarion sound,
Like tones of winds, and waves, and woods, and
voices of the ground.
I spread my shadeless pinions wide o'er this my
calm domain:
A solitary realm it is ; but here I love to i ejgn.
ALEXANDER H. EVEEETT.
Alexander Hill Evekett was the second son
of the Rev. Oliver Everett, and younger brother
of the Hon. Edward Everett. He was prepared
for college at the free-school of Dorchester, en-
tered Harvard University the youngest member
of his class, and was graduated at its head in
1806. He passed the succeeding year as an as-
sistant teacher in the Phillips Academy at Exe-
ter, N. II., and in 1 807 commenced the study of
the law in the office of John Quircy Adams at
Boston, where he soon after began his literary
career as.a contributor to the Monthly Anthology.
In 1809, on the appointment of Mr. Adams as
Minister to Russia, Mr. Everett accompanied him
as attache to the legation, and resided at St.
Petersburg for two years. In 1811 he passed
through Sweden to England, where he remained
during the winter, and after a short visit to Paris
returned home in 1812.
Soon after his arrival he was admitted to the
bar and commenced practice. The stirring na-
ture of the public events which then agitated the
country soon, however, drew him into politics.
He published a series of articles in the year 1813
in the Patriot, the leading democratic paper of
ALEXANDER H. EVERETT.
321
Boston, in favor of the war, which were collected
into a pamphlet, with the title Remarks on the
Governor's Speech. He also wrote in this jour-
nal a series of articles against the Hartford Con-
vention. He was in the same year nominated
for the state senate, but defeated by the predo-
minance of the opposition part}'. He also about
this time, as the orator for the year of the Phi
Beta Kappa Society, delivered an address on
Burke, in which he combated the views of that
statesman on the French revolution. It is cha-
racteristic of the state of public feeling, that, al-
though the usual resolution requesting a copy for
publication was passed, the resolve was never put
in execution.
Soon after the treaty of peace Mr. Everett was
appointed secretary of legation to Governor Eus-
tis of Massachusetts, Minister to the Netherlands.
After remaining a year or two in Holland he re-
turned to the United States, and was appointed
by Mr. Monroe the successor of Mr. Eustis on the
withdrawal of that gentleman, the post having
been meanwhile changed to a chary ship. He
retained the office for six years, from 1818 to
1824, conducting the negotiations relative to the
commercial intercourse of the two nations, and
the claims of his country for spoliations suffered
during the French ascendency, with groat ability.
His official duties being insufficient to occupy
more than a portion of his time, he devoted his
leisure to the preparation of a work entitled Eu-
rope, or a General Surrey of the Political Situa-
tion of the Principal Powers, with Conjectures on
their Future Prospects, by a Citizen of the United
Stales. It was published in Boston and London
in 1821. A remark, characteristic of the tone of
English criticism at that time on American books,
appeared in a notice in the London Morning Chro-
nicle, to the effect that the name of the author
on the title-page must be a fiction, as the work
was not only too purely English but too idiomatic
to be the product of a foreign pen. Europe was
favorably received, and translated into German,
with a commentary by the celebrated Professor
Jaeobi of Halle, and also into French and Spanish.
In 1822 Mr. Everett published New Ideas on, Po-
pulation, with Remarks on the Theories of Godwin
and Malthas. The latter writer, in his celebrated
work on population, had taken the ground that
the demand for subsistence is everywhere greater
than the means of its supply, that the evil could
not be met by any measures of governmental or
private charity, and that the only means of re-
medy was to check the increase of the race by
discountenancing marriage. Godwin denied that
the power of increase in population was as great
as Maltlms affirmed, and asserted that the rapid
growth of America was due to emigration. In
answer to these and other theorists Mr. Everett
showed that increase of population leads to divi-
sion of labor and consequent increase of produc-
tion; that the assertion of Malthus that every
community had exhausted their means of com-
fortable support, was not borne out by the exam-
ple of any people, the means of support having
universally increased with the growth of popula-
tion ; and that Malthus's position that every com-
munity must subsist on the produce of its own
territory was also untrue, commerce furnishing a
means by which, even in case of a community
VOL. II. — 21
exhausting the products of their territory, the
products of their industry could readily be ex-
changed, in a more or less direct form, for the
provisions of other portions of the globe, whose
entire productiveness is as yet far from being de-
veloped, much less exhausted.
During this period Mr. Everett also contributed
a number of articles to the North American Re-
view, then under the editorship of his brother
Edward, most of which are on topics connected
with the leading French authors. They are finish-
ed in style and elaborate in treatment. The dis-
cussion of the authorship of Gil Bias, Biography
of St. Pierre, the review of Geoff ray on Dramatic
Literature, a sketch of the Pi-irate Life of Vol-
taire, a pleasant paper on the Art of B~appiness,
by Droz, are among them. In 1824 he re-
turned home on leave of absence, and passed the
winter in the United States. In 1825 he was
appointed by Mr. Adams, soon after he became
President of the United States, Minister to Spain.
Ho devoted himself with great fidelity to the du-
ties of this position, and was active in urging the
recognition of the independence of the recently
formed Spanish republics of the American conti-
nent on their mother country. He invited Wash-
ington Irving to Madrid, made him an attache of
the legation, and facilitated the researches which
led to the production of the Life of Columbus.
He also procured and transmitted to Mr. Prescott
a large portion of the historical material of which
that gentleman has made such admirable use, and
in numerous other modes advanced the interests
of his country and countrymen. Although labo-
riously occupied by his diplomatic duties he still
continued his contributions to the North Ameri-
can, and prepared a work entitled America, or a
General Survey of the Political Situation of the
Principal Powers of the Western Continent, with
Conjectures on their future Prospects, by a Citi-
zen of the United States, a companion to his pre-
vious volume on Europe.
In 1829 he returned to the United States, and
succeeded Mr. Jared S| arks as editor of the Re-
view to which he had long contributed. He
conducted the work for about five years, during
which he wrote a number of important articles
for its pages. In 1830 he was elected a member
of the state senate.
As chairman of a commit' e ■ of the tariff con-
vention of 1833, he drew up the memorial in reply
to that prepared by Mr. Gallatin, which emanat-
ed from the free-trade convention of the previous
year. He was also the author of the address is-
sued by the Convention of 1831, nominating Henry
Clay for the presidency. After the defeat of that
statesman, and the proclamation of General Jack-
son against Nullification, he became a supporter
of the administration.
In 1840 Mr. Everett was despatched as a con-
fidential commissioner to Cuba, to act during the
absence of the consul, and investigate the charges
which had been made against him of connivance
in the use of the American flag by slavers. He
was occupied for two months in this manner, and
a short time after received a call to the presidency
of Jefferson College, Louisiana, which he accept-
ed, but was obliged, soon after commencing the
duties of the office, to return to the North in con-
sequence of ill health.
322
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
In 1842 Mr. Everett was a frequent contributor
to the Boston Miscellany* of articles in prose and
poetry. Among the latter were translations from
the Latin and Italian, and a somewhat elaborate
Eastern tale, The Hermitage of C'andoo, founded
on a Sanskrit fable of the Brahma-Purana.
In 1845 and 1846 Mr. Everett published two
volumes of Critical and Miscellaneous Essays,
with Poems, containing a selection from his writ-
ings for the North American and Democratic Re-
views, to the last of which he furnished in 1844
an extended biographical sketch of the revolu-
tionary refugee, Harro Ilarring, and other peri-
odicals. In 1845 he received the appointment
from President Polk of Commissioner to China,
and set out for his post on the 4th of July in the
same year, but on arriving at Rio de Janeiro be-
came so unwell that he returned home. He sailed
a second time in the summer of 1846 and arrived
at Canton, but died a few months after establish-
ing himself in that city, June 2S, 1847.
THE TOrNG AMERICAN.
Scion of a mighty stock!
Hands of iron — hearts of oak —
Follow with unflinching tread
Where the noble fathers led!
Craft and subtle treachery,
Gallant youth ! are not for thee :
Follow thou in word and deeds
Where the God within thee leads!
Honesty with steady eye,
Truth and pure simplicity,
Love that gently winnetli hearts, —
These shall be thy only arts.
Prudent in the council train,
Dauntless on the battle plain,
Ready at the country's need
For her glorious cause to bleed.
AVTiere the dews of night distil
Upon Vernon's holy hill ;
Where above it g e iming far
Freedom lights her guiding star:
Thither turn the steady eye,
Flashing with a purpose high !
Thither with devotion meet,
Often turn the pilgrim feet !
Let the noble motto be
God, — the Country, — Liberty !
Planted on Religion's rock,
Thou shalt stand in every shock.
Laugh at danger far or near!
Spurn at baseness — spurn at fear!
Still with persevering might,
Speak the truth, and do the right !
So shall Peace, a charming guest,
Dave-like in thy bosom rest,
So shall Honor's steady blaze
Beam upon thy closing days.
Happy if celestial favor
Smile upon the high endeavor ;
Happy if it be thy call
In the holy cause to fall.
* Tho Boston Miscellany of Literature and Fashion was edi-
ted by Nathan Hale, jr., and was published in two volumes,
from January to December, 1S42. It was a worthy attempt to
infuse into the popular periodical literature a higher literary
interest. Among its contributors were, besides Alexander
Everett, J. E. Lowell, W. W. Story, Edward Everett, Na-
thaniel Hawthorne, T. W. Parsons, and others.
THE ART OF BEING HAPPY.*
According to our belief, the common sense of the
world is therefore, as we have already remarked,
against Mr. Droz on this point, and in favor of the
diligent pursuit of some regular occupation, as a
principal element of happiness. It is true that we
hear at times from the Italians, of the dolce far
niente, or the delight of having nothing to do ; but
even in the same quarter there are not wanting
respectable authorities in favor of a different system.
The Marquis of Spinola, an Italian general, cele-
brated for his military exploits in the war of the in-
dependence of the Netherlands, passed the latter
part of his life in retirement, upon a handsome pen-
sion, and of course in the full fruition of the dolce
far niente ; but being one of those persons without
occupation, who are also unoccupied, he found him-
self (as usually happens, even accordii g to our
author, with gentlemen of this descriptioi ) rather
ill at ease. While in this situation, he was informed
of the death of one of his ancient comrades of in-
ferior rank in the army, a captain perhaps, or possi-
bly a colonel ; and upon inquiring into the nature
of his disease, was answered that he died of having
nothing to do. Mori delta malattia di non iencre
niente a fare. Baxta, replied the unhappy Marquis,
with a strong feeling of sympathy in the fate of his
departed brother of the war, basta per un generate.
" T is enough to have killed him, had he been a ge-
neral."
Such, even on Italian authority, are the pleasures
of the dolce far niente. They appear to be enjoyed
in the same way in other ranks and walks of life.
Read, for example, in Lafontaine, the story of the
cheerful cobbler rendered miserable by a present of a
hundred crowns, and finally returning in despair to
lay them at the feet of his would-be benefactor, and
recover his good humor and his last. Behold the
luckless schoolboy (to recur again to one of the ex-
amples at which we have already hinted), torn from
his natural occupation on some Thursday or Satur-
day afternoon, and perishing under the burden of a
holiday. See him hanging at his mother's side, and
begging her, with tears in his eyes, to give him
something to do ; while she, poor woman, aware
that the evil is irremediable, can only console him,
by holding out the prospect of a return to school
the next day. Observe the tradesman who has made
his fortune (as the phrase is), and retired from busi-
ness, or the opulent proprietor enjoying his dignified
leisure. How he toils at the task of doing nothing ;
as a ship without ballast at sea, when it falls calm
after a heavy blow, labors more without stirring an
inch, than in going ten knots an hour witli a good
breeze. " How he groans and sweats," as Shake-
speare has it, under a happy life! How he cons
over at night, for the third time, the newspaper
which he read through twice, from beginning to
end, immediately after breakfast ! A wealthy capi-
talist, reduced by good fortune to this forlorn condi-
tion, has assured us, that he often begs the domes-
tics, wdio are putting his room in order, to prolong
the operation as much as possible, that he may enjoy
again, for a little while, the lost delight of superin-
tending and witnessing the performance of useful
labor.
But this is not the worit. No sooner does lie find
himself in the state of unoccupied blessedness, than
a host of unwished for visitants (doubtless the same
with those who took possession of the swept and
garnished lodgings of him in scripture) enter on his
premises, and declare his body good prize. Dyspep-
* From an article ia the North American Review for July,
1S28, on an Seeai xiir I' Art oVEire lleurcux, par Joseph Droz,
de l'Academie Franchise.
JAMES G. AND MARY E. BROOKS.
323
sin (a new name of horror) plucks from his lips the
untasted morsel and the brimming bowl, beilims
his eyes with unnatural blindness, and powders his
locks with premature old age. Hypochondria, (the
accursed blues of the fathers) ploughs his cheeks
with furrows, and heaps a perpetual cloud upon his
brow. Hepatitis (like the vulture of Prometheus)
gnaws at hia liver. Rheumatism racks his joints;
Gout grapples him by the great toe: so that what
with " black spirits and white, blue spirits and
grey," the poor man suffers martyrdom in every
nerve and fibre, until Palsu or Apoplexy, after all
the kindest of the tribe, giv^s him the coup de grace,
and releases him from his misery. His elysium is
much like that of the departed Grecian heroes iu
the Odyssey, who frankly avowed to Ulysses, that
they would rather be the meanest day-laborers above
ground, than reign supreme over all the shades be-
low **■***# * *
Has our author fully considered what he is say-
ing, when he recommends to his disciples to take no
interest in their employment, whatever it may be;
to work at it carelessly and negligently, just long
enough to obtain a b ire Living; and then hurry home
to bed, or to the tavern to keep "Saint Monday?
Meeting him on his own ground, an 1 taking our ex-
amples from the middling and lower wal<;s of life,
does Mr. Droz really mean to tell us, that a tailor,
for instance, will be-.t consult his happiness by work-
ing as little as possible at his trade, receiving as few
orders as he can, executing those which he receives
in a careless manner, disappointing his customers in
the time of Bending home their clothes, and instead
of wielding incessantly the shears and needle, pass-
ing most of his precious hours in spinning street-
yarn ? Is that barber in a fair way to realize the
sumrnum bonum, who intentionally hacks the chins
of the public with dull and wretched razors, or
burns their ears with his curling tongs, on purpose
to deter as many of them as he can from coming
into his shop? Admitting for argument's sake
(what no honorable man would allow for a mo-
ment), that the only object of exercising a profes-
sion is to obtain a bare subsistence; is it not per-
fectly clear, that an artist, who should follow the
system of our author, would completely fail, even in
this miserable purpose? If a tailor send home a
coat awkwardly and unfashionably cut, or negli-
gently made up, the indignant customer forthwith
returns it. on his hands, and transfers his orders to a
more industrious and attentive workman. From
making a few coats, and those badly, the recreant
knight of the shears would very soon come to have
none at all to make, and would inevitably starve by
the side of his cold goose, upon a vacant shopboard.
A barber, in like manner, who should adopt the
ingenious practices alluded to above, for clearing
his shop of the surplus number of long beards,
would not probably find the ebbing tide stop ex-
actly at the point necessary for supplying him with
bread and bedclothes. He would soon find himself,
like Ossian's aged heroes, lonely in his hall. From
keeping his own shop, he would be compelled to
enter as journeyman in that of another, and by con-
tinuing to pursue the same process, would sink in
succession through the several gradations of house-
servant, street porter, and vagabond, into the hospi-
tal, the port where all who sail by our author's
chart and compass will naturally bring up. The
only way, iu fact, by which a man can expect to
turn his labor to account, in any occupation, is by
doing the best he can, and by putting liis heart into
his business, whatever it may be. He then takes
the rank among his brothers of the trade, to which
his talents entitle him ; aud if he cannot rise to the
head of his art, he will at least be respectable, and
will realize an honorable living. It is not every
barber that can aspire to the fame of a Smnllpeace,
a Higgins, or a Williams; but any one who is dili-
gent and assiduous in his shop, and who takes a just
pride in seeing his customers leave it with glossy
chins, well dressed hair, and neatly shaped favorites,
should his natural aptitude be even something less
than firstrate, will yet never want the comforts of
life for himself and his family through the week, his '.
five dollar bill to deposit in the savings bank on
Saturday evening, and his extra joint to entertain a
brother Strap on Sunday. And while he thus real-
izes an ample revenue, the zealous and attentive
artist reaps, as he goes along through life, the best
reward of his labor iu the pleasure afforded him by
the gratification of his honest pride, and the appro-
bation of his fellow citizens.
Jonx, the brother of Edward and Alexander
Everett, was born at Dorchester, Mass., February
22, 1801. lie was educated in the Boston schools,
"where lie was distinguished as a fine declaimer,
and was graduated at Harvard in 1818. In the
same year he accompanied the Rev. Horace Hol-
ler,* President of the Transylvania University, at
Lexington, Kentucky, to that place, where he was
employed for a short time as a tutor. On his
return to Ma-sachusetts he entered the law school
at Cambridge, and soon after visited Europe as
an attach': to the American legation at Brussels,
during the chargiship of his brother Alexander.
He next returned to Boston, studied law in the
office of Daniel Webster, and contributed a few
articles to the North American Review, then edited
by his brother Edward. He was also the author
of a few spirited odes sung at the celebrations
of debating clubs, of which, from his readiness as
an extempore speaker and warm interest in the
political and other questions of the day, he was
a prominent member. He was admitted to the
bar in 1825, but the promise of an active career
of honor and usefulness was soon after disap-
pointed by his death, February 12, 1S20.
JAMES G. AND MAEY E. BEOOKS.
James Gordon Brooks, the son of David Brooks,
an officer of the Revolutionary army, was born at
Claverack on the Hudson, September 3,1801. He
was graduated at Union College in 1819, and
studied law at Ponghkeepsie, but never engaged
actively in the practice of the profession. It was
in this place that he commenced his poetical
career by the publication in the newspapers of
the place of a few fugitive poems, with the signa-
* Horace Hollevwas born at Salisbury. Connecticut. Febru-
ary 18, 1781, graduated at Tale College in IS 3. studied the-
ology under the care of President Dwiizht, and was settled at
Greenfield Hill. In 1809 he became a Unitarian, and the mi-
nister of the Hollis street church, Boston. He was a warm
federalist, and often introduced his political opinions into the
pulpit, where he was highly celebrated for his oratorical pow-
ers, graceful delivery, and tine persona! appearance.
In "ISIS Dr. Hollev accepted the presidency of Transylvania
University, where he remained nine, years. He died of the
vellow fever on his passage, after his resignation, from 2s ew
Orleans to New York, July 31. 1827.
Dr. Hollrv was the author of addresses delivered in 1815 be-
fore the Washington Benevolent Society of Boston ; in 1SI i on
the anniversary of the landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth;
of a funeral eulogy on Colonel James Morrison, a munificent
benefactor of Transylvania University in 18'J3: ot several pub-
lished sermons, and' articles in the Western Review and a few
other periodicals. Several of these are reprinted iu the grace-
ful and touching memoir of the writer, by his wife.
321
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
ture of Elorio, which attracted much attention.
Various conjectures were made respecting their
authorship, but the author succeeded in maintain-
ing his incognito not only among his neighbors,
but also in his own household.
In 1S23 Mr. "Brooks removed to New York,
where lie became the literary editor of the
Minerva, a belles-lettres journal which he con-
ducted about two years. He then started the
Literary Gazette, a weekly journal on the model
of the English publication of the same name,
which, after being continued for a few mouths,
was united with the Athenaeum, and conducted
under the care of Mr. Brooks and Mr. James
Lawson for two years. Ho then became an editor
of the Morning Courier, with which he remained
connected for about the same period. In these
journals, and in the Commercial Advertiser, most
of his poems were published, with the signature
of Florio. They were great favorites, and placed
the author in the popular estimate of his day in
the same rank with Drake and llalleck as one of
the poetical trio of the town.
In 1828 he married Miss Mary Elizabeth Akin,
a young lady, a native of Poughkeepsie, who had
been from an early age a writer of verse for
periodicals under the signature of Noma. The
year after a volume entitled The Rivals of Este
and other Poems, by James 67. and Mary E.
Brooks, appeared.
In 1830 the pair removed to Winchester, Vir-
ginia, where Mr. Brooks edited a newspaper for a
few years. In 1838 they again changed their
residence to Rochester, and afterwards to Albany,
in both of which places Mr. Brooks was connected
With the press.
Mr. Brooks died at Albany in 1841. His
widow has since that event resided, with their
only child, a daughter, in the city of New York.
The productions of Mr. and Mrs. Brooks are
separately arranged in the joint volume of their
poems. The story from which the volume takes
its name is by the lady, and is drawn from the
ample storehouse of Italian family history. The
Hebrew Melodies, versified renderings of passages
from the Psalms and the Prophets, are also by her.
The remainder of Mrs. Brooks's portion of the
volume is occupied by other poems on topics of
Italian romance, descriptions of natural scenery,
and a few lyrical pieces. We select one of the
Hebrew Melodies : —
JEREMIAH X. 17.
From the halls of our fathers in anguish we fled,
Kor again will its marble re-eeho our tread;
For a breath like the Siroc lias blasted our name,
And the frown of Jehovah has crushed us insliame.
His robe was the whirlwind, his voice was the thun-
der,
And earth at his footstep was riven asunder ;
The mantle of midnight had shrouded the sky,
But we knew where He stood by the flash of his eye.
Oh, Judahl how long must thy weary ones weep,
Far, far from the land where their forefathers sleep ;
How long ere the glory that brightened the mountain
Will welcome the exile to Siloa's fountain ?
Passing to the latter half of the volume, we find
at its commencement a poem on Genius, delivered
originally before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at
Y'ale. The briefer pieces which follow are, like
the one which we have named, quiet in expression
and of a pensive cast. A number devoted to the
topic of death have a pathos and solemnity befit-
ting the dirge. Others on the stirring theme of
liberty, and the struggles in its behalf in Greece
and elsewhere, are full of animation and spirit.
All are smooth and harmonious in versification.
Mr. Brooks enjoyed a high social position in
New York, where he was greatly esteemed for
his ready wit and conversational powers, as well
as generosity and amiability of character. He
was a fluent and successful prose writer.
Mrs. Brooks, in addition to her literary abilities,
possesses much skill as a designer. The plates in
the Natural History of the State of New York,
by her brother-in-law, Mr. James Hall, are from
drawings made by her from nature.
Mrs. Hall, the sister of Mrs. Brooks, is the au-
thor of several pleasing poems which have ap-
peared under the signature of Hinda.
FREEDOM,
When the world in throngs shall press
To the battle's glorious van ;
When the oppressed shall seek redress,
And shall cbihn the rights of man ;
Then shall freedom smile again
On the earth and on the main.
"When the tide of war shall roll
Like imperious ocean's surge,
From the tropic to the pole,
And to earth's remotest verge
Then shall valor dash the gem
From each tyrant's diadem.
When the banner is unfurled,
Like a silver cloud in air,
And the champions of the world
In their might assemble there ;
Man shall rend his iron chain,
And redeem his rights again.
Then the thunderbolts shall fall.
In their fury on each throne.
Where the despot holds in thrall
Spirits nobler than his own ;
And the cry of all shall be,
Battle's shroud or liberty !
Then the trump shall echo loud,
Stirring nations from afar,
In the daring line to crowd,
And to draw the blade of war
While the tide of life shall rain,
And encrimson every plain.
Then the Saracen shall flee
From the city of the Lord;
Then, the light of victory
Shall illume Judea's sword:
And new liberty shall shine
On the Plains of Palestine.
Then the Turk shall madly view,
How his crescent waxes dim ;
Like the waning moon whose hue
Fades away on ocean's brim ;
JACOB B. MOORE.
325
Then the cross of Christ shall stand
On that consecrated land.
Tea, the light of freedom smiles
On the Grecian phalanx now,
Breaks upon Ionia's isles,
And on Ida's lofty brow ;
And the shouts of battle swell,
Where the Spartan lion fell !
Where the Spartan lion fell,
Proud and dauntless in the strife :
How triumphant was his knell !
How sublime his close of life !
Glory shone upo i his eye,
Glory which can never die!
Sooti shall earth awake in might ;
Retribution shall arise ;
And all regions shall unite,
To obtain the glorious prize ;
And oppression's iron crown,
To the dust be trodden down.
• When the Almighty shall deform
Heaven in his hour of wrath ;
When the angel of the storm,
Sweeps in fury on his path ;
Then shall tyranny be hurled
From the bosom of the world.
Yet, O freedom ! yet awhile,
All mankind shall own thy sway ;
And the eye of God shall smile
On thy brightly dawning day;
And all nations shall adore
At thine altar evermore.
STANZAS.
Life hath its sunshine ; but the ray
Which flashes on its stormy wave
Is but the beacon of decay,
A meteor gleaming o'er the grave ;
And though its dawning hour is bright
With fancy's gayest colouring,
Yet o'er its cloud-encumbered night,
Dark ruin flaps his raven wing.
Life hath its flowers ; and what are the; i
The buds of early love and truth,
Which spring and wither in a day,
The gems of warm, confiding youth:
Alas! those buds decay and uie,
Ere ripened and matured in bloom;
E'en in an hour, behold them lie
Upon the still and lonely tomb!
Li?e hath its pang of deepest thrill;
Thy sting, relentless memory !
Which wakes not, pierces not, until
The hour of joy hath ceased to be.
Then, when the heart is in its pall,
And cold afflictions gather o'er,
Thy mournful anthem doth recall
Bliss which hath died to bloom no more.
Life hath its blessings ; but the storm
Sweeps like the desert wind in wrath,
To sear and blight the loveliest form
Which sports on earth's deceitful path.
0! soon the wild heart-broken wail,
So changed from youth's delightful tone,
Floats mournfully upon the gale,
When all is desolate and lone.
Life hath its hope ; a matin dream,
A cankered flower, a setting suu,
Which easts a transitory g'eam
Upon the even's cloud of dun
Pass but an hour, the dream hath fled,
The flowers on earth forsaken lie ;
The sun hath set, whose lustre shed
A light upon the shaded sky.
JACOB B. MOOEE.
Jacob Bailey Mooeb, the father of the subject
of the present sketch, was born September 5,
1772, at Georgetown, on the Kennebeek, Maine.
He was descended from a Scotch family, who emi-
grated to New England in the early part of the
eighteenth century. Following the profession of
his father, a physician, and during the Revolu-
tionary war surgeon of a national vessel, he set-
tled, after qualifying himself almost entirely by
his own exertions, in the practice of medicine at
Andover, in 1796, where he remained until he
accepted, in 1812, tho appointment of surgeon's
mate in the Eleventh regiment of United States
Infantry. He remained in the service until De-
cember of the same year, when he retired, much
broken in health, and died on the 10th of January
following.
Dr. Moore was an excellent musician, and com-
posed several pieces, a few of which were pub-
lished in Holyoke's Repository. He was also the
author of numerous songs and epistles, which ap-
peared in the newspapers of the day.
Jacob Bailey, the son of Dr. Moore, was born
at Andover, October 31, 1797. lie was appren-
ticed, while a boy, in the office of the New
Hampshire Patriot, one of the leading journals
of New England, and which is remarkable for
the number of distinguished editors and politi-
cians it has furni-hed, alike from its type-setting
and editorial desks, to all parts of the country.
The Patriot was at this time owned by the
celebrated Isaac Hill.* At the expiration of his
indentures Mr. Moore became the partner of
Mr. Hill, and afterwards, by marriage with Mr.
Hill's sister, his brother-in-law. The two con-
ducted the paper until January, 1823, when the
partnership expired. Mr. Moore then devoted
himself to the bookselling and publishing busi-
ness.
He had previously, in April, 1822, com-
menced the publication of Collections, — Topogra-
phical, Historical, and Biographical, relating
principally to New Hampshire. He was assisted
* Kane Hill, one of tho most influential political writers of
the country, was born at Cambridge, Mass , April 6, 17SS. lie was
taught the trails of a printer, and in 1809 removed to Concord,
N. II., where he purchased the office of the American Patriot,
a paper started about six months before, which lie disconti-
nued, and on tile 18th of April, 1809, published the first number
of the New Hampshire Patriot, a newspaper he continued to
edit until 1&29, filling at various times within the same period,
the offices of senator and representative in the State Legisla-
ture. He was appointed Second Comptroller of the Treasury
by General Jackson, but was rejected by the Senate, a rejec-
tion which led to his election by the Legislature of his state,
as a member of thy body which had refused to confirm his no-
mination. He remained in the Senate until Is:30. when he was
elected Governor of his State, an office which he filled during
three successive terms. He afterwards established Hill's New
Hampshire Patriot, a paper in which he opposed certain new
measures of the Democratic party, of which he had long been
the leader in the state, with such success, that he regained his
impaired influence, and united his new paper with the Patriot,
in which he had so long battled. He also. In January, 1S89,
commenced an agricultural periodical, The Farmer's Monthly
Visitor, which is still continued.
The activity of his career was after this period much im-
paired by disease. He. however, still continued his interest in
politics, and was an influential advocate of the Compromise
Measures of 1S50. He died at Washington, March 22, 1851.
326
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITEEATCEE.
in the editorship of this work by Dr. J. Farmer*
The publication comprised original articles of re-
search, on topics embraced in its plan, and re-
prints of curious manuscripts, tracts, poems, and
fugitive productions, illustrating the same topic.
A portion of its pages was also devoted to re-
views and other magazine matter, of a contempo-
rary character. It was conducted with much
ability until its close, in December, 1824. Itforms,
in its completed shape, a series of three octavo vo-
lumes.
The publication we have named was one of the
first devoted to local history in the country. It
did good service in calling attention to many im-
portant subjects, and fostering a spirit of close
historical inquiry.
During the continuance of this work Mr. Moore
also prepared and published with Dr. Farmer, A
Gazetteer of the State of New Hampshire, in a duo-
decimo volume.
In 1824 Mr. Moore published Annah of the
Town of Concord, from its first Settlement in the
year 1726 to the year 1823, with several Biogra-
phical Slcetches ; toirhich is added, A Memoir of
the Penacook Indi-;ns,i a work of much interest,
research, and value.
In 1826 Mr. Moore commenced The New Samp-
shire Journal, apolitical paper, which he main-
tained with ability and influence until December,
1829, when it passed into other hands, and was
soon after united with the New Hampshire
Statesman. In 1S28 he was elected a represen-
tative to the State Legislature, and in 1829 ap-
pointed sheriff of the county of Merrimack, an
office which he retained for five years. After
being connected for a short time with the Con-
cord Statesman, he removed in 1839 to the city
of New York, where he became the editor of The
Daily Whig, an influential journal during the
Harrison campaign. In 1840 he published The
Laics of Trade in the United States : being an
abstract of the statutes of the several States and
Territories concerning Debtors and Creditors ; a
small volume, designed as a popular manual on
the subject. After the election, he obtained an
important clerkship in the Post-office department
at Washington. On the accession of Mr. Polk,
in 1845, he was removed, and returning to New
* John Farmer was born at Chelmsford, Mass., June 12,
1789. He was a descendant of Edward Farmer, who emi-
grated from Warwickshire to Bilierica, Mass., in 1760. He
received the limited education afforded in his boyhood at the
common schools, and at the age of sixteen became a clerk in a
store at Amherst, New Hampshire. In 1810 he abandoned
this occupation for that of school-keeping. He next studied
medicine, and opened an apothecary's store at Concord, in
1821, with Dr. Samuel Morril. a circumstance to which he
owes the title, popularly bestowed, of Doctor, having never
completed a course of medical studies or applied for a degree.
Itwasin this position that he continued, in his leisure hours,
to the close of his life, August 13, 1888, the laborious re-
searches which he had already commenced, in the annals of
New England.
Dr. Farmer's chief work is his Genealogical Register of the
First Settlers of New England, dbc. ,- to which are added,
various Biographical and Genealogical Notes.* in which he
traces the families of New England to their foundation in this
country. He also prepared a new edition of Belknap's His-
tory of New Hampshire.t containing various corrections and
illustrations of that work, and additional tacts and notices of
persons and events, therein mentioned.
Dr. Farmer was also the author of several tracts relating to
local history, and a frequent contributor to the Collections of
the Massachusetts and New Hampshire Historical Societies.
t pp. 112.
" Lancaster, MaEs., 8vo. pp. S52. t Dover, N. H , ivo. pp.512.
York became librarian of the New York Histori-
cal Society.
In this position, congenial to his tastes as an
historian, Mr. Moore remained, devoting him-
self earnestly to the preservation, arrangement,
and enlargement of one of the most valuable col-
lections of works illustrative of American His-
tory in existence, until by the changing fortunes
of politics his friends were again placed in power
in 1848, and he received the appointment of post-
master to San Francisco.
In this office Mi-. Moore rendered an important
service to the country by his indefatigable labors
in systematizing the business of the department,
under circumstances of unusual difficulty. He
returned after the next change of administration,
with a di.ease contracted in California, which
closed his career a lew months after, on the first
of September, 1853.
In 1846 Mr. Moore published the first volume
of the Memoirs of American Governors, embrac-
ing those of New Plymouth, from 1620 to*1692,
and of Massachusetts Bay, from 1630 to 1689.
It was his design to continue the series until it
comprised Memoirs of the Colonial and Provin-
cial Governors to the time of the Revolution.
The portion relating to New England was left by
him in MS., ready for the press, and much of the
remainder of the work in a fragmentary form.
Mr. Moore was throughout his life an active
collector of historical material. Even in Cali-
fornia he found time to preserve the newspaper
and fugitive literature of the eventful period of
his sojourn.
Hexey Eaton Mooee, a brother of Jacob B.
Moore, was born at Andover, N. II., 21st July,
1803. He served his time with his brother and
Isaac Hill. He published the Grafton Journal at
Plymouth, N. II., from the 1st January, 1825,
till March, 1826, when it ceased. During the
latter portion of his life he gave his whole atten-
tion to mu.sic ; became a thorough proficient in
the science, and distinguished as a teacher and
composer. He was author of the Musical Cate-
chism; Merrimack Collection of Instrumental
Music ; New Hampshire Collection of Church
Music ; The Choir ; a Collection of Anthems,
Choruses, and Set Pieces; and the Northern
Harp — a Collection of Sacred Harmony. He
died at East Cambridge, Mass., October 23, 1841.
Johx Weeks Mooee, another brother of the
same family, was born at Andover, N. H., April
11, 1807; was educated as a printer by his bro-
ther, Jacob B. Moore. He has been connected
with several journals, and edited the Bellows
Falls Gazette, Vt., for several years. His prin-
cipal work is the Complete Encyclopaedia of Mu-
sic,— Elementary, Technical, Historical, Biogra-
phical, Vocal, and Instrun ental*
"WILLIAM H. SEWAED.
William Hexey Seward, the son of Dr. Samuel
S. Seward of Florida, Orange County, New York,
was born in that village on the sixteenth of May,
1801. His early fondness for books induced his
parents to give him a liberal education, and after
a preparation at various schools in the neighbor-
* Eoy. 8vo. pp. 1004 Boston : 1854.
WILLIAM II. SEWARD.
327
hood of his residence, he entered Union College
in 181(i. After completing his course at that in-
stitution with distinguished honor, he studied law
at Mew York with John Anthou, and afterwards
with John Duer and Ogden Hoffman. Soon after
his admission to the bar he commenced practice in
Auburn, New York, where he married in 1824.
Mr. Seward rapidly rose to distinction in his
profession. He took an active interest in favor of
the re-election of John Quincy Adams to the Pre-
sidency, and presided at a convention of the young
men of the state, held in furtherance of that object
in Utica, August 12, 1828. In 1830 ho was no-
minated and elected by tlie anti-masonic party a
member of the State Senate, whore he remained
for four years. In 1833 he made a tour in Europe
of a few months with his father, during which he
wrote home a series of letters which were pub-
lished in the Albany Evening Journal. He was
nominated in 1834 as the candidate of the Whig
party for the office of Governor of the State, and
was defeated, but on his re-nomination in 1838
was elected. During his administration, his re-
commendation of the change in the school system,
called for by the Roman Catholics, and which
was finally adopted, caused much discussion and
opposition.
His administration was one crowded with im-
portant events, and Ids course on many disputed
questions was in opposition on some occasions to
his party friends as well as political opponents,
but was universally regarded as marked by per-
sonal ability. He was re-elected in 1810, but in
1812, declining a re nomination, retired to the
practice of his profession at Auburn. During the
six following years he was principally engaged in
this manner, appearing in the course of his duties
as counsel in several important trials in the state
and national tribunals with great success. He
took an active part as a speaker in the presiden-
tial campaigns of 1814 and 1848, and in February,
1840, was chosen by a large majority United
States Senator. On the expiration of his term in
18SS, he was re-elected to the same body.
Mr. Seward has taken a prominent position in
the Senate as an opponent of the compromise of
1850, and of the repeal of the Missouri compro- !
mise. In 1853 an edition of his works was pub- j
lished in NTew York in three octavo volumes, con-
taininga complete collection of his speeches in the
state and national senate, and before popular as-
semblies, with his messages as governor, his
forensic arguments, a number of miscellaneous ad-
dresses, his letters from Europe, and selections j
from his public correspondence. One of the most j
valuable portions of these volumes, in a literary
and historical point of view, is the Notes on New j
York, originally issued as the Introduction to
the Natural History of New York, published by
the legislature in 1842. It extends to 172 octavo
pages, and contains a carefully prepared and
highly interesting review of the intellectual pro-
gress of the state in science, literature, and art.
THE AMERICAN PEOPLE — THEIR MORAL AND INTELLECTUAL
DEVELOPMENT.*
A kind of reverence is paid by all nations to anti-
quity. There is no one that does not trace its lineage
* From an Address at Yale College, 1854.
from the gods, or from those who were especially fa-
vored by the gods. Every people *hu3 had its age of
gold, or Augustan age, or heroic age — -an age, alas!
for ever passed. These prejudices are not altogether
unwholesome. Although they produce a conviction
of declining virtue, which is unfavorable to generous
emulation, yet a people at once ignorant and irre-
verential would necessarily become licentious. Ne-
vertheless, such prejudices ought to be modified. It
is untrue, that in the period of a nation's rise from
disorder to refinement, it is not able to continually
surpass itself. We see the present, plainly, dis-
tinctly, with all its coarse outlines, its rough inequa-
lities, its dark blots, and its glaring deformities. We
hear all its tumultuous sounds and jarring discords.
We see and hear the past, through a distance which
reduces all its inequalities to a plane, mellows all its
shades into a pleasing hue, and subdues even its
hoarsest voices into harmony. In our own case, the
prejudice is less erroneous than in most others. The
revolutionary age was truly a heroic one. Its exi-
gencies called forth the genius, and the talents, and
the virtues of society, and they ripened amid the
hardships of a long and severe trial. But there were
selfishness, and vice, and factions, then, as now, al-
though comparatively subdued and repressed. You
have only to consult impartial history, to learn that
neither public faith, nor public loyalty, nor private
virtue, culminated at that period in our own coun-
try, while a mere glance at the literature, or at the
stage, or at the politics of any European country, in
any previous age, reveals the fact that it was marked,
more distinctly than the present, by licentious mo-
rals and mean ambition.
Reasoning <J priori again, as we did in another
case, it is only just to infer in favor of the United
States an improvement of morals from their esta-
blished progress in knowledge and power ; other-
wise, the philosophy of society is misunderstood, and
we must change all our courses, and henceforth seek
safety in imbecility, and virtue in superstition and
ignorance.
What shall be the test of the national morals?
Shall it be the eccentricity of crimes? Certainly
not ; for then we must compare the criminal eccen-
tricity of to-day with that of yesterday. The result
of the comparison would be only this, that the crimes
of society change with changing circumstances.
Loyalty to the state is a public virtue. Was it
ever deeper-toned or more universal than it is now?
I know there are ebullitions of passion and discon-
tent, sometimes breaking out into disorder and vio-
lence ; but was faction ever more effectually dis-
armed and harmless than it is now ? There is a loy-
alty that springs from the affection that we bear to
our native soil. This we have as strong as any peo-
ple. But it is not the soil alone, nor yet the soil be-
neath our feet and the skies over our heads, that
constitute our country. It is its freedom, equality,
justice, greatness, and glory. Who among us is bo
low as to be insensible of an interest in them? Four
hundred thousand natives of other lands every year
voluntarily renounce their own sovereigns, and swear
fealty to our own. Who has ever known an Ame-
rican to transfer his allegiance permanently to a
foreign power?
The spirit of the laws, in any country, is a true
index to the morals of a people, just in proportion to
the power they exercise in making them. Who
complains here or elsewhere, that crime or immo-
rality blots our statute-books with licentious enact-
ments ?
The character of a country's magistrates, legisla-
tors, and captains, chosen by a people, reflects their
own. It is true that in the earnest canvassing which
328
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
so frequently recurring elections require, suspicion
often follows the magistrate, and scandal follows in
the footsteps of the statesman. Yet, when his course
has been finished, what magistrate has left a name
tarnished by corruption, or what statesman has left
an act or an opinion so erroneous that decent charity
cannot excuse, though it may disapprove? What
chieftain ever tempered military triumph with so
much moderation as he who, when he had placed
our standard on the battlements of the capital of
Mexico, not only received an offer of supreme au-
thority from the conquered nation, but declined it?
The manners of a nation are the outward form of
its inner life. Where is woman held in so chivalrous
respect, and where does she deserve that eminence
better? Where is property more safe, commercial
honor better sustained, or human life more sacred ?
Moderation is a virtue in private and in public
life. Has not the great increase of private wealth
manifested itself chiefly in widening the circle of
education and elevating the standard of popular in-
telligence? "With forces which, if combined and di-
rected by ambition, would subjugate this continent
at once, we have made only two very short wars —
the one confessedly a war of defence, and the other
ended by paying for a peace and for a domain al-
ready fully conquered.
Where lies the secret of the increase of virtue which
has thus been established ? I think it will be found
in the entire emancipation of the consciences of men
from either direct or indirect control by established
ecclesiastical or political systems. Religious classes,
like political parties, have been left to compete in
the great work of moral education, and to entitle
themselves to the confidence and affection of society,
by the purity of their faith and of their morals.
I am well aware that some, who may be willing
to adopt the general conclusions of this argument,
will object that it is not altogether sustained by the
action of the government itself, however true it may
be that it is sustained by the great action of society.
I cannot enter a field where truth is to be sought
among the disputations of passion and prejudice. I
may say, however, in reply first, that the govern-
ments of the United States, although more perfect
than any other, and although they embrace the great
ideas of the age more fully than any other, are, ne-
vertheless, like all other governments, founded on
compromises of some abstract truths and of some na-
tural rights.
As government is impressed by its constitution, so
it must necessarily act. This may suffice to explain
the phenomenon complained of. But it is true, also,
that no government ever did altogether act out,
purely and for a long period, all the virtues of its
original constitution. Hence it is that we are so
well told by Bolingbroke, that every nation must
perpetually renew its constitution or perish. Hence,
moreover, it is a great excellence of our system, that
sovereignty resides, not in Congress and the presi-
dent, nor yet in the governments of the states, but
in the people of the United States. If the sovereign
be just and firm and uncorrupted, the governments
can always be brought back from any aberrations,
and even the constitutions themselves, if in any de-
gree imperfect, can be amended. This great idea of
the sovereignty of the people over their government
glimmers in the British system, while it fills our own
with a broad and glowing light.
Let not your king and parliament in one,
Much less apart, mistake themselves for that
"Which is most worthy to be thought upon,
Nor think they are essentially the State.
Let them not fancy that the authority
And privileges on them bestowed,
Conferred, are to set up a majesty,
Or a power or a glory of their own :
But let them know it was for a deeper life
Which they but represent;
That there s on earth a yet auguster thing,
Veiled though it be, than parliament or king.
Gentlemen, you are devoted to the pursuit of
knowledge in order that you may impart it to the
state. What Fenelon was to France, you may be to
your country. Before you teach, let me enjoin upon
you to study well the capacity and the disposition
of the American people. I have tried to prove to
you only that while they inherit the imperfections
of humanity they are yet youthful, apt, vigorous, and
virtuous, and therefore, that they are worthy, and
will make noble uses of your best instructions.
■WILLIAM H FURITESS.
William LTenry Fup.xess was graduated at Har-
vard College in 1820; studied theology, and soon
after liis ordination in 1823, became the minister
of a Unitarian church in Philadelphia. He pub-
lished in 1836 a volume on the Four Gusjiels,
which he expanded into a large work in 1838,
entitled Jesus and His Biographers. He is also
the author of A Life of Christ ; a manual of Do-
mestic Worship and Family Prayer Book ; and
a number of published discourses, lectures, ad-
dresses, and contributions to reviews and other
periodicals.
Dr. Furness has translated Schiller's "Song of
the Bell," and a number of other German poems,
with great beauty and fidelity. A portion of
these have been collected in a small volume with
the title, Song of the Bell, and Other Poems. He
is also the author of several hymns included in
the collection in use by his denomination.
His theological position is somewhat peculiar
and quite conspicuous, even in a denomination so
strongly marked by individualities as his own. He
accepts for the most part the miraculous facts of
the New Testament, yet accounts for them by
the moral and spiritual forces resulting from the
pre-eminent character of the Saviour, who, in his
view, is an exalted form of humanity.
As a preacher, Dr. Furness has great power,
and his sermons, of which he has a volume in
press, are remarkable for the union of speculation
and feeling.
HTSTN.
What is this ? and wdiither, whence,
This consuming secret sense,
Longing for its rest and food,
In some hidden, untried good ?
Naught that charms the ear or eyo
Can its hunger satisfy ;
Active, restless, it would pierce
Through the outward universe.
Tis the soul, mysterious name !
God it seeks, from God it came ;
While I muse, I feel the fire,
Burning on, and mounting higher.
Onward, upward, to thy throne,
0 thou Infinite, unknown,
Still it presseth, till it see
Thee in all, and all in thee.
I feel within a want
For ever burning there;
COLLEGE OF CHARLESTON, a C. ; SOUTH CAROLINA COLLEGE, COLUMBIA
329
What. I so thirst for, grant,
0 Thou who hearest prayer!
This is the thing I crave,
A likeness to thy Son;
This would I rather have
Than call the world my own.
'Tis my most fervent prayer;
Be it more fervent still,
Be it my highest care.
Be it my settled will.
COLLEGE OF CHARLESTON. S. C— SOUTH CAROLINA
COLLEGE, COLUMBIA.
One of the first liberal institutions of learning
founded in South Carolina was the College of
Charle-ton. It was incorporated hy an Act of the
Legislature in 1786. Several legacies had been
left by citizens of the state, endowing the first
college which might be chartered, and these the
College of Charleston shared in common with two
others which were chartered on the same day.
The Rev. Dr. Robert Smith, afterwards Pro-
testant Episcopal Bishop of the diocese, then the
master of a grammar-school in Charleston, was ap-
pointed the Principal, and in 179 A the first class
graduated with the degree of Bachelor of Arts.
The old barracks of the city were employed as the
college edifice ; and here the studies were con-
tinued until 1825. The institution never having
been separated from the grammar-school, did not
acquire the rank of a college, and in a few years
became merely a private school. In 182!) it was
revived under the superintendence of Bishop Bow-
en, its oldest graduate, by the union of three of
the principal private schools in the city ; and by
means of the liberality of the citizens the old bar-
racks were removed and a more commodious
building erected. Bishop Bowen, havi ng reorgan-
ized the college, retire 1 from its management, and
was succeeded by the Rev. Jasper Adams, D.D.
The grammar-school w is still attached to the col-
lege; and financial difficulties having arisen, the
exercises were suspended in 1835.
In 1837 the charter was amended, the college
ceded its property to the city, which in return
charged itself with its maintenance, and it was re-
organized in 1838, the Rev. William Brantly being
appointed president. Dr. Brantly died in 1845,
and was succeeded by the present incumbent, W.
Peronneau Finley. The faculty consists of a Pre-
sident, and Professors of Moral Sciences, Greek
and Latin, Astronomy and Natural Philosophy,
Mathematics, History and Belles Lettres, and of
Zoology and Palaeontology, with the Curatorship
of the Museum or Cabinet of Natural History
attached.
The, late Elias Horry, Esq., by a donation of
six thousand dollars, founded the Horry Profes-
sorship of Moral Philosophy, which is held ex
officio by the President. In 1848 the citizens
generally, by subscription, endowed a Professor-
ship ot History and Belles Lettres.
To the liberality of the citizens also, at the
suggestion made in 1850, at the session in Charles-
ton of the American Association for the Advance-
ment of Science, the college is indebted for a very
large and valuable Cabinet of Natural History.
Among those who were most forward in contri-
buting to this collection may be mentioned the
names of Messrs. Tuomey, Holmes, Bachman, Au-
dubon, and Agassiz. Dr. L: A. Frampton has
presented his valuable library to the college, and
the munificence of the legislature has supplied the
means of building a suitable house for its reception.
The late Ker Boyce, Esq., bequeathed by his will
the sum of thirty thousand dollars, to be appro-
priated to the support of young men of the Baptist
communion, while attending the course of instruc-
tion in the college. The average number of stu-
dents is from fifty to sixty ; and the curriculum
does not differ materially from that of other col-
leges in the Union.
The Rev. J. W. Miles, eminent as.a clergyman
of the Protestant Episcopal Church in Charleston,
for his scholarship and for his fine philosophical
powers of 7nind, was connected with this institu-
j tion as Professor of the History of Philosophy
; and of Greek Literature. His published addresses
! — a disc6'nr=e before the graduating class in 1851 ;
The Ground if Morals, a discourse on a similar
occasion in 1852; and another, The Student of
Philology, at the close of the same year before the
Literary Societies of the South Carolina College
— exhibit his scholarship, vigor, and originality of
thought and enthusiasm. An elaborate work from
his pen, published by John Russell in Charleston,
Philosophic Theology ; or Ultimate Grounds of
all Religions Belief bused in Reason, established
his reputation as a theologian. The work is a me-
taphysical discussion of points of faith, " spring-
ing from the necessity which the mind of the
writer has felt for rendering to itself a sufficient
1 reason for its convictions respecting religions be-
lief, upon grounds of certainty, beyond the ordi-
nary sphere of controversy." Mr. Miles was the
orator appointed by the joint committee of the
city council and citizens of Charleston on occasion
of the funeral of the Hon. John C. Calhoun. In
his address he presented a philosophical view of
the character and relations of the statesman. He
has also been a contributor to the Southern Quar-
terly Review.
South Carolina College was founded by Act
of Assembly in December, 1801, which declared
\ that the proper education of youth should al-
ways be an object of legislative attention as con-
tributing to the prosperity of society ; and placed
the institution :'n a central position " where all its
youth mav be educated for the good order and
harmony of the whole." A board of trustees was
established which secured to the college the ser-
vices and influence of the first men of the state.
The Governor, Lieutenant-Governor, the Presi-
dent of the Senate and Speaker of the House, and
all the judges and chancellors are trustees ex
officio, and twenty others are elected by the Legis-
lature every four years. The Governor is Presi-
dent of the Board. Lately the Chairmen of the
Committees of both houses on the College and
Education, are made ex officio- members. The full
board is composed of thirty-six, generally of the
most influential men in the state.
The accommodations for students are ample.
A new hall for Commencement and other pur-
poses has been lately added to the buildings, at an
expense of about thirty-five thousand dollars. It
is of the Corinthian order, of large dimensions,
being one hundred and thirty feet in length, sixty-
eight in breadth, and fifty-nine in height. The
330
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
South Carolina Colle
library, though not large, is a very choice one.
There' are now upwards of 20,000 volumes ; and it
contains many rare and costly works. Gen.
Charles Cotesworth Pinckney and Judge Johnson
of the U. S. Court, were members of the commit-
tee who made the fir-t purchase of books when
the College went into operation. They were
procured in London, from the well known book-
seller, Lackington. Many of the finest volumes
belonged to private libraries, and the names of
some of the most distinguished men in England
may be found in them, as former proprietors.
The Legislature annually appropriates two thou-
sand dollars for the purchase of books, and this,
added to the tuition fund, would constitute a very
liberal allowance ; but for some years past the
latter has been exhausted by repairs to which it
is first applicable.
Persons not familiar with South Carolina have
attributed to the influence of Mr. Calhoun that
unanimity and conformity of opinion for which
South Carolina has always been distinguished;
but it is rather to be ascribed to early associa-
tions and influences, and most particularly of late
to the influence which this favorite institution has
had upon the rising generation.
Por the later selections of books for the library
it is much indebted to Dr. Cooper, Professors
Henry, Nott, and Elliott, and President Tbornwell,
but most especially to the late Stephen Elliott, Pro-
fessor Nott, and Professor now Bishop Elliott. A
number of books were ordered by Mr. Stephen
Elliott, and purchased by Mr. Henry Junius Nott,
then in Europe, and afterwards Professor of Belles
Lettres. Since 1836 the sum of $62,374 has
been expended. The collection is rich in costly
foreign works, illustrating the Fine Arts, Anti-
quities, Classical Literature, and the specialities
of science.
Mr. F. W. M'Master is the present librarian.
The general welfare of the College is liberally pro-
vided for by its Endowment and thestate appropri-
ation. The President and seven professors are all
furnished with comfortable residences. The salary
of the President is three thousand dollars, payable
quarterly in advance, and that of the Professors
twenty-five hundred, payable in the same manner,
go.
from the public treasury. In 1845 the Comptrol-
ler-General reports the whole amount of expendi-
ture by the state, on the College, up to that date,
at$698,679 23. The annual appropriation amounts
at present to $24,600. For many years the state
has also appropriated $37,000 for free schools, and
at the last meeting of the Legislature (Dec. 1854)
it was increased to $74,600, besides some $3,000
for two military schools. No appropriation asked
by the Board of Trustees has ever been refused.
Of course great discretion and wisdom have been
exercised in all cases where applications have been
made.
The Presidents of the College have been —
Jonathan Maxcy, 1804 to 1820; "Stephen Elliott,
1820, declined to accept; Thomas Cooper, 1820,
pro tern.; Thomas Cooper, 1821 to 1834; Robert
Henry, 1834, pro tern. ; Robert W. Barnwell,
1835 to 1843 ; Robert Henrv, 1843 to 1845 ;
Wm. C.Preston, 1845 to 1851; Jas. H. Thornwell,
1851 to 1855.
The first President, Dr. Ma^cy. has the honor
of having discharged that office with efficiency
in three colleges. He was born in Attleborough,
Mass., Sept. 2, 1768: was educated at Brown
University, where in 1787, on taking his degree,
he delivered a poem on the Prospects of America.
He was then tutor in the College for four years.
Having qualified himself for the ministry, in 1791
he was ordained pastor of the First Baptist Church
at Providence, and the same day Professor of
Divinity in the University. On the death of
President Manning, in 1792, he was chosen his
successor at the early age of twenty-four. He
delivered at this time several discourses, which
were published ; a Sermon on the Death of Man-
ning, Discourses on the Existence and Attributes
of God and on the Doctrine of the Atonement.
In 1802 he was called to succeed President
Jonathan Edwards, at Union, where he remained
till 1804. The rest of his life was passed as
the head of the College at Columbia. He died
June 4, 1820. His high personal qualities and
virtues in his office were thus commemorated in
1854, in an oration by the Hon. James L. Pet-
tigru, on the Semi-Centennial celebration of the
College.
SOUTH CAROLINA COLLEGE, COLUMBIA.
331
Jonathan Mnxey exerted no little influence on the
character of the youth of his Jay ; and his name is
never to be mentioned by his disciples without reve-
rence. He had many eminent qualifications for his
office. His genius was aesthetic ; persuasion flowed
from his lips; and his eloquence diffused over every
subject the bright hues of a warm imagination. He
was deeply imbued with classical learning, and the
philosophy of the human mind divided his heart
with the love of polite literature. With profound
piety, he was free from the slightest taint of bigotry
or narrowness. Early in life lie had entered into
the ministry, under sectarian banners; but though
he never resiled from the creed which he had
adopted — so Catholic was his spirit— so genial his
soul to the inspirations of faith, hop'1, and charity —
that whether in the chair or the pulpit, he never
seemed to us less than an Apostolic teacher. Never
will the ch:irm of his eloquence be erased from the
memory on which its impression lias once been made.
His elocution was equally winning and peculiar.
He spoke in the most deliberate manner ; his voice
was clear and gentle ; his action composed and
quiet; yet no man had such command over the
noisy sallies of youth. His presence quelled every
disorder. The most riotous offender shrank from
the reproof of that pale brow and intellectual eye.
The reverence that attended him stilled the progress
of disaffection ; and to him belonged the rare power
— exercised in the face of wondering Europe by
Lamartine — of quelling by persuasion, the spirit of
revolt.
Thomas Cooper, one of the most active spirits
sent over by the old world to establish themselves
in the politics of the new, was born in London,
October 22^ 1759. Having been educated at Ox-
ford, become a proficient in chemistry, and ac-
quired a knowledge of the law and medicine,
he brought these acquisitions to America, joining
his friend, Dr. Priestley,* at Northumberland,
* Priestley, the son of a cloth-dresser near Leeds, whose scien-
tific discoveries in England had stamped him as one of the first
chemists of the age, and whose religions and political princi-
ples,.as a Unitarian and advocate of the French Revolution,
had rendered him the object of popular persecution (bis house
and library in Birmingham were burnt by the mob In 1791),
came to America, whither his sons had already emigrated in
1704. He arrived in New York on the fourth of June of that
year, and was received with great attention by the citizens,
who, not. long after, proposed a subscription of a thousand dol-
lars for a course of lectures on Experimental Philosophy, if he
would deliver them. In July lit; went to Northumberland in
Pennsylvania, where his son had an agricultural settlement.
He soon established himself Id his old habits, constructing: a
library, writing books as rapidly as usual, and resuming his
chemical experiments. He was offered the Professorship of
Chemistry in the University of Pennsylvania, with a good sa-
lary, and declined the appointment, preferring his own dispo-
sition of his time in retirement. Ho delivered two courses of
public lectures, howev r, at Philadelphia in 1796 and 1797, on
the Evidences of Revelation, which he published In two vo-
lumes, the first of which he dedicated to John Adams, who was
then his hearer and admirer. His GonttnuaMon of Ike History
of Vie Christian 0 tarch, from the fall of 'h<i Western Empire
to the present tim >.v, was written in America and published at
Northampton in four volumes in 1503. It was dedicated to
Jefferson. He also wrote in t hi- country in reply to Yolney's
and Paint's attacks upon Revelation, and in addition to the
Linn controversy, a number of miscellaneous theological pro-
ductions, with a Comparison of the restitutes of Motes -with
those of the Hindoos and other omdent nations. On American
politics Priestley found himself not altogether free from his old
English difficulties, as his sympathy for France brought him in
collision with the Federal party; though hi.s latter days were
soothed by the ascendency of his Mend and correspondent Jef-
ferson. In 1774, at Franklins request, he had written an ad-
dress to the people of England on the American disputes, calcu-
lated to show the injustice and impolicy of a war with the colo-
nies. It was written by Priestley at Leeds, and Franklin cor-
rected the proofs for him at London. His MawimsoJ Political
Arilhmi'tl- by a Quaker in Politics, first published in the Au-
rora, February 26 and 27, 1798, contain in a very neat essay
having been driven from England by the part
which he took in reference to French politics, in
becoming the agent of an English democratic club
to a revolutionary club in France, and issuing a
pamphlet in reply to an attack on him by Burke,
which was threatened with prosecution. In the
United States he became a Jeffersonian politician,
and attacking Adams in a newspaper communica-
tion, which he published in the Pennsylvania
Reading Weekly Advertiser of October 26, 1799,
was tried for a libel under the sedition law in
1800, and sentenced to six months' imprisonment
and a tine of four hundred dollars.* .
The Democratic party coming into power Go-
vernor M'Kean appointed Cooper, in 1806, Pre-
sident Judge of one of the Pennsylvania Common
Pleas districts, an office which he tilled with
energy, but from which he was removed in 1811
by Governor Snyder at the request of the Legisla-
ture, on representations chiefly of an overbearing
temper. He became Professor of Chemistry in
Dickinson College at Carlisle, and subsequently,
in 1816, held a professorship of Mineralogy and
Chemistry in the University of Pennsylvania, and
shortly after, in 1819, became at first Professor of
Chemistry, then, in 1S20, President of the South
Carolina College. He also discharged the duties
of Professor of Chemistry and Political Economy.
Retiring from this post on account of age in 1834,
he was employed by the Legislature of South
Carolina in revising the statutes of the state. "He
died May 11, 1840:
Of his writings we may mention a volume of
statistics entitled Information respecting America,,
published in London in 1794; a collection of Po-
litical Essays in 1800, contributed to the North-
umberland Gazette in Pennsylvania, which he
" conducted for a short time to enable the printer
of that paper to proceed more expeditiously with
a work of Dr. Priestley's then in the press ;rt a
translation of" The Institutes of Justinian, which
some admirable suggestions on free trade and national honor.
He communicated his scientific papers to the Medical Reposi-
tory of New York. The entire number of his publications
reaehes one hundred and forty-one. An edition of his works has
been published in England in twenty-five volumes, edited by
Towelyitutt His Memoir* indicate the philosophical serenity
of his character. They touch lightly upon his American period,
as they close with the year 17!)5; but the continuation by Ins
son Joseph Priestley contains many interesting notices of his
residence at Northumberland, particularly a simple and affect-
ing account of his death, which he met with great tranquillity
at that place, February 6th, 1804, in his seventy-second
year. A candid and discriminating account of his career has
been written by Lord Brougham in his "Lives of Men of Let-
ters and Science, who flourished in the time of George III.!'
An anecdote given by Brougham is highly characteristic of
Priestley's manners, and of his position in the religious world
of America into which he was introduced. " He happened to
visit a friend whose wife received him in her husband's ab-
sence, but feared to name him before a Calvinistic divine pre-
sent. By accident his name wa« mentioned, and the lady then
introduced hirn. But he of the Genevan school drew back,
saying. lDr. Joseph Priestley T and then added in the American
tongue, (query, what does Lord Brougham mean by the Ame-
rican tongue ? the Choctaw ?) ' I cannot be cordial.' "Where-
upon the Doctor, with his usual placid demeanor, said that he
and the lady might be allowed to converse until their host
should return. By degrees the. conversation became general;
the repudialor was won over by curiosity first, then by grati-
fication ; he remained till a late hour banging upon Priestley's
lips; he took his departure at length, and told lit- host as "he
quitted the hou^e, that never had he passed so delightful an
evening ; though he admitted that be had begun it '%y behav-
ing tike a fool and a brnte.' One such anecdote (and there are
many current) is of more force to describe its subject than a
hundred labored panegyrics.'1
• Wharton's State Trials of the United States, pp. 659-681.
t Preface to Second Edition. Philadelphia. 1600.
332
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
appeared in Philadelphia in 1812; his Medical
Jurisprudence in 1819. He was engaged in the
publication of a magazine of scientific information,
The Emporium of Arts and Sciences, five volumes
of which appeared in Philadelphia from 1812 to
1814. Two of these were prepared by Dr. John
Redman Coxe, the remainder by Dr. Cooper.
In 1826 he published at Columbia, South Ca-
rolina, his Lectures on the Elements of Political
Economy. They were written as a class-book for
his students, hut are strongly impressed with his
manly utterance of opinions for all readers. His
advocacy of free trade at home and abroad, in
foreign and domestic regulations, of trade and
government, is urged in his bold, dogmatic style,
with constant effect. His miscellaneous writings
on law and medicine were numerous. In politics
he always held a forcible pen. He was a vigor-
ous pamphleteer in the nullification contest in
South Carolina, taking the side of the ultra states
rights doctrine.
Of his conversational powers, which were re-
markable from the natural strength of his percep-
tion, his controverdal taste, his knowledge of
distinguished men, and his wide personal experi-
ence of memorable affairs, we are enabled to pre-
sent something more than this general recognition
in a few passages of his table-talk, copied for
us by his friend and intimate, the late Colonel D.
J. M'Cord, who entered them at the time in his
note-book. Though the date is not given, the
period is that of Dr. Cooper's last years at
Columbia.
MEMORANDA OF TABLE-TALK OF JTTDGE COOPER.
Sunday, 26. When I was going over to Paris with
Watt during the French Revolution, being both
members of the club at Manchester, we had letters
from the club to Robespierre, Petion, and other mem-
bers of the Jaeobine clubs of Paris. I called on
Petion and told him my business, and that I wished
to be introduced to Robespierre. Petion was a
clever fellow, and more like an Englishman than
any Frenchman I have ever seen. Good, candid
fellow, on whom you might rely. He took me to
Robespierre's. We passed through a carpenter's shop,
and went up a ladder to the place occupied by Robes-
pierre. He was dressed up. A complete petit
rnaitre, a dandy. A little pale man, with dark hair.
He received me well. I told him that I had written
an address to deliver to the club, and requested him
to deliver it for me, as I spoke French badly. He
said he would. I wrote the address, and Watt trans-
lated it into French. We went to the club (he men-
tioned which, but it has escaped me), and he with
others sat under the canopy (I think he said) where
the president sits. He mentioned who presided.
After a while a loud noise was made, and a call for
Citizen Cooper (Citoyen Gouappi) and Watt, and for
the address of Citoyen Gouappi' which had been
formally announced. I requested Robespierre to
take it and read it as lie had promised. He declined,
and I insisted, until he refused positively, when the
noise increasing, I told him — " Citoyen Robespierre,
vous etes un coquin !" and with that I mounted and
delivered my address, which was well received, and
with considerable noise. After that (which was
before Robespierre commenced his reign of blood),
I kept company principally with the Brissotiaus.
The day after the above affair took place at the
club, several persons told me to take care of myself,
for that Robespierre and his friends had their designs
upon us. Spies were set upon us. We were in-
formed of it, and their names furnished, which he
mentioned. We invited them regularly to dinner,
and the poor devils not being used to drinking wine,
we always got them drunk after dinner. One evening,
at the house of a person whose name I did not
catch, where many Brissotiaus were present, Watt
and I proposed that if they would gather as many
friends as they could and go with us, to support us
at the club, 1 would insult Robespierre before the
whole assembly, and compel him to challei ge us to
fight. We should have broken him up that night.
We did not care for responsibility there, it would
have been all amusement. Such was our excite-
ment, I would as leave have fought him as not I
would have liked it. We might have got h'm off,
but d — n the bit these fellows would agree to join
us. They would not risk it. At last we were de-
nounced by Robespierre, and Watt went off to
Germany, and I returned to England. Now those
four months that I spent in Paris were the most
happy and pleasant of my life. I laughed more
than I ever did before or have since. 1 lived four
years.
It is curious, but I believe the fact from what I saw,
that during the most dreadful times of that Revolu-
tion, during its most bloody period, the people of
Paris enjoyed more aggregate happiness than at any
other period of tlieir lives. Every moment was a
century. When there every enei gy of my mind was
called out, every moment ei gaged. Some important
event unceasingly occurred, and incessantly occupied
the mind. He laughed, and said that after he had left
France he was set up as a candidate for convention,
by some one, in opposition to the Duke of Orleans,
but the duke beat him.
Speaking of the King of France, he was asked if
he could have been saved. Dr. C. Aye ! that he could.
Very easily, 'the Brissotians were anxious to save
him. Petion wrote to Pitt, or communicated through
Marat, and some one else, with the English minister,
and said that if he would furnish £luO,lOO he might
be saved. Pitt refused it. H. could not believe
that Pitt refused unless he considered it as a trick.
P. thought he would have refused it, for the
very reason that he wished the king killed, as his
wish was that France would commit the greatest ex-
cesses, to deter England from following her detestable
example. Mrs. Grant told him that she once dined
in company with Pitt, She always spoke of it with
great enthusiasm. It was an era in her life. Pitt
came to diuuer on an express promise that politics
SOUTH CAROLINA COLLEGE, COLUMBIA.
OOO
should not be introduced, as he was at that time in
bail health. Ho we. 'er, Pitt got in a good humor and
seemed disposed to give them a talk on polities ; arid
reclining back in his chair, with what she called the
vacant stare of genius, gave them a talk of an hour's
length.
Dr. C. speaking of the time he lived at Sunbury,
Northumberland, Pa., he said it was a complete
blank in his life. P. observed that he was then
in hot water. Yes, but I have forgotten nearly
everything in connexion with those matters. It got
me in jail, where I stayed six months (in Philadel-
phia). But I there had good company every day
and night At night I had the best company in
Philadelphia. They all called on me. Everything
that was good was sent to me — wine — claret, Ma-
deira, port, cider — everything came, God knows
how or from where, and cost me nothing. How-
ever, I had to pay $100. Crafts the other day pub-
lished my speech on that occasion. I had no coun-
sel. I advocated my own cause. He was asked if
the Constitutionality of the Alien and Sedition Law
was questioned in the case? No, Chase would not
Buffer it. He then gave us some curious anecdotes
concerning Chase.
Sunday, IB. Speaking of Dr. Johnson. P. called
him a bigot in politics and religion. Dr. C. No!
No ! In a political conversation which I had with
Dr. Johnson lie said, " I believe in no such thing as
the jnre divino of kings. I have no such belief;
but I believe that monarchy is the most conducive
to the happiness and safety of the people of every
nation, and therefore I am a monarchist, but as to
its divine right, that is all stuff. I think every
people have the right to establish such government
as they may think most conducive to their interest
anil happiness."
Boswell, continued Dr. O, was the greatest fool I
ever knew. He was a real idiot. I am sure I have
a right to say so. He came to Lancaster assizes
once when I was there. He took his seat at the bar,
and Park (on insurance), Sir Samuel Romilly, myself,
and perhaps some others, subscribed three guineas
upon a brief, and docketed a feigned issue, and sent
a fellow to employ him. He received the brief and
the three guineas, and when the case was called, he
rose at the bar, to the great amusement of the whole
court, yet he proceeded to open the case, which the
court soon understood, and on some pretence post-
poned the affair. He stayed in the same house with
us. and I think lie said he drank two or three bottles
of port and got drunk.
Burke, he said, he knew very well. He was the
most excessive talker he ever knew, and, at times, very
tiresome. Speaking of the republican clubs in Eng-
land 'luring the French revolution, he said his party
at Manchester made much more noise than any
other in England. Burke denounced Dr. Priestley
and himself (Df. C), one day in the House of Com-
mons. Cooper replied to it in a pamphlet, which
he Jiad, and I have read. A young man, he said,
must lay in a large stock of democracy, if he ex-
pects it to hold out to my age. We laughed, and
told him that lie had given up his democracy as to
England, but not as to America. But lie replied,
that he was now a constitutional democrat. He was
opposed to the many steps taken by the United States
government, as well as the United States courts, to-
wards a consolidated government. He thought none
but freeholders were of right entitled to vote and to
be represented. It might be policy in a nation to
permit others, but all others are mere sojourners, and
have no sueh right. It would be better if a com-
promise could be made between freeholders and
numbers, but that could not be done.
He admitted that there was evil in general suf-
frage, and evil likewise in not suffering it, but it
could not be claimed as a right. P. observed that
Sir James Mackintosh had given up all his French
politics. That he had heard him in a conversation
of some hours, with his feet in the American fashion
against the fire-place, give a character of Burke in
the most elevated and eloquent strains. He said he
had relinquished his notions on the French revolu-
tion, and that he had agreed perfectly with Mr.
Burke, and that he had the most exalted ideas of
his politics, literary taste, and eloquence.
Dr. C. expressed his surprise.
In 1702 he came to America, and he said in Febru-
ary, 1793, he returned to attend his friend Walker's
trial for sedition, at Lancaster. Erskine and himself
took seats at the bar as counsel for Walker. The ease
was tried, and they produced a witness who proved
the perjury of a witness (Dunn), and subornation by
the agents of the ministry. Walker was acquitted,
and on motion of Erskine, Dunn was immediately
committed. He, C, drew up a bill of indictment
against him, and at the next assizes he was con-
victed, and imprisoned. He returned to America in
September.
At Home Tooke's, said the doctor, one day at din-
ner I met Thelwell, the Radical. Walker and he
went up to Home Tooke and told him that they
were surprised to meet Thelwell there, that they
were sure he was a spy from the violent and impru-
dent manner in which he spoke of government.
Home Tooke said that he had not invited him, and
that Thelwell forced himself upon him. Tooke then
turned to Thelwell and said, " You know that some
time since, when it was expected that there would
be a revolution in this country, that you had a list
of gentlemen proscribed, who were first to be cut
o!F, and that I was placed nearly at the top, and
Mr. Cooper soon after." Thelwell never said a
word. He could not deny it. — These radicals, he
said, were great rascals.
February 22. Dr. C. : " Now M., I dine professor
on Sunday, but will not have meat enough to
feed you also. So come after dinner. Mind, I in-
vite you to drink, not to eat." During the evening
he said to me, when you become a member of the
legislature take my advice, conciliate the fools; for
they are always the majority. Be kind to them.
Give them your ideas. Let them use them. Do
their business for them. Write for them. Draw
their bills and resolutions. Make one good speech
during the session, and hold your peace. By that
means you will gain them. Take my advice. Pur-
sue it. It prescribes the course Legare should have
taken, but he chose the opposite. Sense, eloquence,
speeches wont do. You must work into their favor.
March 2. Explained what he meant by saying that
he had not taken in a sufficient stock of democracy.
That it was running into excess in America, and that
it had rendered the people too fond of change, and
that these changes were too often effected by the
ignorant and lower classes.
The Rev. Robert Henby, LL.D., the suc-
cessor of Dr. Cooper in the College Presidency,
was born in Charleston, S. C, on the 6th Decem-
ber, 1792, and received the first rudiments of edu-
cation in that city. He commenced the study of
the Latin language at the early age of six, and
in 1803 was sent by his mother, then a widow,
to the neighborhood of London, where for some
time he remained under the private tuition of
a highly respectable clergyman. In 1811 he
entered the Edinburgh University, and was gra-
334
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
dilated there in 1814, and after a visit and
short residence on the continent, returned to
South Carolina in 1815. For two years he was
minister to the French Huguenot Church of
Charleston, where once a month he preached in
French. In November, 1818. at the suggestion
of Juilge King of Charleston, a highly compe-
tent judge of his merits, Mr. Henry was elected
Professor of Logic and Moral Philosophy in the
South Carolina College, and was afterwards made
Professor of Metaphysics, Moral and Political
Philosophy, and, perhaps, was the first person
who gave lectures in the United States on Free
Trade, and Political Economy generally. In 1834
he was made president of the College, which he
resigned in 1835. At a subsequent period, in
1836, he was induced to accept the appointment
of Professor of Metaphysics and Belles Lettres in
the South Carolina College. In 1840 he was
again appointed President, but in 1843, upon
being relieved from certain duties in the govern-
ment of the college, and allowed to reside with-
out the precincts, accepted the Professorship of
Greek, newly established, and expressly at his
sugge-tion. He still continues to perform these
learned duties.
Mr. Henry, to an intimate acquaintance with
the ancient languages, unites a familiar knowledge
of the modern. He speaks French, German, and
Dutch fluently. His reading is encyclopaedias, and
his memory equal to his reading. His social qua-
lities are eminent, and his conversation delightful
and instructive. "While Dr. Cooper was at his
best, it was rare to meet such charming conversa-
tion as was exhibited at that time at the dinner
tables, and other society at Columbia, in which
Cooper, Preston, Henry, Legare, Nott, Petigru,
Harper, and others were conspicuons, and would
not have appeared to disadvantage in the best
London society, not even alongside of Rogers, or
of Conversation Sharp, with both of whom
Cooper had been specially intimate in his early-
European days.*
It is to be regretted that Mr. Henry's health
has been very feeble for some years past. This
may have rendered his works few in number, in
proportion to his learning and abilities. He has
published, in 1829, Eulogy on Br. M D.' Smith,
late Professor of Chemistry in the South, Caro-
lina College. In 1830, Eulogy on Jonathan
Maxey, late President. A Sermon on duelling, be-
fore the Legislature of South Carolina. In 1847,
two Sermons at the Pinckney Lecture in Charles-
ton. In 1850, A Eulogy on John C. Calhoun.
For the Southern Review, he wrote articles on
Nieovhr'g Roman Eintory, La Jfotte EbuffUe,
Goethe's Wilhelm Meiitcr, and Waterhou&ffi Ju-
nius. Dr. Henry has always been a friend of
free trade, and the constitutional rights of the
states as opposed to a great central power.
The next President of the college, the Hon.
"William ' C. Peeston, was the distinguished
statesman, lawyer, and orator, of South Carolina.
He was born December 27, 1794, at Philadelphia,
while his father was at the National Congress at
that place, as a member from Virginia. His mater-
* In this personal tribute, and in other parts of this article,
we employ the words of the communication of the late D. J.
M'Cord, whose sudden and lamented death occurred while
this work was passing through the press. Ante, p. 249.
nal grandmother was the sister of Patrick Henry.
He was educated at the University of North
Carolina, and studied law in the office of "William
Wirt, at Richmond. From 1816 to 1819 he tra-
velled in Europe, visiting England, France, and
Switzerland, and residing for a while at Edin-
burgh, where he attended with Mr. Legare the
philosophical lectures at the university. In 1821
he was admitted to the practice of the law in Vir-
ginia. He removed the next year to Columbia,
in South Carolina, and soon became engaged in
political life. In 1824 he was elected to the
House of Representatives, and in 1832 to the
Senate of the United States. After ten years'
service in the last position, where he maintained
an eminent rank as an orator, he returned to
the practice of the law in, South Carolina. He
held the Presidency of the College for six years,
imparting to the institution the influence of his
refined scholarship, elegant tastes, and winning
manners. He retired in consequence of ill health,
and has since resided at Columbia.
The Rev. De. James II. Tiioenwell, the suc-
cessor to Mr. Preston, was born in Marlborough
District, South Carolina, in 1811. He was edu-
cated at the South Carolina College, and was
graduated, with the highest distinction in his
class, in December, 1819. He afterwards com-
menced the study of the law, but soon abandoned
it for the church. As a Presbyterian clergyman,
he commenced preaching as minister of Waxsaw
church. At the age of twenty-five he was
elected Professor of Logic and Belles Lettres in
the South Carolina College, the duties of which
he performed with distinction for two years,
but resigned, on being elected pastor of the
Presbyterian church at Columbia, S. C. After
two years' service there, where his reputation
daily* grew, he was induced to accept the Pro-
fessorship of the Evidences of Christianity, and
the position of chaplain, upon the resignation
of those places by Mr. now Bishop Elliott.
Here he remained until May, 1852, when he took
charge of Glebe Street Church, Charleston. Pre-
vious to this removal. Mr. Thornwell had received
very flattering invitations from various Northern
cities, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and St.
Louis, but declined them all.
Upon the resignation of the- Presidency by Mr.
Preston, in December, 1S52, Dr. Thornwell was
elected to succeed him. He returned to Colum-
bia, and has continued to fill the otiice with de-
served distinction and popularity. The number
of students is now about two hundred, and the
college was never in a better condition either as
to education, morals, or manners. To the great
regret of the state generally, the Presbyterian
synod have thought it advisable to demand the
services of Dr. Thornwell for their theological
seminary in Columbia, a call which he has felt it
his duty, under his clerical obligations, to obey.*
* The following is a list of Dr. Thomwell's publications : — I.
A Sermon on the Vanity and Glory of Man, preached Oclober
9, 1S42, in the College Chape!. 2. A Sermon on the Necessity
of the Atonement, preached December. 1S43, in the College
Chapel. 3. Anniments of Romanists Discussed and Refuted
in relation to the Apocryphal Books of the Old Testament,
fiublishcd in New York. Is 45. 4. Discourses on Truth, pub-
ished in New York, 1S35. 5. The following articles have been
contributed to the Southern Presbyterian Review, printed in
Columbia: — 1. The Office of Reason in regard to Revelation.
VoL i. Art. 1. No. L 2. The Christian Pastor. Vol. i No. 8.
ORESTES A. BROWNSON.
335
Dr. Thornwell is familiar with Greek, Roman,
French, German, and other languages and litera-
ture, and is as vigorous and unrelenting in the
pursuit of new studies now, as when he left col-
lege. His popularity with the students, and his
tact in the management of youth, connected with
the high respect generally entertained for him in
the state, must cause his withdrawal to be deeply
felt.
ORESTES A. BROWNSON.
Tnis eminent speculative inquirer, ingenious
thinker, and exponent of various religious opi-
nions in his writings, is a native of Vermont,
where he was horn about the beginning of the
century. In his education he has been what is
usually, though incorrectly, called a self-made
man ; and he must always have been an earnest
one, for we iind him early in life a diligent in-
quirer in the higher walks of religious philosophy.
As the life of Mr. Brownson has been passed in
the pursuits of the thinker and scholar, with little
external incident beyond that involved in his
several changes of opinion, which have carried
him in succession through different associations
and sets of companions, we may cite, as a portion
of his biography, what he has himself chosen to
say on the subject. " Much," he remarks in the
preface to the collection of his Essays, in 1852,
"has been said first and last in the newspapers
as to the frequent changes I have undergone, and
I am usually sneered at as a weathercock in reli-
gion and politics. This seldom disturbs me, for I
happen to know that most of the changes alleged
are purely imaginary. I was born in a Protest-
ant community, of Protestant parents, and was
brought up, so far as I was brought up at all, a
Presbyterian. At the age of twenty-one I passed
from Presbyterianism to what is sometimes called
Liberal Christianity, to which I remained at-
tached, at first under the form of Universalism,
afterwards under that of Unitarianism, till the
age of forty-one, when I had the happiness of
being received into the Catholic Church. Here
is the sum total of my religious changes. I no
doubt experienced difficulties in defending the
doctrines I professed, and I shifted my ground of
defence more than once, but not the doctrines
themselves.
"I was during many years, no doubt, a radical
and a socialist, but both after a fashion of my
own. I held two sets of principles, the one set the
same that I hold now, the other the set I have
rejected. I supposed the two sets could be held
consistently together, that there must be some
Art. 6. S. The Elder Question. Vol. ii. No. 1. Art. 1. 4. Paul's
Preaching at Athens. Vol. ii. No. 4. Art. 1. 5. Thoughts upon
the Priesthood of Christ. Vol. iii. No. 4. Art. 2. 6." Philoso-
phy of Religion (Review of Mor ell). Vol. iii. No. 2. Art. 5.
7. Philosophy of Religion (Review of Morell). Vol. iii. No. 8.
Art. 6. S. Slavery and the Religions lustructi m of the
Colored Population. Vol. iv. No. 1. Art. 6. The substance of
this article was also published as a Sermon on the Rights and
Duties of Masters. 9. Dissertation on Miracles (Matt. xxii. 9).
Vol. iv. No. 4. Art. 2. 10. Validity of Popish Baptism ; a
series of articles commenced in Vol. v. No. 1, and continued
in successive numbers. 11. Report on Slavery. Vol. v. No. 3.
Art. 3. To these may he added a Sermon on the occasion of
the Death of the Hon. J. C. Calhoun, preached in the College
Chapel. April, 1S50, a letter to Governor Manning, on Public
Instruction in South Carolina, 1S53, and a Sermon preached
before the Legislature, December 1S54, against demagogism,
and on the duties of the legislator.
way, though I never pretended to be able to dis-
cover it, of reconciling them with each other.
Fifteen years' trial and experience convinced me
to the contrary, and that I must choose which set
I would retain and which cast off. My natural
tendency was always to conservatism, and demo-
cracy, in the sense I now reject it, I never held.
In politics, I always advocated, as I advocate
now, a limited government indeed, but a strong
and efficient government. Here is the sum total
of my political changes. I never acknowledged
allegiance' to any party. From 1838 to 1843, I
acted with the Democratic party, because during
those years it contended for the public policy I
approved ; since then I have adhered to no party.
No party, as such, ever had any right to count on
me, and most likely none ever will have. I do
not believe in the infallibility of political parties,
and I always did and probably always shall hold
myself free to support the men and measures of
any party, or to oppose them, according to my
own independent convictions of what is or is not
for the common good of my country." To this
comprehensive outline and self-justification of an
active career, we may supply some of the details
as furnished by Mr. Brownsori's publications.
His first work, published in 1836, entitled, New
Views of Christian Society and the Church, was
written while he was minister of an Independent
congregation at Boston, which was called " Tho
Society for Christian Union and Progress." It
was marked by French and German opinions,
which the writer put forward without particular
reference to the religious body of Unitarians to
which he was then attached. At this period Mr.
Brownson was a contributor to the Christian Ex-
aminer. A novel which he published in 1840,
Charles Elwood, or the TnfidA Converted, is an
autobiographic sketch, in which the writer shows
minutely the mental struggle through which he
had passed. The form of fiction is but a thin
covering, and a slight impediment to, if it does
not assist, a purely philosophical essay. It was
about this time that Mr. Brownson commenced
the course of independent periodical literature in
which he has since been engaged. He published
the Boston, Quarterly Review, in five annual
volumes, written from the commencement mostly
by himself, from 1838 to 1842, when lie merged the
work in the Democratic Review at New York,
to which lie became a stated contributor. His
articles "On the Origin and Ground of Govern-
ment," " Democracy," and " Liberty," and similar
topics, proved, however, to be of an unaccommo-
dating character to the supporters of that journal,
and Mr. Brownson withdrew from its pages to
resume his independent Review, in which he
could freely unfold his own sentiments and
opinions without seeking to conciliate or being
controlled by other interests. He then, in
1844, began at Boston the publication of the
journal entitled Brown-ion's Quarterly Review,
which has since been continued without interrup-
tion, having, in 1855, readied a twelfth annual
volume, or a third of the third series. In this,
Mr. Brownson having become a devoted member
of the Papal Church, maintains Ins new views
of Catholicism, in the same fluent, commanding
style, once so well adapted to the energy of
Democracy and the schemes of Socialism.
336
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
A novel, The Spirit Mapper, treating of the
subject of demoniac agency, published in 1854, is
the last of Mr. Brownson's separate publications.
The style of Mr. Brownson is a remarkably feli-
citous one for the discussion of abstract topics ;
full, fluent, easily intelligible, meeting the philo-
sophic requirements of the subject, at the same
time preserving a popular interest, it was well
adapted to enli«t the popular ear. "When em-
ployed in appeals to the laboring classes, and en-
forced by the living energy of the orator, its
triumph was certain. As a vehicle for the specu-
lations of the scholar it still preserves its attrac-
tion to those who delight in mental gladiatorial
exercises, or are curious to note the reconcilia-
tion of the "chartered libertine" in doctrine to
the authoritative voice of the Church.
NATHANAEL DEEEING
Is a native of Portland, Maine, and the son of the
late Mr. James Deering, an esteemed merchant of
the city. He was educated at the Academy at
Exeter and at Cambridge, where he was graduated
at Harvard in 1810. He then studied law in the
office of Chief-justice Whitman at Portland, and
pursued the profession in the northern counties of
his native state. He is now a resident of Port-
land.
Mr. Deering's literary productions are two five
act tragedies — Cara.ba.iset, or the Last of the
Norridgewocks, which was produced at the Port-
land Theatre in 1831, and Bozzaris. His miscel-
laneous writings, including numerous tales of
humor of " Down East" life, have appeared from
time to time in the journals of the day.
THE WEECK OF THE TWO POLLTES.
A Ballad.
'Twas a starless night, with drifting clouds,
And angry heaved the seas ;
Yet a pink-stern craft was under sail,
Her name was the " Two Polleys."
And she was built at Mount Desert,
And what might her cargo be ?
She was for a long time on the Banks,
And while there was very lucky. '''.
But darker and darker grew the night,
And loud did ocean roar;
So they two reefs in the mainsail took,
And one reef in the fore.
The Skipper Bond was at the helm,
Methinks I see him now —
The tobacco juice on his mouth and chin,
And the salt spray on his brow.
The other hand was Isaac Small,
And only one eye had he ;
But that one eye kept a sharp look-out
For breakers under the lee.
All unconcerned was Skipper Bond.
For he was a seaman bold ;
But he buttoned his fearnaught higher up,
And, said he, " "lis getting cold."
" Odd's bloods ! I must the main brace splice,
" So, Isaac, let us quaff —
"And as the wind's a snorter, mind
"And mix it half and half."
The Skipper raised it to Ins lips,
And soon the dipper drained :
A second and a third he took,
Nor of its strength complained.
' Shake out the reefs! haul aft fore sheet!
" I am not the man to flag,
' With a breeze like this, in the ' Two Polleys ' —
" So give her every rag."
Aghast poor Isaac heard the call.
And tremblingly obeyed ;
For he knew full well the Skipper was one
"Who would not begaineayed.
' Isaac, ray lad, now go below,
" And speedily turn in ;
' I'll call you when off Portland Light,
" "We now are off Seguin."
The Skipper was alone on deck —
" Steady, my boys," he cried;
And hardly would the words escape,
"When " steady 'tis," he replied.
'A plague on all our Congress men I
" Light-houses so thick I see —
' Odd's bloods ! on such a darksome night
" They bother exceedingly." '
'Twas a sad mistake ; he saw but one,
And that was not Seguin ;
But the Skipper's brain like the Light revolved
So he lost his reckoning.
And what of her, the "Two Polleys?"
She still did the helm obey ;
Though her gunwales kissed the hissing surge,
And her deck was washed with the spray.
She neared the rocks, and the waves ran high.
But the Skipper heard not their roar ;
His hand was clutched to the well-lashed helm,
But his head was on the floor.
The sun shone out on Richmond's Isle —
But what is that on the strand ?
A broken mast and a tattered sail,
Half buried in the sand.
And there were heaps of old dun fish.
The fruits of many a haul,
But nothing was seen of the old Skipper,
Nor of one-eyed Isaac Small.
Three days had gone when a " homeward bound"
Was entering t'asco Bay ;
And Richmond's Isle bore Nor' Nor' West.
And for that her course she lay.
Yet scarcely three knots did she make.
For it was a cat's-paw breeze ;
And the crew hung idly round her bows,
Watching the porpoises.
But there leans one on the quarter rail.
And a sudden sight he sees
Then floating past — 'tis a smack's pink stern,
And on it — the " Two Polleys."
ALBEET G. GEEEXE,
The author of the popular ballad of •• Old Grimes,"
a poet of cultivation, and an ardent prosecutor of
the historical literature of Rhode Island, is a na-
tive of that state, where he was born at Provi-
dence, February 10, 1802. He is a graduate of
Brown University, a lawyer by profession, and
has for a number of years filled the offices of
Clerk of the Municipal Court of the city of Pro-
vidence, and Clerk of the Common Council.
Mr. Greene's fugitive poems have never been
collected, and a portion of them, of which the
reputation has got abroad, are still in manuscript.
ALBERT G. GREENE.
337
Among these is a quaint comic poem, entitled
The Militia Muster, a remarkable thesaurus of
the Yankee dialect, and of the vulgarisms of New
England. One of the longest of Mr. Greene's
serious poems, a ballad entitled Caaonchet, is
published in Updike's History of the Narraghan-
sett Church.
Mr. Greene has been a curious collector of
American poetry, of which he has a large li-
brary; and it is understood, contemplates a publi-
cation on the subject.
TO TILE WEATHERCOCK ON OITE STEEPLE.
The dawn lias broke, the mora is up.
Another day begun ;
And there thy poised and gilded spear
Is flashing in the sun,
Upon that steep and lofty tower
Where thou thy watch hast kept,
A true and faithful sentinel,
While all around thee slept.
For years upon thee there has poured
The summer's noon-day heat,
And through the long, dark, starless night.
The winter storms have beat ;
And yet thy duty has been done.
By day and night the same.
Still thou hast met and faced the storm.
Whichever way it came.
No chilling blast in wrath has swept
Along the distant heaven.
But thou hast watched its onward course
And instant warning given ;
And when mid-summer's sultry beams
Oppress all living things.
Thou dost foretell each breeze that comes
With health upon its wings.
How oft I've seen, at early dawn.
Or twilight's quiet hour,
The swallows, in their joyous glee,
Come darting round thy tower,
As if, with thee, to hail the sun
And catch its earliest light,
And offer ye the morn's salute,
Or bid ye both — good night.
And when, around thee or above,
No breath of air has stirred,
Thou seem'st to watch the circling flight
Of each free, happy bird,
Till after twittering round thy head
In many a mazy track.
The whole delighted company
Have settled on thy back.
Then, if perchance amidst their mirth.
A gentle breeze hns sprung,
And prompt to mark its first approach.
Thy eager form hath swung,
I've thought I almost heard thee say,
As far aloft they flew —
" Now all away ! — here ends our plav.
For I have work to do V
Men slander thee, my honest friend,
And call thee in their pride,
An emblem of their fickleness,
Thou ever faithful guide.
Each weak, unstable human mind
A " weathercock" they call ;
And thus, unthinkingly, mankind
Abuse thee, one and all.
They have no right to make thy name
A by-word for their deeds :
They change their friends, their principles,
T heir fashions, and their creeds ;
Whilst thou hast ne'er, like them, been known.
Thus causelessly to range ;
But when thou changest sides, canst give
Good reason for the change.
Thou, like some lofty soul, whose course
The thoughtless oft condemn,
Art touched by many airs from heaven
Which never breathe on them, —
And moved by many impulses
Which they do never know,
Who, 'round their earth-bound circles, plod
The dusty paths below.
Through one more dark and cheerless night
Thou well hast kept thy trust,
And now in glory o'er thy head
The morning light has burst.
And unto Earth's true watcher, thus,
When his dark hours have passed,
Will come " the day-spring from on high,"
To cheer his path at last.
Bright symbol of fidelity,
Still may I think of thee ;
And may the lesson thou dost teach
Be never lost on me ; —
But still, in sun-shine or in storm,
Whatever task is mine,
May I be faithful to my trust
As thou hast been to thine.
THE BARON'S LA6T BANQUET.
O'er a low couch the setting sun had thrown its
latest ray,
Where in his last strong agony a dying warrior lay,
The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er
been bent
By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength
had spent.
" They come around me here, and say my days of
life are o'er,
That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band
no more ;
They come, and to my beard they dare tell me now,
that I,
Their own liege lord and master born, — that I, ha!
ha! must die.
And what i< death? I've dared him oft before the
Paynim spear, —
Think ye he's entered at my gate, has come to seek
me here?
I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight
was raging hot, —
I'll try his might— I'll brave his power ; defy, and
fear him not.
Ho ! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the
culverin, —
Bid each retainer arm with speed, — call every vas-
sal in,
Up with my banner on the wall, — the banquet board
prepare ;
Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my
armor there !"
An hundred hands were busy then — the banquet,
forth was spread —
And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a mar-
tial tread.
While from the rich, dark tracery along the vaulted
wall,
Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the
proud old Gothic hall.
338
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAS LITERATURE.
Fast hurrying through the outer gate the mailed re-
tainers poured,
On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged
around the board.
"While at its head, within his dark, carved oaken
chair of state,
Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion,
sate.
" Fill every beaker up, my men, pour forth the
. cheering wine,
There's life and strength in every drop, — thanksgiv-
ing to the vine!
Are ye all there, my vassals true ? — mine eyes are
waxing dim ;
Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet
to the brim.
" You're there, but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each
trusty sword — -
And let me hear your faithful steel clash once
around my board:
I hear it faintly: — Louder yet! — What clogs my
heavy breath ?
Up all, and shout for Rudiger, ' Defiance unto
Death !' "
Bowl rarg to bowl— steel clang to steel — and rose
a deafening cry
That made the torches flare around, and shook the
flags on high : —
" Ho ! cravens, do ye fear him ? — Slaves, traitors !
have ye flown ?
Ho ! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here
alone!
But / defy him :— let him come !" Down rang the
massy cup,
While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing
half way up ;
And with the black and heavy plumes scarce trem-
bling on his head,
There in his dark, carved oaken chair, Old Rudiger
sat, dead.
OLD GEtMES.
Old Grimes is dead ; that good old man
We never shall see more:
He used to wear a long, black coat
All buttoned down before.
His heart was open ns the day.
His feelings all were true;
His hair was some Inclined to grey,
He wore it in a queue.
Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burned;
The laige, round head upon his cane
From ivory was turned.
Kind words he ever hnd for all;
He knew no base design :
His eyes were dark and rather small,
His nose was aquiline.
He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true:
His coat had pocket holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.
Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes
He passed securely o'er,
And never wore a pair of boots
For thirty years or more.
But good old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown ;
He wore a double-breasted vest;
The stripes ran up and down.
He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its deseit;
He had no malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt
His neighbors he did not abuse,
Was sociable and gay ;
He wore large buckles on his shoes,
And changed them every day.
His knowledge, hid from public gaze,
He did not bring to view, —
Nor make a noise, town-meeting days,
As many people do.
His wo: Idly goods he never threw
In trust to fortune's chances;
But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.
Thus undisturbed by anxious cares,
His peaceful moments ran ;
And every body said he was
A fine old gentleman.
EDWARD COATE PIXKJfET,
Tire lyric pcet, was the son of the eminent law-
yer and diplomatist of Maryland, William Pink-
ney, and was born in London, October, 1802,
while his father was minister to the English
Court. At the age of nine he was brought home
with his parents to America, and was educated
at the college at Baltimore. At fourteen he en-
tered the navy as a niidr-hipman, and remained
nine years in the service, during which he
became intimately acquainted with the classic
scenes of the Mediterranean. After the death
of his father in 1822, he resigned his appoint-
ment in the navy, married, and occupied himself
with the law, which he pursued with some
uncertainty.
The small volume of poems, sufficiently large
to preserve his memory with all generous appre-
ciators of true poetry as a writer of exquisite
ta^te and susceptibility, appeared in Baltimore in
1825. It contained Rodt'lpTi, a Fragiueat, which
had previously been printed anonymously for the
author's friends. It is a powerful sketch of a
broken life of passion and remorse, of a husband
slain by the lover of hia wife, of her early death
in a convent, and of the paramour's wanderings
and wild mental anticipations. Though a frag-
ment, wanting in fulness of design and the last
polish of execution, it is a poem of power and
mark. There is an occasional inner music in
the lines, demonstrative of the true poet. The
imagery is happy and original, evidently derived
from objects which the writer had seen in the
impressible youth of his voyages in the navy.
We follow the poem in a few of these similes.
This is the striking opening.
The Summer's heir on land and sea
Had thrown his parting glance,
And Winter taken angrily
His waste inheritance.
The winds in stormy revelry
Sported beneath a frowning sky ;
The chafing waves with hollow roar
Tumbled upon the shaken shore,
And sent their spray in upward shower
To Rodolph's proud ancestral tower.
Whose station from its mural crown
A regal look cast sternly down.
EDWARD COATE PINKNEY.
339
Here are the lady and her lover.
Like rarest porcelain were they,
Moulded of accidental clay :
She, loving, lovely, kind, and fair —
He, wise, and fortunate, and brave —
You'll easily suppose they were
A passionate and radiant pair,
Lighting the scenes else dark and cold,
As the sepulchral lamps of old,
A subterranean cave.
'Tis pity that their loves were vices,
And purchased at such painful prices;
'Tis pity, and Delight deplores
That grief allays her golden stores.
Yet if all chance brought rapture here,
Life would become a ceaseless fear
To le:ive a world then rightly dear.
Two kindred mysteries are bright,*
And cloud-like, in the southern sky ;
A shadow and its sister-light,
Around the pole they float on high,
Linked in a strong though sightless chain,
The types of pleasure and of pain.
The sequel.
There was an age, they tell us, when
Eros and Anteros dwelt with men,
Ere selfishness had backward driven
The wrathful deities to heaven:
Then gods forsook their outshone skies,
For stars mistaking female eyes ;
Woman was true, and man, though free,
Was faithful in idolatry.
No dial needed they to measure
Unsighing being — Time was pleasure,
And lustres, never dimmed by tears,
Were not misnamed from lustrous years.
Alas ! that such a tale must seem
The fiction of a dreaming dream! —
Is it but fable? — has that age
Shone only on the poet's page,
Where earth, a luminous sphere portrayed,
Revolves not both in sun and shade? —
No ! — happy love, too seldom known,
May make it for a while our own.
Yes, although fleeting rapidly,
It so netimes may be ours.
Aid he was gladsome as the bee,|
Which always sleeps in flowers.
Might this endure ? — her husband came
At an untimely tide,
But ere his tongue pronounced her shame,
Slain suddenly, he died.
'Twas whispered by whose hand he fell,
And Rodolph's prosperous loves were gone.
The lady sought a convent-cell,
And lived in penitence alone ;
Thvice blest, that she the waves among
Of ebbing pleasures staid not long,
To watch the sullen tide, and find
- The hideous shapings left behind.
Such, sinking to its slimy bed,
Old Nile upon the antique land,
Where Time's inviolate temples stand,!
Hath ne'er deposited.
Happy, the monster of that Nile,
The vast and vigorous crocodile ;
Hippy, because his dying day
Is unpreceded by decay :
We perish slowly — loss of breath
Only completes our piecemeal death.
* Tin- Magellan clouds.
t The Pyramids.
+ The Florisomnis.
She ceased to smile back on the sun,
Their task the Destinies had done ;
And earth, which gave, resumed the charms,
Whose freshness withered in its arms:
But never walked upon its face,
Nor mouldered in its dull embrace,
A creature fitter to prepare
Sorrow, or 6ocial joy to share :
When her the latter life required,
A vital harmony expired ;
And in that melancholy hour,
Nature displayed its saddest power,
Subtracting from man's darkened eye
Beauties that seemed unmeant to die,
And claiming deeper sympathy
Than even when the wise or brave
Descend into an early grave.
We grieve when morning puts to flight
The pleasant visions of the night;
And surely we shall have good leave,
When a fair woman dies, to grieve.
Whither have fled that shape and gleam
Of thought — the woman, and the uream? —
Whither have fled that inner light,
And benefactress of our sight ? —
A second part describes the visions of Rodolph's
distempered mind. In it occurs this fine passage
on the prophetic sense of fear.
Hearts are prophets still.
What though the fount of Castaly
Not now stains leaves with prophecy?
What though are of another age
Omens and Sybil's boding page ? —
Augurs and oracles resign
Their voices — fear can still divine:
Dreams and hand-writings on the wall
Need not foretell our fortune's fall ;
Domitian in his galleries,*
The soul all hostile advents sees,
As in the mirror-stone;
Like shatlows by a brilliant day
Cast down from falcons on their prey ;
Or watery demons, in strong light,
By haunted waves of fountains old,
Shown indistinctly to the sight
Of the inquisitive and bold.
The mind is capable to show
Thoughts of so dim a feature.
That consciousness can only know
Their presence, not their nature ;
Things which, like fleeting insect-mothers
Supply recording life to others,
And forthwith lose their own.
The remaining poems were brief, consisting of a
short poetical sketch, The Indian's Bride; a Re-
miniscence of Italy ; an Occasional Prologue,
delivered at the Greek Benefit in Baltimore in
1823, and a number of passionate, sensuous songs,
dedicated to love and the fair.
The author did not long survive the publica-
tion of this volume. He died in Baltimore in
1828. An appreciative biographical notice of
him appeared the year previously, from the pen
of the late William Leggett, in the "Old Mirror,''
which speaks warmly of his shorter poems as
" rich in beauties of a peculiar nature, and not
surpassed by productions of a similar character in
the English language." The poem " On Italy,"
Leggett especially admired. He particularly notes
the power of the four lines beginning
* Vide Suetonius.
340
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
The winds are awed, nor dare to breathe aloud ;
.and the beauty of the portrait in " The Indian's
Bride."
Exchanging lustre with the sun,
A part of day she strays —
A glancing, living, human smile,
On nature's face she plays.
The poems of Pinkney were published in a
second edition at Baltimore in 1838, and in 1844
appeared, with a brief introduction by Mr. 1ST. P.
Willis, in the series of the Mirror Library en-
titled " The Kococo."
ICnow'st thou the land which lovers ought to
choose ?
Like blessings there descend the sparkling dews ;
In gleaming streams the crystal rivers run,
The purple vintage clusters in the sun ;
Odors of flowers haunt the balmy breeze,
Rich fruits hang high upon the vernant trees :
And vivid blossoms gem the shady groves,
Where bright-plumed birds discourse their careless
loves.
Beloved ! — speed we from this sullen strand
U'ntil thy light feet press that green shore's yellow
sand.
Look seaward thence, and naught shall meet thine
eye
But fairy isles, like paintings on the sky;
And, flying fast and free before the gale,
The gaudy vessel with its glancing sail;
And waters glittering in the glare of noon,
Or touched with silver by the stars and moon.
Or flecked with broken lines of crimson light
When the far fisher's fire affronts the night.
Lovely as loved ! towards that smiling shore
Bear we our household gods, to fix for evermore.
It looks a dimple on the face of earth,
The seal of beauty, and the shrine of mirth,
Nature is delicate and graceful there,
The place's genius, feminine and fair :
The winds are awed, nor dare to breathe aloud ;
The air seems never to have borne a cloud,
Save where volcanoes send to heaven their curled
And solemn smokes, like altars of the world.
Thrice beautiful! — to that delightful spot
Carry our married hearts, and be all pain forgot.
There Art too shows, when Nature's beauty palls.
Her sculptured marbles, and her pictured walls ;
And there are forms in which they both conspire
To whisper themes that know not how to tire :
The speaking ruins in that gentle clime
Have but been hallowed by the hand of Time,
And each can mutely prompt some thought of
flame —
The meanest stone is not without a name.
Then come, beloved ! — hasten o'er the sea
To build our happy hearth in blooming Italy.
THE INDIAN'S BEIDE.
Why is that graceful female here
With yon red hunter of the deer?
Of gentle mien and shape, she seems
For civil halls designed,
Yet with the stately savage walks
As she were of his kind.
Look on her leafy diadem,
ICnriched with many a floral gem :
Those simple ornaments about
Her candid brow, disclose
The loitering Spring's last violet.
And Summer's earliest rose :
But not a flower lies breathing there.
Sweet as herself, or half so fair.
Exchanging lustre with the sun,
A part of day she strays —
A glancing, living, human smile,
On Nature's face she plays.
Can none instruct me what are these
Companions of the lofty trees ? —
Intent to blend with his her lot,
Fate formed her all that he was not;
And, as by mere unlikeness thoughts
Associate we see,
Their hearts from very difference caught
A perfect sympathy.
The household goddess here to be
Of that one dusky votary, —
She left her pallid countrymen,
An earthling most divine,
And sought in this sequestered wood
A solitary shrine.
Behold them roaming hand in hand,
Like night and sleep, along the land ;
Observe their movements : — he for her
Restrains his active stride,
While she assumes a bolder gait
To ramble at his side ;
Thus, even as the steps they frame,
Their souls fast alter to the same.
The one forsakes ferocity,
And momently grows mild ;
The other tempers more and more
The artful with the wild.
She humanizes him, and he
Educates her to liberty.
Oh, say not they must soon be old,
Their limbs prove faint, their breasts feel cold !
Yet envy I that sylvan pair,
More than my words express,
The singular beauty of their lot,
And seeming happiness.
They have not been reduced to share.
The painful pleasures of despair:
Their sun declines not in the sky,
Nor are their wishes east,
Like shadows of the afternoon,
Repining towards the past :
With naught to dread, or to repent,
The present yields them full content.
In solitude there is no crime ;
Their actions are all free,
And passion lends their way of life
The only dignity ;
And how should they have any cares? —
Whose interest contends with theirs ?
The world, or all they know of it,
Is theirs : — for them the stars are lit ;
For them the earth beneath is green,
The heavens above are bright ;'
For them the moon doth wax and wane,
And decorate the night ;
For them the branches of those trees
Wave music in the vernal breeze ;
For them upon that dancing spray
The free bird sits and sings,
And glittering insects flit about
Upon delighted wings ;
For them that brook, the brakes among,
Murmurs its small and drowsy song ;
For them the many-colored clouds
Their shapes diversify,
And change at once, like smiles and frowns.
The expression of the sky.
BELA BATES EDWARDS.
341
For them, and by them, all is gay,
And fresh and beautiful as they :
The images their minds receive,
Their minds assimilate,
To outward forms imparting thus
The glory of their state.
Could aught be painted otherwise
Than fair, seen through her star-bright eyes ?
He too, because she fills his sight,
Each object falsely sees;
The pleasure that he has in her,
Makes all things seem to please.
And this is love ; — and it is life
They lead, — that Indian and his wife.
A PICTURE-SONG.
How may this little tablet feign the features of a
face,
Which o'er-informs with loveliness its proper share
of space;
Or human hands on ivory enable us to see
The charms that all must wonder at, thou work of
gods, in thee !
But yet, methinks, that sunny smile familiar 6tories
tells,
And I should know those placid eyes, two shaded
crystal wells ;
Nor can my soul the limner's art attesting with a
sigh,
Forget the blood that decked thy cheek, as rosy
clouds the sky.
They could not setnble what thou art, more excel-
lent than fair,
As soft as sleep or pity is, and pure as mountain
air ;
But here are common, earthly hues, to such an
aspect wrought,
That none, save thine, can seem so like the beauti-
ful of thought.
The song I sing, thy likeness like, is painful mimicry
Of something better, which is now a memory to me,
Who have upon life's frozen sea arrived the icy spot,
Where men's magnetic feelings show their guiding
task forgot.
The sportive hopes, that used to chase their shifting
shadows on,
Like children playing in the sun, are gone — for ever
gone ;
And on a careless, sullen peace, my double-fronted
mind,
Like Janus when his gates were shut, looks forward
and behind.
Apollo placed his harp, of old, awhile upon a stone,
Which has resounded since, when struck, a break-
ing harp-string's tone ;
And thus my heart, though wholly now from early
softness free,
If touched, will yield the music yet, it first received
of thee.
SONG.
I need not name thy thrilling name,
Though now I drink to thee, my dear,
Since all sounds shape that magic word,
That fall upon my ear, — Mary;
And silence, with a wakeful voice,
Speaks it in accents loudly free,
As darkness hath a light that shows
Thy gentle face to me, — Mary.
I pledge thee in the grape's pure soul,
AYith scarce one hope, and many fears,
Mixed, were I of a melting mood,
With many bitter tears, — Mary —
I pledge thee, and the empty cup
Emblems this hollow life of mine,
To which, a gone enchantment, thou
No more wilt be the wine, — Mary.
A HEALTH.
I fill this cup to one made up of loveliness alone,
A woman, of her gentle sex the seeming paragon ;
To whom the better elements and kindly stars have
given
A form so fair, that, like the air, 'tis less of earth
than heaven.
Her every tone is music's own, like those of morning
birds,
And something more than melody dwells ever in
her words ;
The coinage of her heart are they, and from her lips
each flows
As one may see the burthened bee forth issue from
the rose.
Affections are as thoughts to her, the measures of
her hours ;
Her feelings have the fragrancy, the freshness of
young flowers ;
And lovely passions, changing oft, so fill her, she
appears
The image of themselves by turns, — the idol of past
years.
Of her bright face one glance will trace a picture
on the brain,
And of her voice in echoing hearts a sound must
long remain ;
But memory such as mine of her so very much en-
dears,
When death is nigh my latest sigh will not be life's
but hers.
I filled this cup to one made up of loveliness alone,
A woman, of her gentle sex, the seeming paragon — '■
Her health ! and would on earth there stood some
more of such a frame,
That life might be all poetry, and weariness a
name.
BELA BATES EDWARDS.
The successor, and previously the associate of
Moses Stuart in his professorship at Andover,
was the Rev. Bela B. Edwards, also prominently
connected with the theological and educational
literature of the country. He was born at South-
ampton, Massachusetts, July 4, 1802. His family
was one of the oldest in the country, boasting " a
long line of godly progenitors," originally spring-
ing from a Welsh stock, which contained among
its descendants the two Jonathan Edwardses and
President Dwight.* Mr. Edwards became a gra-
duate of Amherst in 1824, and was subsequently
for two years, from 1826 to 1828, a tutor in that
college. He had previously, in 1825, entered the
Andover Theological Seminary, where he con-
tinued his studies and was licenced as a preacher
in 1830. Though with many fine qualities in the
pulpit, which his biographer, Professor Parks, has
fondly traced, he lacked the ordinary essentials of
voice and manner for that vocation. The main
energies of his life were to be devoted to the cause
of instruction through the press and the professor's
chair".
While tutor at Amherst he conducted in part a
* At least Mr. Edwards was disposed to maintain this view
of bis genealogy- Memoir by Edwards A. Park, p, 9.
k2
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
weekly journal, the New England Inquirer, and
■was afterwards occasionally employed in superin-
tending the Boston Recorder.
As Assistant Secretary of the American Edu-
cation Society, he conducted, from 1828 to 1842,
the valuable statistical and historical American
Quarterly Register, a herculean work as he
worked upon it, a journal of fidelity and laborious
research in the biography of the pulpit and the
annals of American seats of learning, and gene-
rally all the special educational interests of the
country*
In July, 1833, he established the American
Quarterly Observer, a journal of the order of the
higher reviews ; which, after three volumes were
published, was united in 1835 with the Biblical
Repository, which had been conducted by Pro-
fessor Robinson. Edwards edited the com1 ined
work known as the American Biblical Repository,
until January, 1838.
In 1844 he became engaged in the publication
of the Bibliotheca Sacra and Theological Review
at Andover, which had been established the pre-
vious year at New York by Professor Robinson.
He was employed in the care of this work till
1852. In January, 1851, the Biblical Repository
was united with the Bibliotheca Sacra. " He was
thus," adds Professor Parks, "employed for
twenty-three years in superintending our periodi-
cal literature ; and with the aid of several asso-
ciates, left thirty-one octavo volumes as the monu-
ments of his enterprise and industry in this one-
rous department." Dr. Edwards's own contribu-
tions to these periodicals were criticisms on the
hooks of the day, the discussion of the science of
education, and the cultivation of biblical literature.
Dr. Edwards's Professorship of Hebrew in the
Andover Seminary dated from 1837. In 1848, on
the retirement of Professor Stuart, he was elected
to the chair of Biblical Literature. He had pre-
viously, in 1 846— 47, travelled in Europe, where he
made the study of religious institutions, the uni-
versities, and other liberal objects, subservient to
his professional labors. Professor Parks, with
characteristic animation, has given, in his notice
of this tour, the following pleasing picture of the
inspirations which wait upon the serious Ame-
rican student visiting Europe.*
And when he made the tour of Europe for his
health, lie did not forget his one idea. He revelled
amid the treasures of the Bodleian Library, and the
Royal Library at Paris; he sat as a learner at the
feet of Montgomery, Wordsworth, Chalmers, Mez-
zofanti, Ke.inder, the Geological Society of London,
and the Oriental Society of Germany, and he bore
away from all these scenes new helps for his own
comprehensive science. He had translated a Bio-
graphy of Alelanethon, for the sake, in part, of quali-
fying himself to look upon the towers of Wittem-
berg ; and he could scarcely keep his seat in the
* This periodical was established in lc27 and called the Quar-
terly Journal of the American Education Society. In 1S29 it
took the name of the Quarterly Register and Journal of the
American Education Society. In 1S30 its title became the
Quarterly Register of the American Education Society. From
1881 it was called the American Qoarterly Register. The Rev.
Elias Cornelius was associated with Mr. Edwards in editing
the first and second volumes; the Rev. Dr. Cogswell in editing
the tenth, eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth; and the Rev.
Samuel H. Riddell in editing the fourteenth volume. — Parks's
Memoir, p. 76.
T Memoir, pp. 160-2.
rail-car, when he approached the city consecrated by
the gentle Philip. He measured with his umbrella
the cell of Luther at Erfurt, wrote his own name
with ink from Luther's inkstand, read some of the
notes which the monk had penned in the old Bible,
gazed intently on the spot where the intrepid man
had preached, and thus by the minutest observations
he strove to imbue his mind with the hearty faith of
the Reformer. So he might become the more pro-
found and genial as a teacher. This was a ruling
passion with him. He gleaned illustrations of di-
vine truth, like Alpine flowers, aloi g the borders of
the Mer de Glace, and by the banks of " the troubled
Arve," and at the foot of the Jungfrau. He drew
pencil sketches of the battle-field at Waterloo, of
Kiebuhr's monument at Bonn, and of the t emetery
where he surmised for a moment that perhaps lie had
found the burial-place of John Calvin. With the eye
of a geologist, he investigated the phenomena of the
Swiss glaciers, and with the spirit of a mental phi-
losopher he analysed tiie causes of the impression
made by the Valley of Chamouni. He wrote taste-
ful criticisms on the works of Salvator Rosa, Cor-
reggio, Titian, Murillo, Vandyke, Canova, Thor-
waldsen ; lie trembled before the Transfiguration by
Raphael, and the Last Judgmei t by Michael An-
gelo ; he was refreshed wilh the Italian music, "un-
windii g the very soul of harmony;" he stood en-
tranced before the colonnades and under the dome
of St. Peter's, and on the walls of the Colosseum by
moonlight, and amid the statues of the Vatican by
torchlight, and on the 1 oof of the St. John Lateran
at sunset, " where," he says, " I beheld a prospect
such as probably earth cannot elsewhere furnish ;"
he walked the Appian Way, exclaiming: " Cn this
identical road, — the old pavements now existing in
many places, — on these fields, over these hills, down
the»e rivers and bays, Horace, Virgil, Cicero, Ma-
rius, and other distinguished Romans, walked, or
wandered, or sailed; here, also, apostles and mar-
tyrs once journeyed, or were led to their scene of
suffering; over a part of this very road theie is no
doubt that Paul travelled, when he went bound to
Rome." He wrote sketches of all these scenes; and
in such a. style as proves his intention to regale his
own mind with the remembrance of them, to adorn
his lectures with descriptions of them, to enrich his
commentaries with the images and the suggestions
which his chaste fane}- had drawn from them. But,
alas! all these fragments of thought now sleep, like
the broken statues of the Parthenon; and where is
the power of genius that can restore the full mean-
ing of these lines, and call back their lost charms I
Where is that more than Promethean fire that can
their light relume!
The remaining years of Edwards's life were
spent in the duties of his Profe sprship at Andover,
in which he taught both Greek and Hebrew. To
perfect himself in German he took part in trans-
lating a volume of Selections from German Lite-
rature ; and for a similar object engaged with
President Barnes Scars, of the Newton Theolo-
gical Institution, and Professor Felton of Harvard,
in the preparation of the volume on cla sh-al stu-
dies entitled Essays on Ancient Literature and
Art, with the Biography and Correspondence of
Eminent Fhilologix,
Professor Ed \vard>'s por-
tions of this interesting and stimulating work were
the Essays on the " Study of Greek Literature"
and of " Classical Antiquity," and the chapter on
"the School of Philology in Holland."
* Published by Gould, Kendall, & Lincoln. 1S<8.
WILLIAM LEGGETT.
M2
In 1844 Professor Edwards was associated with
Mr. Samuel II. Taylor in translating the larger
Greek Grammar of Dr. Kuhner, and in 1850 re-
vising that work for a second edition.
While undergoing these toils and duties the
health of the devoted student was broken and
feeble. Symptoms of a pulmonary complaint had
early appeared, and the overworked machine was
now to yield before the labors imposed upon it.
In the fall of 1845 Professor Edwards was com-
pelled to visit Florida for his health, and the fol-
lowing spring, on his return to the north, sailed
immediately for Europe, passing a year among the
scholars and amidst the classic associations of
England and the continent. lie bestowed espe-
cial attention upon the colleges and libraries. In
particular he visited the Red Cross Library in
Oripplegate, London, founded by the Rev. Dr.
Daniel Williams, an English Presbyterian Minister,
who lived from ](544 to 171G. It is a collection
of twenty thousand volumes, chiefly theological.
The sight of this led Professor Edwards to pro-
pose a similar Puritan library to the Congrega-
tionalists of New England, which has been since,
in part, carried out.*
He returned to Andover in May, 1847, resumed
his studies, and while "yielding inch by inch
to his insidious disease, with customary fore-
thought, persisted in accumulating new materials
for new commentaries." lie prepared expositions
of llabakkuk, Job, the Psalms, and the First
Epistle to the Corinthians, and was engaged in
other labors. In the autumn of 1851 he again
visited the South fatally stricken, took up his
residence in Athens, Georgia, and died at that
place April 20, 1852, in the forty-ninth year, of
his age.
An honorable tribute to his memory was paid
the following year in the publication, in Boston,
of two volumes, The Writings of Professor B. B.
Edwards, with a Memoir by Edwards A. Park.
The selection contains sermons preached at An-
dover, and a series of essays, addresses, and lec-
tures, not merely of scholastic but of general inte-
rest. The Memoir is a minute and thoughtful scho-
lar's biography.
WILLIAM LEGGETT.
William Lergett, an able and independent poli-
tical writer, was born in the city of New York in
the summer of 1802. He entered the college at
Georgetown, in the district of Columbia, where
he took a high scholastic rank, but in consequence
of his father's failure in business, was withdrawn
before the completion of his course, and in 1810
accompanied his father and family in their settle-
ment on the then virgin soil of the Illinois prai-
ries. The experience of western pioneer life thus
acquired, was turned to good account in his sub-
sequent literary career.
In 1822 he entered the navy, having obtained
the appointment of midshipman. He resigned
Ids commission in 1820, owing, it is said, to the
har-h conduct of the commander under whom he
sailed, and shortly after published a volume of
verses, written at intervals during his naval ca-
* TMwards's plan and arguments for the work arc published
i.i Professor Parks's Memoir.
reer, entitled Leisure Hours at Sea* The poems
show a ready command of language, a noticeable
youthful facility in versification, and an intensity
of feeling; beyond this they exhibit no peculiar
merit, either of originality or scholarship. A sin-
gle specimen will indicate their quality.
Iraprobe amor, quid non mortalia pectora eogisl
jJSneid, lib. i
The tear which thou upbraidest
Thy falsehood laught to flow;
The misery which thou madest
My cheek hath blighted so:
The charms, alas ! that won me,
I never can forget,
Although thou hast undone me,
I own I love thee yet.
Go, seek th happier maiden
Who lured thy love from me;
My heart witli sorrow laden
Is no more prized by thee :
Repeat the vows you made me,
Say, swear thy love is true ;
Thy faithless vows betrayed me, .
They may betray her too.
But no ! may she ne'er languish
Like me in shame and woe ;
Ne'er ^q\ the throbbing anguish
That I am doomed to know !
The eye that once was beaming
A tale of love for thee,
Is now with sorrow streaming,
For thou art false to me.
He also wrote in the Atlantic Souvenir, one of
the earliest of the American annuals, a prose tale,
Tlie Rifle, in which he portrayed with spirit the.
scenes and incidents of western adventure. This
■! Leisure Hours at Sea; being a few Miscellaneous Poems,
by a Midshipman of the United States Navy —
Hi.; n ij , d k frti',,' nvrrj'.',
'T is pleasant, sure, to see one's work It print ;
A book's a book, although there's nothing ia't.
Byron.
New York : Genrr/e C. Morgan, and Ii. Bliss and E. White.
1S23. lSino. pp. 14S.
344
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
met with such great success, from the novelty of
its subject as well as its excellence of execution,
that it was speedily followed by other tales of sea
as well as land. The whole were subsequently
collected under the title of Tales hy a Country
Schoolmaster.
In 1828 Mr. Leggett married Miss Elmira
Leggett of New Rochelle, and in November of
the same year commenced The Critic, a weekly
literary periodical, in which the reviews, notices
of the drama and the arts, the tales, essays, and
entire contents, with the exception of a few
poems, were from his own pen. Several of the
last numbers were not only entirely written, but
also set in type, and distributed to subscribers by
himself. The editor displayed great ability as
well as versatility, but the work was discontinued
at the end of six months, for want of support,
and united with the Mirror, to which its editor
became a regular contributor.
In the summer of 1829 Leggett became, with
Wm. C. Bryant, one of the editors of the Evening
Post, a position which he retained until Decem-
ber, 1836. It is somewhat singular, that at the
outset he stipulated that he should not be called
upon for articles on political subjects, on which
he had no settled opinions, and for which he had
no taste. Before the year was out, however, adds
his associate, Mr. Bryant, he found himself a zea-
lous Democrat, and took decided ground in favor
of free trade, against the United States Bank,
and all connexion by the federal or state govern-
ments, with similar institutions, contending that
banking, like other business operations, should be
untrammelled by government aid or restriction.
In 1835, during the riots, in which certain aboli-
tion meetings were attacked and dispersed with
violence, he defended the right of liberty of
speech with the same freedom with which he
treated other questions. In October of this year
he was attacked by a severe illness, that inter-
rupted his editorial labors for a twelvemonth,
which, in consequence of the absence in Europe
of his associate, included the entire charge of
the paper. Not long after his recovery he left
tiie Post, which, it appeared after investiga-
tion on Mr. Bryant's return, had suffered in its
finances, on account of his course on the abo-
lition question, and the withdrawal of advertisers
in consequence of the removal, by his order, from
the notices of " houses for sale and to let," of the
small pictorial representation of the article in
question, for the sake of uniformity in the typo-
graphical appearance of the sheet*
He then commenced a weekly paper, with the
characteristic title of The Plaindealer. It was
conducted with his usual ability, in its literary as
well as political departments, and was widely
circulated, but was involved in the failure of its
publisher and discontinued at the expiration of
ten months. Mr. Leggett did not afterwards en-
gage in any new literary project, but passed the
hhort remainder of his life, his health being great-
ly impaired, in retirement at his country place at
New Rochelle, on Long Island Sound, which had
been his home since his marriage.
In May, 1839, he was appointed by Mr. Van
Buren Diplomatic Agent to the Republic of Gua-
* Bryant's History of the Evening Post
temala, an event which gave pleasure to his
friends, not only as a recognition of his public
services, but from their hopes that a residence in
a southern climate would be beneficial to his
health. It was but a few days after, however,
that the public were startled by the announce-
ment of his death, in the midst of his prepara-
tions for departure, from a severe attack of bilious
colic, on the evening of May 29, 1839.
Mr. Bryant has noted the peculiarities of Leg-
gett in his published account of the Evening Post,
and has dedicated a poetical tribute to his me-
mory. In the first he speaks of him as " fond of
study, and delighted to trace principles to their
remotest consequences, whither he was always
willing to follow them. The quality of courage
existed in him almost to excess, and he took a
sort of pleasure in bearding public opinion. Ho
wrote with surprising fluency and often with elo-
quence, took broad views of the questions that
came before him, and possessed the faculty of ra-
pidly arranging the arguments which occurred to
him in clear order, and stating them persua-
sively."
In the following the same pen expresses the
sentiment inspired by these facts : —
IN MEMORY OF "WILLIAM LEGGETT.
The earth may ring, from shore to shore,
With echoes of a glorious name,
But he, whose hiss our tears deplore,
Has left behind him more than fame.
For when the death-frost came to lie
On Leggett's warm and mighty heart,
And quench his bold and friendly eye,
His spirit did not all depart.
The words of fire that from hia pen
Were flung upon the fervid page,
Still move, still shake the hearts of men
Amid a cold and coward age.
( His love of truth, too warm, too strong
For Hope or Fear to chain or chill,
His hate of tyranny and wrong.
Burn in the breasts he kindled still.
A collection of Leggett's political writings, in
two volumes, edited by his friend Mr. Theodore
Sedgwick, was published a few months after.
In person Mr. Leggett was of medium height,
and compactly built, and possessed great powers
of endurance.*
THE MAIN-TRUCK, OR A LEAP FOR LIFE.
Stand still ! How fearful
And dizzy 'lis to east one's eyes so low *
The murmuring surge.
That on til' unnumbered idle pebble? chafes.
Cannot be heard so high : — I'll look no more,
Lest my brain turn, and the deficicn' sight
Topple "down headlong. — &}uilct*jjtar&
Among the many agreeable associates whom my
different cruisings and wanderings have brought me
acquainted with, I can scarcely call to mind a more
pleasant and companionable one than Tom Scupper.
Poor fellow! he is dead and gone now — a victim tc
that code of false honor which has robbed the navy
of too many of its choicest officers. Tom and I were
messmates during a short and delightful cruise, and.
for a good part of the time, we belonged to the same
* Memoir by Theodore Sedgwick in Griswold's Biographical
Annual.
WILLIAM LEGGETT.
315
watch. He was a great haud to spin yarns, which,
to do him justice, he sometimes told tolerably well ;
and many a long mid-watch has his fund of anecdote
and sea stories caused to slip pleasantly away. We
were lying, in the little schooner to which we were
attached, in the open roadstead of Laguyra, at sin-
gle anchor, when Tom told me the story which I am
about to relate, as nearly as I can remember, in his
own words. A vessel from Baltimore had come into
Laguyra that day, and by her I had received letters
fro.n home, in one of which there was a piece of in-
telligence that weighed very heavily on my spirits.
For some minutes after our watch commenced, Tom
and I walked the deck in silence, which was soon,
however, interrupted by my talkative companion,
who, perceiving my depression, and wishing to di-
vert my thoughts, began as follows : —
The last cruise I made in the Mediterranean was
in Old Ironsides, as we used to call our gallant fri-
gate. We had been backing and filling for several
months on the western coast of Africa, from the Ca-
naries down to Messurado, in search of slave-traders ;
and during that time we had some pretty heavy
weather. When we reached the Straits, there was
a spanking wind blowing from about west-south-
west ; so we squared away, and without coming to
at the Rock, made a straight wake for old Mahon,
the general rendezvous and place of refitting for our
squadrons in the Mediterranean. Immediately on
arriving there, we warped in alongside the Arsenal
quay, where we stripped ship to a girtline, broke
out the holds, tiers, and store-rooms, and gave her a
regular-built overhauling from stem to stern. For
a while, everybody was busy, and all seemed bustle
and confusion. Orders and replies, in loud and dis-
similar voices, the shrill pipings of the different boat-
swain's mates, each attending to separate duties, and
the mingled clatter and noise of various kinds of
work, all going on at the same time, gave something
of the stir an<<t animation of a dock-yard to the
usually quiet arsenal of Mahon. The boatswain and
his crew were engaged in fitting a new gang of rig-
ging; the gunner in repairing his breechings and
gun-tackles; the fo'castle-men in* calking; the top-
men in sending down the yards and upper spars;
the holders and waisters in whitewashing and holy-
stoning ; and even the poor marines were kept busy,
like beasts of burden, in carrying breakers of water
on their backs. On the quay, near the ship, the
smoke of the armorer's forge, which had been hoist-
ed out and sent ashore, ascended in a thick black
column through the clear blue sky ; from one of the
neighboring white stone warehouses the sound of
saw and hammer told that the carpenters were at
work : near by, a livelier rattling drew attention to
the cooper, who in the open air was tightening the
water-casks; and not far removed, under a tempo-
rary shed, formed of spare studding-sails and tar-
paulins, sat the sailmaker and his assistants, repair-
ing the sails, which had been rent by the many
storms we had encountered.
Many hands, however, make light work, and in a
very few days all was accomplished ; the stays and
shrouds were set up aid new rattled down; the
yards crossed, the running-rigging rove, and sails
bent; and the old craft, fresh painted and all a-
taunt-o, looked as fine as a midshipman on liberty.
In place of the storm-stumps, which had been stowed
away among the booms and other spare spars, amid-
ships, we had sent up cap to'-gallant-masls and royal-
poles, with a sheave for sky-sails, and hoist enough
for sky-scrapers above them: so you may judge the
old frigate looked pretty taunt. There was a Dutch
line shin in the harbor ; but though we only carried
forty-four to her eighty, her main-truck would hard-
ly have reached to our royal-mast head. The side-
boys, whose duty it was to lay aloft and furl the
skysails, looked no bigger on the yard than a good
sized duff for a midshipman's mess, and the main-
truck seemed not half as large as the Turk's-head
knot on the mauropes of the accommodation ladder.
When we had got everything ship-shape and man-
of-war fashion, we hauled out again, and took our
berth about half-way between the Arsenal and Hos-
pital island; and a pleasant view it gave us of the
town and harbor of old Mahon, one of the safest and
most tranquil places of anchorage in the world.
The water of this beautiful inlet — which, though it
makes about four miles into the land, is not much
over a quarter of a mile in width — is scarcely ever
ruffled by a storm; and on the delightful afternoon
to which I now refer, it lay as still and motionless
as a polished mirror, except when broken into mo-
mentary ripples by the paddles of some passing wa-
terman. What little wind we had in the fore part
of the day, died away at noon ; and, though the first
dog-watch was almost out, and the sun wras near the
horizon, not a breath of air had risen to disturb the
deep serenity of the scene. The Dutch liner, which
lay not far from us, wras so clearly reflected in the
glassy surface of the water, that there was not a
rope about her from her main-stay to her signal-
halliards, which the eye could not distinctly trace
in her shadowy and inverted image. The buoy of
our best bower floated abreast our larboard bow;
and that, too, was so strongly imaged, that its entire
bulk seemed to lie above the water, just resting on
it, as if upborne on a sea of molten lead; except
when now and then, the wringing of a swab, or the
dashing of a bucket overboard from the head, broke
up the shadow for a moment, and showed the sub-
stance but half its former apparent 'ize. A small
polacca craft had got underway from Mahon in the
course of the forenoon, intending to stand over to
Barcelona; but it fell dead calm just' before she
reached the chops of the harbor ; and there she lay
as motionless upon the blue surface, as if she were
only part of a mimic scene, from the pencil of some
accomplished painter. Her broad cotton lateen sails,
as they hung drooping from the slanting and taper
yards, shone with a glistening whiteness that con-
trasted beautifully with the dark flood in which
they were reflected ; and the distant sound of the
guitar, which one of the sailors was listlessly playing
on her deck, came sweetly over the water, and har-
monized well with t.ie quiet appearance of every-
thing around. The whitewashed walls of the laza-
retto, on a verdant headland at the mouth of the bay,
glittered like silver in the slant rays of the sun ; and
some of its windows were burnished so brightly by
the level beams, that it seemed as if the whole inte-
rior of the edifice were in flames. On the opposite
side, the romantic and picturesque ruins of fort St.
Philip, faintly seen, acquired double beauty from
being tipped with the declining light; and the clus-
ters of ancient looking windmills, which dot the
green eminences along the bank, added, by the mo-
tionless state of their wings, to the effect of the un-
broken tranquillity of the scene.
Even on board our vessel, a degree of stillness un-
usual for a man-of-war prevailed among the crew.
It was the hour of their evening meal; and the low
hum that came from the gun-deck had an indistinct
and buzzing sound, which, like the tiny song of bees
of a warm summer noon, rather heightened than
diminished the charm of the surrounding quiet. The
spar-deck was almost deserted. The quarter-master
of the watch, with his spy-glass in his hand, and
dressed in a frock and browsers of snowy whiteness,
stood aft upon the tafferel, erect and motionless as a
316
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
statue, 1;ecpir.g the usual lookout. A group of some
half a dozen sailors had gathered together on the
forecastle, where they were supinely lying under the
shade of the bulwarks; aud here and there, upon
the gun-slides along the gangway, sat three or lour
others — one, with his clothes-bag beside him, over-
hauling his simple wardrobe; another working a
set of clues for some favorite officer's hammock ;
and a third e; gaged, perhaps, in carving his name
in rude letters upon the handle of a jack-knife, or in
knotting a laniard by which to suspend it round his
neck.
On the top of the boom-cover, and in the full
glare of the level sun, lay black Jake, the jig-maker
of the ship, and a striking specimen of African pecu-
liarities, i.i whose single person they- were all strong-
ly developed. His hat nose was dilated to unusual
width, and his ebony cheeks fairly glistened with
delight, as he looked up at the gambols of a large
monkey, which, clinging to the main-stay, just above
Jake's woolly head, was ehatteri. g a;.d grinning
back at the negro, as if there existed some means of
mutual intelligence between them. It was my watch
on deck, a:. d 1 had been standing several minutes lean-
ing on the main flferail, amusing myself by observing
the antics of the black and his co: genial playmate;
but at length, tiring of the rude mirth, had turned
towards the tafferel, to gaze on the more agreeable
features of that scene which I have feebly attempted
to describe. Just at that moment a shout and a
merry laugh burst upon my ear, and looking quickly
rou:.d, to ascertain the cause of the unusual sound
on a frigate's deck, I saw little Eob Stay (as we
called our commodore's son) standing haU-way up
the main-hatch ladder, clapping lis hands, and look-
ing aloft at some object that seemed to i. spire him
with a deal of glee. A single gla.ce to the main-
yard explained the occasion of ids merriment. He
had been comb g up from the gun-dec!;, when Jaeko,
perceivii g him on the ladder, dropped suddenly
down from the main-stay, and runr.i. g along the
boom cover, leaped upon Bob's shoulder, seized his
cap from his head, and immediately darted up the
main-topsail sheet, a»d thence to the bunt of the
main-yard, where he now sat, picking threads from
the tassel of his prize, and occasionally scratchi. g
his side and chattering, as if with exultation for the
success of his mischief. But Bob was a sprightly,
active little fellow ; and though he could not climb
quite as nimbly a; a monkey, yet he had no mind to
lose his cap without a i effort to regain it. Perhaps
he was more strongly incited to make chase after
Jaeko from noticing me to smile at his plight; or by
the loud laugh of Jake, who seemed inexpressibly
delighted at the occurrence, and endeavored to
evince, by tumbling about the boom-cloth, shaking
his huge misshapen head, and sundry other gro-
tesque actions, the pleasure for which he had no
words. '
" Ha, you d d rascal, Jaeko, hab you no more
respee' for de you: g officer, den to steal his cab ?
AVe bring you to de gangway, you b'.aek nigger,
aud gib you a dozen on de bare back fur a tief."
The monkey looked down from his perch as if he
understood the threat of the negro, and chattered a
sort of defiance in answer.
" Ha, ha! Massa Stay, he say you mus' ketch him
'fore you flog him ; and it's no so easy for a midship-
man i.i boots to ketch a monkey barefoot."
A rod spot mounted to the cheek of little Bob, as
he cast one glance of offended pride at Jake, and
then sprang across the deck to the Jacob's ladder. In
an instant lie was half-way up the rigging, running
over the ratlines as lightly as if they were an easy
flight of stairs, whilst the shrouds scarcely quivered
beneath his elastic motion. In a second more his
hand was on the futtoeks.
" Massa Stay !" cried Jake, who sometimes, from
being a favorite, ventured to take liberties with the
younger officers, "Massa Stay, you best crawl
through de lubber's hole — it take a sailor to climb
the futtoek shroud."
But he had scarcely time to utter his pretended
caution before Bob was in the top. The monkey, in
the meanwhile, had awaited his approach, until he
had got nearly up the rigging, when it suddenly put
the cap on its own head, and running along the yard
to the opposite side of the top, sprang up a rope,
and thence to the topmast backstay, up which it ran
to the topmast cross-trees, where it again quietly
seated itself, aud resumed its work of picking the
tassel to pieces. For several minutes I stood watch-
i- g my little messmate follow Jaeko from one piece
of rigging to another, the monkey, all the while,
seemi. g to exert only as much agility as was neces-
sary to elude the pursuer, and pausing. whenever
the latter appeared to be growi. g wea:y of the
chase. At last, by this kind of manoeuvring, the
mischievous animal succeeded in enticing Bob as
high as the royal-mast-head, when springing sud-
denly on the royal stay, it ran nimbly down to the
foretop-gallnnt-inast-head, thence down the rigging
to the iorctop, when leaping on the forcyard, it ran
out to the yard-arm, and hu: g the cap on the end
of the studding-sail boom, where, taki.g its seat, it
raised a loud and exulting chattering. Bob by this
time was completely tired out, and, perhaps, unwill-
ing to return to the deck to be laughed at for his
fruitless chase, he sat down in the royal cross-trees;
while those who had been attracted by the sport,
returned to their usual avocations or amusements.
The monkey, no loi ger the object of pursuit or at-
tention, remained but a little while on the yard-arm ;
but soon tali: g up the cap, returned in towards the
slings, and dropped it down upon deck.
Some little piece of duty occurred at this moment
to e" gage me, as soon as which was performed, I
walked aft, and leaning my elbow on the taiTerel,
was quickly lost in the recollection of scenes very
diil'eront from the small pantomime I had just been
witnessing. Soothed by the low hum of the crew,
and by the quiet loveliness of everything around,
my thoughts had travelled far away from the reali-
ties of my situation, when I was suddenly startled
by a cry from black Jake, which brought me on the
instant back to consciousness. "My God! Massa
Scupper," cried he, " Massa Stay is on de main-
truck !"
A cold shudder ran through my veins as the word
reached my ear. I cast my eyes up — it was too
true ! The adventurous boy. after resti g on the
royal cross-trees, had been seized with a wisli to go
still higher, and, impelled by one of those impulses
by which men are sometimes instigated to place
themselves in situations of imminent peril, without
a possibility of good resultii g from the exposure, he
had climbed the sky-sail pole, and, at the moment
of my looking up, was actually standing on the
main-truck! a small circular piece of wood on the
very summit of the loftiest mast, and at a height so
great from the deck that my brain turned dizzy as
I looked up at him. The reverse of Virgil's line
was true in this instance. It was comparatively
easy to ascend — but to descend — my head swam
round, and my stomach felt sick at thought of the
perils comprised in that one word. There was no-
thi: g above him or around him but the empty air —
and beneath him. nothing but a point, a mere point
— a small, unstable wheel, that seemed no bigger
from the deck than the button ou the end of a foil.
GEORGE P. MORRIS.
347
and the taper sky-sail pole itself scarcely larger than
the bla le. Dreadful temerity ! If he should at-
tempt to stoop, what could he take hold of to steady
his descent? His feet quite covered up the small
and fearful platform that he stood upon, and be-
neath that, a long, smooth, naked spar, which seemed
to bend with his weight, was all that upheld him
from destruction. An attcnpt to get down from
" that bad eminence,1' would be almost certain death ;
he would inevitably lose his equilibrium, and be
precipitated to the deck, a crushed and shapeless
mass. Such was the nature of the thoughts that
crowded through my mind as I first raised my eye,
and saw the terrible truth of Jake's exclamation.
What was to be do.ie in the pressing and horrible
exigency? To hail him, and inform liini of his dan-
ger, would be but to insure his ruin. Indeed, I fan-
cied that the rash boy already perceived the immi-
nence of his peril; and I half thought that I could
see his limbs begin to quiver, and his cheek turn
deadly pale. Every iuo.ue.it I expected to see the
dreadful catastrophe. I could not bear to look at
him, and yet could not withdraw my ga/.e. A film
came over my eyes, and a faint. iess over my heart.
The atmosphere seemed to grow thick, and to trem-
ble and waver like the heated air around a furnace;
the mast appeare 1 to totter, and the ship to pass
from under my feet. I myself had the sensations of
one about to fall from a great height, and making a
strong effort to recover myself, like that of a dreamer
who fancies he is shoved from a precipice, I stag-
gered up against the bulwarks.
When my eyes were once turned from the dread-
ful object to which tney had been riveted, my sense
and consciousness came back. I looked around
me — die deck was already crowded with people.
The iutellige ice of poor Bob's temerity had spread
through the ship like wild-fire — as such news always
will — a. id the officers and crew were all crowding
to the deck to behold the appalling — the heart-
rending spectacle. Every one, as he looked up,
turned pale, and his eye became fastened in silence
on the truck — like that of a spectator of an execu-
tion on the gallows — with a steadfast, unblinking
and intense, yet abhorrent gaze, as if momentarily
expecting a fatal termination to the awful suspense.
No one male a suggestio i — 10 one spoke. Every
feeling, every faculty seemed to be absorbed and
swallowed up in one deep, intense emotion of agony.
Once the first lieutenant seized the trumpet, as if to
hail poor Hob, but he had scarce raised it to his lips,
when his arm dropped again, and sank listlessly
down beside him, as if from a sad consciousness of
the utter inutility of what he had been going to say.
Every soul in the ship was now on the spar-deck,
and every eye was turned to the main-truck.
At this moment there was a stir anion" the crew
about the gangway, and directly after another face
was added to those on the quarter-deck — it was that
of the commodore, Bob's father. He had come along-
side in a shore boat, without having been noticed
by a single eye, so intense and universal was the in-
terest that had fastened every gaze upon the spot
where poor Bob stood trembling on the awful verge
of fate. The commodore asked not a question, ut-
tered not a syllable. He was a dark-faced, austere
man, and it was thought by some of the midshipmen
that he entertained but little affection for his son.
However that might have been, it was certain that
he treated him with precisely the same strict disci-
pline that he did the other young officers, or if there
was any difference at all, it was not in favor of Bob.
Some who pretended to have studied his character
closely, affirmed that he loved his boy too well to
epoil him, and that, intending him for the arduous
profession in which he had himself risen to fame and
eminence, he thought it would be of service to him
to experience some of its privations and hardships
at the outset.
The arrival of the commodore changed the direc-
tion of several eyes, which now turned on him to
trace what emotions the danger of his son would
occasion. But their scrutiny was foiled. By no
outward sign did he show what was passing within.
His eye still retained its severe expression, his brow
the slight frown which it usually wore, and his lip
its haughty curl. Immediately on reaching the
deck, he had ordered a marine to hand him a mus-
ket, and with this stepping aft, and getting on the
lookout-block, he raised it to his shoulder, a.ul took
a deliberate aim at his son, at the same time hailing
him, without a trumpet, in his voice of thunder —
"Robert!" cried he, "jump! jump overboard! or
I'll fire at you !"
The boy seemed to hesitate, and it was plain that
he was tottering, for his arms were thrown out like
those of one scarcely able to retain his balance. The
commodore raised his voice again, and in a quicker
and more energetic tone, cried,
" Jump ! 'tis your only chance for life."
The words were scarcely out of his mouth, before
the body was seen to leave the truck and spring out
into the air. A sound, between a shriek and a groan,
burst from many lips. The father spoke not — sighed
not — i ideed he did not seem to breathe. For a mo-
ment of intense agony a pin might have been heard
to drop on deck. With a rush like that of a cannon
ball, the body descended to the water, and before
the waves closed over it, twenty stout fellows, among
them several officers, had dived from the bulwarks.
Another short pe; iod of bitter suspense ensued. It
rose — he was alive! his arms were seen to movel
he struck out towards the ship! — and despite the
discipline of a man-of-war, three loud huzzas, an out-
burst of unfeigned and unrestrnil .able joy from the
hearts of our crew of five hu :dred men, pealed
through the air, and made the welkin ring. Till this
nionie.it the old commodore had stood unmoved.
The eyes, that glistening with pleasure now sought
his f:ice, saw that it was ash}' pale. He attempted
to descend the horse-block, but his knees bent under
him; he seemed to gasp for breath, and put up his
hand, as if to tear open his vest ; but before he ac-
complished his object, he staggered forward, and
would have fallen on the deck, had he not been
caught by old black Jake. He was borne into his
cabin, where the surgeon attended him, whose ut-
most skill was required to restore his mind to its
usual equability and self-command, in which he at
last happily succeeded. As soon as he recovered
from the dreadful shock, he sent for Bob, and had a
long confidential conference with him ; and it was
noticed, when the little fellow left the cabin, that
he- was in tears. The next day we sent down our
taunt and dasliy poles, and replaced them with the
stump-to'-gallaut-masts ; and o i the third, we weigh-
ed anchor, and made sail for Gibraltar.
GEOEGE P. MORRIS
Was born in Philadelphia in 1802. He camo
early in life to New York, and formed an asso-
ciation with the late Samuel Woodwnrth, with
whom he commenced the publication of the Mir-
ror in 1823.
Mr. Morris conducted this journal with distin-
guished success till the completion of its twentieth
volume in 1842, when its publication was inter-
rupted by the universally spread financial disasters
of the times. Lmring this period it was the
348
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
representative of the best literary, dramatic, and
artistic interests of the day, having among its
contributors, Bryant, Halleck, Paulding, Leggett,
Hoffman, and numerous other writers of distinc-
tion, while Theodore S. Fay, Nathaniel P. Willis,
"William Cos, Epes Sargent, were more especially
identified with its pages. It was, during the
period for which it was published, one of the
literary " institutions " of the country. In 184-3
the periodical was revived, with the title The
New Mirror, three volumes of which were pub-
lished in the royal octavo form. Mr. "Willis was
again associated in the editorship with Mr. Mor-
ris, contributing some of his best sketches, while
the earlier numbers were weekly illustrated by
the pencil of the artist J. G. Chapman. The
publication was successful, but an interpretation
of the postage laws interfering with its circula-
tion, Messrs. Morris and Willis projected a new
enterprise in the Evening Mirror, a daily paper
at New York, which was commenced in the
autumn of 1844. The present editor of this
journal, Mr. Hiram Fuller, soon became associat-
ed in this undertaking, which was conducted for
more than two years by the three associates.
At the close of 1845, Mr. Morris commenced
alone a new weekly, The National Press. It
was carried on by him for nearly a year, when
his former literary partner, Mr. Willis, became
associated in the paper, the title of which was
then changed to the Home Journal. Under the
joint editorship it soon became firmly e-tablished,
and a general favorite as a popular newspaper of
the fashionable and belles-lettres interests of the
day*
"We have thus presented in an uninterrupted
* The first number of the New York Mirror and Ladies'
Literary Gazette, was published in New York. Aug- 2, 1S23; the
last appeared Dec. 31, 1842. The "New Mirror" was published
weekly, from April 8, 1S43. t.. Sept. 25. 1844- The first num-
ber of the Evening Mirror app ared Oct. 7, 1844. The National
Press became the Home Journal, with its forty-first number,
Nov. 21, 1846.
view Mr. Morris's series of newspaper enterprises,
extending over a period of thirty years. The
uniform success with which they have been at-
tended is due to his editorial tact and judgment;
his shrewd sense of the public requirements ; and
his provision for the more refined and perma-
nently acceptable departments of literature. Good
taste and delicacy have always presided over the
journals conducted by Mr. Morris. The old Mir-
ror was liberally connected with the arts of de-
sign, supplying a series of national portraits and
views of scenery from originals by Leslie, Inman,
Cole, Weir, engraved by Durand, Smillic, Casilear,
and others, which have not since been surpassed
in their department of illustration.
One of the earliest productions of Mr. Morris
wti his drama of Brier Cliff, which was produced
at the Chatham Theatre, New York, in 1837,
and acted for forty nights. It was constructed
on incidents of the American Revolution. This
remains unpublished. In 1842, he wrote the
libretto of an opera, The Maid of Saxony, which
was set to music by Mr. C. E. Horn, and per-
formed for fourteen nights at the Park Theatre.
The songs of Mr. Morris have been produced at
intervals during the whole term of his literary
career. They have been successfully set to music,
and popularly sung on both sides of the Atlantic.
The themes include most varieties of situation,
presenting the love ballad, the patriotic song, the
expression of patriotism, of friendship, and nume-
rous occasioned topics.
There have been several editions of the songs
and ballads — from the press of Appleton, in 1840,
with illustrations by Weir and Chapman ; a minia-
ture volume by Paine and Burgess, in 1846 ; and
a costly illustrated octavo, The DeserUd Bride,
and oher productions, from the press of Scribner,
in 1853, accompanied by engravings from designs
by Mr. Weir, who has also illustrated each stanza
of the poem, The Whip-poor-will, in an earlier
edition, printed from steel.
A collection of specimens of the Song Writers
of America, of National Melodies, a joint com-
position with Mr. Willis of the Prose and Poetry
of Europe and America, with a volume of prose
sketches, The Little Frenchman and his Water
Lots, in 1838, illustrated by the comic designer
GEORGE P. MORRIS.
U9
Johnston, complete the list of Mr. Morris's publi-
cations.
THE WDIP-POOn-WTLL.
The plaint of the wailing Whip-poor-will,
"Who mourns unseen and ceaseless sings
Ever a note of wail and woe,
Till morning spreads hor rosy wings,
And earth and sky in her glances glow.
J. E. Deake.
Why dost thou come at set of sun,
Those pensive words to say ?
Why whip poor Will? — What has he done —
And who is Will, I pray ?
Why come from yon leaf-shaded hill,
A suppliant at my door ? —
Why ask of me to whip poor Willi
And is Will really poor?
If poverty's his crime, let mirth
From out his heart be driven ;
That is the deadliest sin on earth,
And never is forgiven ?
Art Will himself? — It must be so —
I learn it from thy moan,
For none can feel another's tree
As deeply as his own.
Yet wherefore strain thy tiny throat,
While other birds repose I
What means thy melancholy note?—
The mystery disclose ?
Still " Whip poor Will !" — Art thou a sprite,
From unknown regions sent,
To wander in the gloom of night,
And ask for punishment?
Is thine a conscience sore beset
With guilt ? — or, whnt is worse,
Hast thou to meet writs, duns, and debt-
No money in thy purse?
If this be thy hard fate indeed,
Ah! well mayst thou repine;
The sympathy I give, I need —
The poet's doom is thine 1
Art thou a lover, Will ? — Hast proved
The fairest can deceive?
Thine is the lot of all who've loved
Since Adam wedded Eve !
Hast trusted in a friend, and seen
No friend was he in need I
A common error — men still lean
Upon as frail a reed.
Hast thou, in seeking wealth or fame,
A crown of brambles won ?
O'er all the earth 'tis just the same
With every mother's son !
nast found the world a Babel wide,
Where man to Mammon stoops?
Where flourish Arrogance and Pride,
While modest merit droops ?
What, none of these? — Then, whence thy pain?
To guess it who's the skill ?
Pray have the kindness to explain
Why I should whip poor Will?
Dost merely ask thy just desert?
What, not another word? —
Back to the woods again, unhurt —
I will not harm thee, bird!
But use thee kindly — for my nerves,
Like thine, have penance done,
' Use every man as he deserves
Who shall 'scape whipping?" — none!
Farewell, poor Will ! — not valueless
This lesson by thee given ;
'Keep thine own counsel, and confess
Thyself alone to Heaven 1"
WOODMAN, SPARE THAT THEE.
Woodman, spare that tree !
Touch not a single bough !
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot :
There, woodman, let it stand.
Thy axe shall harm it not !
That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er laud and sea,
And wouldst thou hew it down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh, spare that aged oak,
Now towering to the skies !
When but an idle boy
I sought its grateful shade ;
In all their gushing joy
Here too my sisters played.
My mother kissed me here ;
My father pressed my hand —
Forgive this foolish tear,
But let that old oak stand!
My heart-strings round thee cling,
Close as thy bark, old friend!
Here shall the wild-bird sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree! the storm still brave I
And, woodman, leave the spot :
While I've a hand to save,
Thy axe shall harm it uot.
IM WITn YOU ONCE AGAIN.
I'm with you once again, my friends,
No more my footsteps roam ;
Where it began my journey ends,
Amid the scenes of home.
No other clime has skies so blue,
Or streams so broad and clear,
And where are hearts so warm and true
As those that meet me here ?
Since last, with spirits wild and free,
I pressed my native strand,
I've wandered many miles at sea,
And many miles on land ;
I've seen fair realms of the earth,
By rude commotion torn,
Which taught me how to prize the worth
Of that where I was born.
In other countries when I heard
The language of my own,
How fondly each familiar word
Awoke an answeringtone!
But when our woodland songs were sung
Upon a foreign mart,
The vows that faltered on the tongue
With rapture thrilled the heart
350
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
My native land I I turn to you.
With blessing and with prayer,
Where man is brave and woman true
And free as mountain air.
Long may our flag in triumph wave,
Against the wurld combined,
And friends a welcome — foes a grave,
Within our borders find.
A LEGEND OF TIIE MOHAWK.
In the days that are gone, by this sweet flowing
water,
Two lovers reclined in the shade of a tree,*-
Bhe was the mountain-king's rosy-lipped daughter,
The brave warrior-chief of the valley was he.
Then all things around them, below and above,
Were basking as now in the sunshine of love — ■
In the days that are gone, by this sweet flowing
6tream.
In the days that are gone, they were laid 'neath the
willow,
The maid in her beauty, the youth in his pride;
Both slain by the foeman who crossed the dark
billow,
And stole the broad lands where their children
reside :
Whose fathers, when dying, in fear looked above,
And tremble 1 to think' of that chief and h.s love,
In the days that are gone, by this sweet flowing
stream.
POETRY.
To me the world's an open .book,
Of sweet and pleasant poetry ;
I real it in the running brook
That sings its way towards the sea.
It whispers m the leaves of trees,
The swelling grain, the waving grass,
And in the cool, fresh evening breeze
That crisps the wavelets as they pass.
The flowers below, the stars above,
In all their bloom and brightness given,
Are, like the attributes of love,
The poetry of earth and heaven.
Thus Nature's volume, read aright,
Attunes the soul to mi.istrelsy,
Tingii'g life's clouds with rosy light
And all the world with poetry.
NEAR TnE LAKE.
Kear the lake where drooped the willow.
Long time ago !
Where the roek threw back the billow,
Brighter than snow ;
Dwelt a maid, beloved and cherished
By high and low ;
But with nutumn'8 leaf she perished
Long time ago I
Roek, and tree, and flowing water,
Long time ago !
Bee, and bird, and blossom taught her
Love's spell to. know !
While to my fond words she listened,
Murmuring low !
Tenderly her dove-eyes glistened,
Long time ago I
Mingled were our hearts for ever,
Long time ago!
Can I now forget her ? Never 1
No, lost one, no !
To her grave these tear3 are given,
Ever to flow ;
She's the star I missed from heaven,
Long time ago I
TnE CEOTON OT>F. — WRITTEN AT THE EEQfEST OF THB CORPO-
RATION OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK.
Gushing from this living fountain,
Music pours a falling strain,
As the Goddess of the Mountain
Comes with all her sparking train.
From her grotto-springs advancing,
Glittering in her feathery spray,
Woodland fays beside her dancing,
She pursues her winding way.
Gently o'er the rippling water,
In her coral-shallop bright,
Glides the rock-king's dove-eyed daughter,
Decked in robes of virgin white.
Nymphs and naiads, sweetly smiling,
Urge her bark with pearly hand.
Merrily the sylph beguiling
From the nooks of fairy-land.
Swimming on the snow-curled billow,
See the river spirits fair
Lay their cheeks, as on a pillow,
With the foam-beads in their hair.
Thus attended, hither wending,
Floats the lovely oread now,
Eden's arch of promise bending,
Over her translucent brow.
Hail the wanderer from a far land!
Bind her flowing tresses up I
Crown her with a fadeless garland,
And with crystal brim the cup,
From her haunts of deep seclusion,
Let Intemperance greet her too,
And the heat of his delusion
Sprinkle with this mountaiu-dew.
Water leaps as if delighted,
While her conquered foes retire !
Pale Contagion flies affrighted
With the baffled demon Fire!
Safety dwells in her dominions,
Health and Beauty with her move,
And entwine their circling pinions,
la a sisterhood of love !
Water shouts a glad hosanna!
Bubbles up the earth to bless!
Cheers it like the precious manna
la the barren wilderness.
Ilere we wondering gaze, assembled
Like the grateful Hebrew band,
When the hidden fountain trembled,
And obeyed the Prophet's wand.
Round the Aqueducts of story,
As the mists of Lethe throng,
Croton's waves in all their glory,
Troop in melodv along.
Ever sparkling, bright and single,
Will this rock-ribbed stream appear
When Posterity shall mingle
Like the gathered waters here.
MY MOTHER'S BIBLE.
This book is all that's left me now : —
Tears will unbidden start —
With faltering lip and throbbing brow,
I press it to my heart.
GEORGE W. BURXAP.
351
For many generations past
Here is our family tree:
My mother's hand this bible clasped ;
She, dying, gave it me.
Ah ! well d" I remember those
Whose names these records bear;
"Who round the hearth-stone used to close
After the evening prayer,
And speak of what these pages said,
In tones my heart would thrill !
Thongh they are with the silent dead,
Here are they living still I
My father read this holy boot,
To brothers, sisters, dear ;
How calm was my poor mother's look,
Who leaned God's word to hear.
Her a'.gel face — I see it yetl
What thrilling memories comet
Again that little group is met
Within the halls of home!
Thou truest friend man ever knew,
Th}T constancy I've tried,
When all were false I found thee true,
My counsellor and guide.
The mines of earth no treasures give
That could this volume buy ;
In teaching me the way to live,
It taught me how to die.
GEOP.GE W. BURNAP,
A clergyman of the Unitarian Church, and au-
thor of numerous publications, chiefly of a devo-
tional character, was born in Merrimack, New
Hampshire, in 1802. His father, the Rev. Jacob
Bitmap, was for a long time pastor of a Congre-
gational church in that town. The son was a
graduate of Harvard of 182-1, and in 1827 suc-
ceeded the Rev. Jarcd Sparks, in the charge of
the First Independent Church of Baltimore, Md.
In 1835 he commenced author by publishing a
volume of Lectures on the Doctrines of Contro-
versy be'ween Unitarians and other Denomina-
tions of Christians. In 1840 he published a vo-
lume of Lectures to Young Men on, the Culti-
vation of the Mind, the Formation of Character,
and the Conduct of Life ; in the same year, a
volume of Lectures on the Sphere and Duties of
Women; and in 1824, Lectures on the His-
tory of Christianity. In 1844 he contributed to
Sparks's " American Biography," a memoir of
Leonard Calvert, first governor of Maryland. In
1845 he published Expository Lectures on. the
Pii tcipal Texts of the Bible ichieh relate to the
Doctrine of the Trinity : a volume of Miscella-
nies ; and a Biography of Henry T. Ingalls. In
1818 he published a small work entitled Popular
Objections to Unitarian Christianity Considered
and Answered; and in 1850, twenty discourses,
On the Rectitude of Human Nature. He has
been a contributor to the pages of The Chris-
tian Examiner since the year 1834.*
In 1855 he published a volume, entitled, Chris-
tianity, its Essence and Evidence. This work
contains the results of his studies of the New
Testament for twenty years, and may be looked
upon probably as the most compendious state-
ment of the biblical theology of the author's
* In this enumeration of Dr. Bnrnap"s writings we are in-
debted to Mr. Eedfield s publication, The Meu "of the Time,
ed. 1S52.
school of Unitarianism. ne follows in the main
the track of Andrews Norton ; and with great
boldness in animadverting upon some portions of
the New Testament canon, he unites the most
earnest defence of the supernatural origin of
Christianity. He is a laborious student, a close
reasoner, a terse and instructive writer. In rich-
ness of imagery and persuasive rhetoric he is less
gifted than in clear statement and logical force.
ISOLATION OF THE AMERICAN COLONIES. A PROMOTION OF
DEMOCRACY.*
This leads me to speak of the next cause of the
Democracy of the North American Colonies, which
I shall mention — their isolation. Three thousand
miles of ocean intervened between them and the old
world. This circumstance was not without the most
decisive and important effects. The people had
their own way, because they could not be controlled
by their old masters at the distance of three thou-
sand miles. Nobility never emigrated. There was
nothing to tempt it to quit its ancient home. It
was a plant of such a peculiar structure, that it
would not bear translation to another soil. Here it
would have withered and died, amidst the rugged
forests and stern climate of America. A nobleman
is the creation of a local conventionalism. He flou-
rishes only in an artificial atmosphere. He must be
seen by gas-light. He is at home only in courts and
palaces.
The pomp of courts, and the splendor of palaces,
are the contrivances, not more of human pride than
of far-sighted policy. They are intended to impose
on the imagination of the multitude ; to lead them
to associate with the condition of their superiors,
the ideas of providential and unattainable superior-
ity, to which it is their destiny and their duty to
submit. Take them away from the stage on which
they choose to exhibit themselves; strip them of
their dramatic costume ; take away the overhang-
ing chandelier and the glare of the foot lights, and
let them mingle in the common crowd, and they be-
come as other men, aud the crowd begin to wonder
how they could ever have looked up to them with
so much reverence.
They gained likewise advantages from associating
together. An English nobleman had a hereditary
right to a seat in the House of Lords. He made a
part of the national legislature. This privilege was
independent of the popular will. It was real
power, a possession so flattering to the pride of man.
There was no reason, therefore, why such a man
should wish to leave his country. What could he
find here congenial to his taste, or flattering to his
pride, or tolerable to his habits of luxury and self-
indulgence!
A rude village on the shore of the ocean, or on
the banks of a stream, of a few log cabins, scattered
here and there in the wilderness, was all the New
World had to offer for many generations. Not many
would emigrate to such a country, who had any-
thing to leave behind. Much less was it to be ex-
pected, that those would come here, who had drawn
the highest prizes in life at home. They could not
seek a new organization of the social condition, in
which they had nothing to gain and everything to
lose. Here and there there might be an adventurer
of condition, who came to this country to improve
his broken fortunes ; but then it was, as in all new
countries, with a hope of returning to enjoy his
gains in a country and a state of society, where re-
fined enjoyment was possible.
* From a Discourse, "Orirrin and Causes of Democracy in
America,'' before the Maryland Society, Baltimore. 1S53.
352
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
And after all, beyond a limited circle, America
was, at that time, very little known and very little
regarded by the people of England. And it is very
much so to the present hour. The best informed
people, strange as it may seem, know little more of
the Geography of this country than they do of the
interior of Africa ; and thousands and thousands
who move in respectable society, are ignorant whe-
ther we are white or copper-colored, speak the
English language or Choctaw.
America, then, grew up in neglect and by stealth.
Unattractive to the higher classes, she drew to her-
self the people. Here came the people, the hard-
handed and stout-hearted, and carved out a New
World for themselves. They adapted their institu-
tions to their wants, and before the Old World was
aware, there had sprung up on this broad continent
a gigantic Republic, ready to take her position
among the nations of the earth.
NICHOLAS MUBEAY.
Tnis writer, whose works have attracted a con-
siderable share of attention from the Protestant
community, was born in Ireland in 1802. There
lie was educated for the mercantile profession.
He came to America in 1818, and was engaged
for a short time in the printing-office of the Messrs.
Harper, who were then laying the foundations for
their large publishing establishment. This con-
nexion has always been remembered with plea-
sure ; and the Harpers have since published the
numerous editions of the author's writings.
He entered Williams College, Mass., in 1 822, and
was graduated in due course in the front rank of
his class. He then entered the Theological Semi-
nary at Princeton in 1826, and left it in the spring
of 1829, to take the pastorate of the church in
Wilkesbarre, Pa., where he was ordained in No-
vember, 1829. In June,1833, he was called as Pas-
tor to the First Presbyterian Church of Elizabeth-
town, N. J. Here he has since remained, though
frequently solicited to remove to New York,
Brooklyn, Boston, Charleston, Cincinnati, St.
Louis, Natchez, and to two theological professor-
ships.
His first essay at writing for the public was,
whilst in College. In Wilkesbarre, he wrote for
the Christian Advocate, a monthly, edited by Dr.
Ashbel Green, then ex-president of Princeton
College. After his removal to Elizabethtown, he
wrote for the papers, and a few articles for the
Literary and Theological Journal, then edited by
Dr. Woods. He also published a few occasional
sermons. In 18-14, he published a small volume,
Notes Historical and Biographical, concerning
Elizabethtown.
In 1847, appeared the first series of Controver-
sial Letters to Bishop Hughes, by Kirwan, a
nom de plume which soon became quite famous.
In 1 848, a second and third series of these Letters
appeared. They have been translated into seve-
ral languages.
In 1851, he published a pamphlet, Tl\e Decline
of Popery and its Co/uses, in reply to one of Bi-
shop Hughes. His Romanism at Home, which
has passed through many editions, was published
in 1852. In 1851, he made a tour in Europe, of
which he published his observations in 1853, with
the title Men and Tilings as seen in Europe. In
1854, appeared his Parish Pencilling, a sketch-
book of clerical experiences.
CYNTHIA TAGGAET:
TnEEE are few sadder stories in the whole range
of literary biography than that of this lady, and
on the other hand few which so happily exhibit
the solace afforded in some instances by literary
pursuits. Cynthia Taggart was the daughter of
an old soldier of the Revolution. His father at
the outset of the contest was pos=essed of a valu-
able farm at Middletown, six miles from New-
port. During the British occupation of the neigh-
borhood, he joined an expedition for the capture
of the island. It was unsuccessful, and the
British in revenge devastated his property. In
the foray the son, afterwards the father of Cyn-
thia, was taken prisoner and imprisoned at New-
port jail. After a fortnight's incarceration, he
made his escape through one of the cellar win-
dows which were provided with wooden bars
only, and getting clear of the town crossed to the
mainland at Bristol ferry during the night on a
rude raft formed of rails from the fences.
A like fate occurred to a small confiscated
estate which was given to the father in consider-
ation of his services and losses by the American
authorities, so that the son, on the death of the
father, succeeded to but a slender patrimony.
His daughter, Cynthia Taggart, was born Octo-
ber 14, 1801. Owing to the humble, almost ne-
cessitous circumstances of the family, her educa-
tional advantages were confined to the instructions
of the village school, and from these, owing to
early ill health, she could only now and then
profit. Although sickly from her birth, she en-
joyed occasional intervals of health until her
nineteenth year. The painful record of her sub-
sequent career may be best left to her own simple
recital.
Shortly after this period, I was seized with a more
serious and alarming illness, than any with which I
had hitherto been exercised, and in the progress of
which my life was for many weeks despaired of. But
! after my being reduced to the brink of the grave,
and enduring excruciating pain and excessive weak-
ness for more than three months, it yielded to su-
perior medical skill ; and I so far recovered strength
as to walk a few steps and frequently to ride abroad,
though not without a great increase of pain an al-
most maddening agony of the brain, aud a total de-
privation of sleep for three or four nights and days
successively.
From this time a complication of the most painful
and debilitating chronic diseases ensued, and have
continued to prey upon my frail system during the
subsequent period of my life, — from which no per-
manent relief could be obtained, either through medi-
cine or the most judicious regimen, — natural sleep
having been withheld to an almost if not altogether
unparalleled degree, from the first serious illness
throughout the twelve subsequent years. This un-
natural deprivation has caused the greatest debility,
and an agonizing painfulness and susceptibility of
the whole system, which I think can neither be de-
scribed nor conceived. After the expiration of a
little more than three years from the above men-
tioned illness, the greater part of which period I was
EUFUS DAWES.
353
able to sit up two or three hours in a day, and fre-
quently rode, supported iu a carriage, a short dis-
tance, though, as before observed, not without great
increase of pain, and a total watchfulness for many
succeeding nights, — 1 was again attacked with "a
still more acutely painful and dangerous malady,
from which recovery for several weeks seemed
highly improbable, when this most alarming com-
plaint again yielded to medical skill, and lite con-
tinued, thougn strength has never more returned.
And in what agony, in what excruciating tortures
and restless languishing the greater part of the last
nine years has been past, it is believed by my pa-
rents that language is inadequate to describe or the
human mind to conceive. During both the former
and latter period of these long-protracted and un-
compromising diseases, every expedient that has
been resorted to, with the blissful hope of recovery,
has proved, not only ineffectual to produce the de-
sire! result, but has, invariably, greatly aggravated
and increased my complicated complaints; from
which it has been impossible to obtain the smallest
degree of relief that could render life supportable,
anil preserve the scorching brain from phrensy'
without the constant use of the most powerful
anodynes.
Under these circumstances a number of poems
were composed by her, and dictated to her father
and sisters. One or two found their way to the
Providence newspapers, others were read in ma-
nuscript by the physicians and clergyman who
benevolently visited the poor invalid, and a small
collection was finally published in 1833.
The pieces it contains are all of a melancholy
cast. They are the meditations of the sick bed,
unrelieved by any hope of recovery, the yearn-
ings of a lover of nature for the liberty of
woods and fields, of an active mind for food for
thought. Considering the circumstances under
which they were written they are noticeable pro-
ductions.
The author lingered for several years after the
publication of her volume, without any respite
from illness until her death, on the twenty-third
of March, 1849.
ON THE EBTUEN OP SPRING. 1S25.
In vain, alas ! are Nature's charms
To those whom sorrows share,
In vain the budding flowers appear
To misery's hopeless heir.
In vain, the glorious sun adorns
And gladdens the lengthened day,
When grief must share the tedious hours
That pass in long array ; —
When stern disease with blighting power
Has nipt life's transient bloom,
And long incessant agonies
Unrespited consume.
How lost the glow that pleasure thrilled
Once through the raptured breast,
■ft hen, bright in every blooming sweet,
This beauteous earth was drest !
No joyous walk through flowery fields
Shall e'er again delight ;
For sorrow veils those pleasing scenes
In deepest shades of night.
Now, worn with pain, oppressed with grief,
To wretchedness a prey,
The night returns, and day succeeds,
Without a cheering ray.
vol. It. — 23
The room, with darkened windows sad,
A dungeon's semblance bears, —
And all about the silent bed
The face of misery wears :
Shut out from Nature's beauteous charms,
And breath of balmy air,
Ah 1 what can chase the hopeless gloom,
But Heaven, — but humble prayer !
ON A STOKM. 1S25.
The harsh, terrific, howling Storm,
With its wild, dreadful, dire alarm,
Turns pale the cheek of mirth ;
And low it bows the lofty trees,
And their tall branches bend with ease
To kiss their parent earth.
The rain and hail in torrents pour;
The furious winds impetuous roar, —
In hollow murmurs clash.
The shore adjacent joins the sound
And angry surges deep resound,
And foaming billows dash.
Yet ocean doth no fear impart,
But soothes my anguish-swollen heart,
And calms my feverish brain.
It seems a sympathizing friend,
That doth with mine its troubles blend.
To mitigate my pain.
In all the varying shades of woe.
The night relief did ne'er bestow,
Nor have I respite seen ;
Then welcome, Storm, loud, wild, and rude
To me thou art more kind and good,
Than aught that is serene.
EUFUS DAWES.
Thomas, the father of Rufus Dawes, and a Judo-e
of the Supreme Court of Massachusetts, was born
in Boston in 1757, and died in July, 1825 He
was the author of a poem entitled The Law
gwen on Mount Sinai, published in Boston in
1 / 1 7, in a pamphlet.
Bufus Dawes, the youngest but one of a large
?!? slTXTteen' was born at Bostun> January
26 1803. He entered Harvard in 1820, but was
refused a degree, in consequence of his supposed
participation in a disturbance of the discipline of
the institution, a charge afterwards found to be
unjust. The incident furnished the occasion of
us hrst published poem, a satire on the Harvard
faculty.- Mr. Dawes next studied law, was ad-
mitted, but never practised the profession. He
contributed to the United States Literary Gazette,
published at Cambridge, and conducted for a time
at Baltimore, The Emerald, also a weekly paper.
In 1830 he, published The Valley of the Nmh-
aww and Other. Poems, and in 1839, Gemhliue,
Athema of Damascus, arid Miscellaneous Poems
Mr. Dawes's chief poem, Geraldine, is a ram-
bling composition of some three hundred and
fifty stanzas, in the manner of Don Juan, and
contains a series of episodical passages united by
a somewhat extravagant plot. The tragedy is
occupied with the siege of Damascus a.d. 634.
Athema, a noble lady, is beloved by Calous, the
general in command of the city during the siege
by the Turks. The latter, well nigh victorious,
are about entering Damascus, when Calous re-
* Griswold'a Poets of America, p. J
354
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
ceives private intelligence that succor will arrive
on the morrow. To prevent the entrance of the
Turks he feigns desertion, is thus received into
the camp of the enemy, and promising to betray
the city, gains a day's delay. At the expiration
of that interval, he enters with the Turkish
leader, and then cutting his way through the
hostile troops, rejoins his own forces, and suc-
ceeds in arresting their flight. lie next meets
Athenia, and presses his suit, hut she, believing
him a traitor, stabs him fatally. Her father
enters and undeceives her. Meanwhile the ex-
pected reinforcement having been defeated, the
Turks succeed, and the piece concludes with the
death of Athenia, who falls beside her lover's
body on the entrance of the victors. The lan-
guage of the drama is smooth and elegant.
The miscellaneous poems which follow in the
volume comprise descriptions of natural scenery,
passages of reflection, several songs, an ode on
the death of Sir "Walter Scott, and similar com-
positions sung at the celebration of laying the
corner-stone of the Bunker Hill monument, and
at a Printers' Celebration, at Baltimore. In
1840, Mr. Dawes published Nix's-Mate, a spirited
and successful historical romance.
/£c^Ce*>4 -^^MU^-^r]
SUNRISE — FROM MOUNT "WASHINGTON.
The laughing hours have chased away the night,
Plucking the stars out from her diadem: —
Ami now the blue-eyed Mora, with modest grace,
Looks through her half-drawn curtains in the east,
Blushing in smiles and glad as infancy.
And see, the foolish Moon, but now so vain
Of borrowed beauty, how she yields her charms,
And, pale with envy, steals herself away !
The clouds have put their gorgeous livery on,
Attendant on the day — the mountain tops
Have lit their beacons, and the vales below
Send up a welcoming ; — no song of birds,
Warbling to charm the air with melody,
Floats on the frosty breeze ; yet Nature hath
The very soui of music in her looks!
The sunshine and the shade of poetry.
I stand upon thy lofty pinnacle,
Temple of Nature ! and look down with awe
On the wide world beneath us, dimly seen!
Around me crowd the giant sons of earth,
Fixed on their old foundations, unsubdued;
Firm as when first, rebellion bade them rise
Unrifted to the Thunderer — now they seem
A family of mountains, clustering round
Their hoary patriarch, emulously watching
To meet the partial glauees of the day.
Far in the glowing east the flickering light,
Mellowed by distance with the blue sky blending,
Questions the eye with ever-varying forms.
The sun comes up ! away the shadows fling
From the broad lulls — and, hurrying to the "West,
Sport in the sunshine, till they die away.
The many beauteous mountain streams leap dow
Out-welling from the clouds, and sparkling light
Dances along with their perennial flow.
And there is beauty in yon river's path,
The glad Connecticut ! I know her well,
By the white veil she mantles o'er her charms :
At times, she loiters by a ridge of hills,
Sportfully hiding — then again with glee,
Out-ru-hes from her wild-wood lurking plac^,
Far as the eye can bound, the ocean-waves,
And hills and rivers, mountains, lakes and woods,
And all that hold the faculty entranced,
Bathed in a flood of glory, float in air,
And sleep iu the deep quietude of joy.
There is an awful stillness in this place,
A Presence, that forbids to break the spell,
Till the heart pour its agony in tears.
But I must drink the vision while it lasts;
For even now the curling vapours rise.
Wreathing their cloudy coronals, to grace
These towering summits — bidding me away ; —
But often shall my heart turn back again,
Thou glorious eminence ! and when oppressed,
And aching with the coldness of the world,
Find a sweet resting-place and home with thee.
THE POET.
A poet's heart is always yourg,
And flows with love's unceasing streams ;
Oh, many are the lays unsu: g.
Yet treasured with his dreams!
The spirits of a thousand flowers. —
The loved, — the lost, — his heart enshrine ;
The memory of blessed hours,
And impulses divine.
Like water in a crystal urn,
Sealed up for ever, as a gem,
That feels the sunbeams while they burn,
But never yields to them ; —
His heart may fire — his fevered brain
May kindle with concentrate powen,
But kind affections still remain
To gild his darkest hour.
The world may chide — the heartless sneer, — •
And coldly pass the Poet b\T,
Who only sheds a sorrowing tear
O'er man's humanity.
From broken hearts and silent grief
From all unutterable scorn,
He draws the balm of sweet relief,
For sufferers yet unborn.
His lyre is strurg with shattered strings — •
The heart-strings of the silent dead —
Where memory hovers with her wings,
Where grief is canopied.
And yet his heart is always young,
And flows with love's unceasing streams;
Oh, many are the lays unsung,
And treasured with his dreams!
JACOB ABBOTTWOJIN S. C. ABBOTT.
Jacob Abbott, who has acquired a high reputation
as the author of a variety of works having for
their object the moral and religious training, and
the intellectual instruction of the young, is a native
of Maine, where he was born at Ilallowell in 1803.
He was educated at Bowdoin, and at the Theo-
logical Seminary of Andover. He commenced
his career as a writer with the books known
as the "Young Christian" series, the first of
which, bearing that title, appeared in Boston in
1825. It was followed in the series by three
other volumes — The Corner Stone; The Way to
WILLIAM POST IIAWES.
do Good. ; Hoaryhead and McDonner. When
these were completed, in 1830 Mr. Abbott com-
menced the Rollo series of juvenile writings,
which reached twenty-four volumes, consisting
of the Hollo Books in fourteen volumes, the Lucy
Books in six, and the Jonas Books in four.
The Marco Paul series followed in six volumes,
and subsequently the Franeonia Stories, published
in New York, in ten volumes. A series of Illus-
trated Histories, to extend to some thirty volumes,
was c nnmenced with such ancient topics as Cyrus
the (treat, Xerxes, Romulus, Julius Csesar, and
including several from English history as Alfred
the Great, William the Conqueror, Queen Eliza-
beth. These and ethers have appeared in rapid
succession from the press of the Harpers, taste-
fully printed, and with the particular topic at-
tractively set forth in a fluent, eavy narrative.
A new juvenile series of Harper's Story Books is
still in progress, in monthly volumes. Mr. Ab-
bott has great skill as a story-teller for the young.
Heavoids particularly all ambiguity and obscurity.
His page is neither encumbered by superfluous
matter, nor deficient in the necessary fulness of
explanation.
Jons S. C. Abbott, brother of the preceding,
a graduate of Bowdoin (of 1825), and a Congre-
gational clergyman, is also a writer for the young.
He i* the author of the series of Kings and Queens,
or Life in the Palace, published by the Harpers,
which is to include Josephine, Maria Louisa,
Louis Philippe, Nicholas, Victoria, and other popu-
lar personages. He has written in a similar form
brief lives of Josephine, Maria Antoinette, and
Madame Roland. He is best known, however, by
his History of Napoleon Bonaparte, first published
in Harpers' Magazine, 1852-1854, and reissued in
twooctavo volumes in 1855. This is written in a
popularly attractive style, with much success as a
narrative; while it has provoked considerable
opposition by its highly eulogistic view of the
character and deeds of its subject.
WILLIAM POST HAWES,
An essayist of an original sentiment and talent at
description, was the son of Peter Hawes, a mem-
ber of the bar in New York, and was born in that
city February 4, 1803. He was educated at Co-
lumbia College, where he received his degree in
1821, when he became a student in the law-office
of Mr. John Anthon,* and a practitioner after the
usual course of three years' study. He thenceforth
devoted himself with success to his profession till
his early death.
The writings of Mr. Hawes consisted of several
series of fugitive articles and essays, contributed
to the newspaptrs, weekly periodicals, and maga-
zines of the day. He wrote for the New York
Mirror on Quail, and other matters ; for the Ame-
rican Montidy Magazine, conducted by Mr. II.
* Mr. Anthon is an eminent practitioner at the bar. a good
scholar, and a man of general reading, sharing in the literary
activities of his brothers. Professor Charles Anthon of Columbia
College, and the Rev. Dr. Henry Anthon. the Rector of St.
Mark's Church in New York. Mr. John Anthon is the author
of a volume of " P.eports of Oases determined at Nisi Prins in
the Supreme Court of the StaU' of New York, 1S20," and of
"An Analytical Abridgment nf the Commentaries of Black-
stone," with a prefatory " Essay on '.he Study of tho Law.'' i
W. Herbert, and subsequently by Mr. Park Ben-
jamin, the brilliant sporting sketches, full of
dramatic life and rollicking fun, the Fire Island
Ana, or a Week at the Fire Islands ; several
legends of Long Island wreckers and pirates ; and
the fine-hearted, humorous essay on some of the
changes in the church-going associations of New
York, a sketch worth}' the genius of Charles
Lamb, entitled Hymn Tunes and Grave Yards.
To the Spirit of the Times and Turf Register, he
contributed frequently, taking the signature of
" Cypress, Jr.," a sure indication to the reader of
a pleasant, ingenious vein of speculation on tho
favorite topics of the sportsman, mingled with per-
sonal humors of the writer's own. His Classic
Rhapsodies, Random Reminiscences of his school-
fellows, and other miscellanies, were all in mirth
and good feeling. In his Bank Melodies he ven-
tured a set of poetical parodies on the politicians
of the day, somewhat in the style of the Croakers.
His pen was often employed on political topics.
A collection of Hawes's writings was published
in 1842, shortly after his death; two genial vo-
lumes, Sporting Scenes, and Sundry Sketches,
being the Miscellaneous Writings of J. Cypress,
Jr., edited with a preliminary memoir by the au-
thor's friend, Mr. Henry William Herbert, a tri-
bute warm, kindly, appreciative, such as one true
disciple of Izaak Walton should render to another.
SOME OI1SEUVATIONS CONCERNING QUAIL.
October has arrived, and has entered into the
kingdom prepared for him by his summery brethren
departed. A kingdom, truly, within a republic, but
mild, magnificent, pro bono publico, and full of good
fruits ; so that not a democrat, after strictest set of St.
Tammany, but bows the knee. Hail! Oking! His ac-
complished artists are preparing royal palaces among
the woods and fields, and on the hillsides, painting the
mountains and arching the streams with glories co-
pied from the latest fashion of rainbows. His keen
morning winds and cool evening moons, assiduous
servants, are dropping diamonds upon the fading
grass and tree-tops, and are driving in the feathery
tenants of his marshes, bays, and brakes. Thrice
happy land and water lord ! (see how they streak
the early sky, piercing the heavy clouds with the
accurate wedge of their marshalled cohorts, shouting
pecans as they go — and how they plunge into well
remembered waters, with an exulting sound, drink-
ing ia rest and hearty breakfasts! These be segea
of herons, herds of cranes, droppings of sheldrakes,
springs of teals, trips of wigeons, coverts of cootes,
gaggles of geese, sutes of mallards, and badelyngea
of ducks; all of which the profane and uninitiated,
miserable herd, call flocks of fowl, not knowing dis-
crimination ! Meadow and upland are made harmo-
nious and beautiful with congregations of plovers,
flights of doves, walks of snipes, exaltations of larks,
cove}Ts of partridges, and bevies of quail.* For all
these vouchsafed comforts may we be duly graceful !
but chiefly, thou sun-burned, frost-browed monarch,
do we thank thee that thou especially bringest to
vigorous maturity and swift strength, our own bird
of our heart, our family chicken, trtrao colurnix.
The quail is peculiarly a domestic bird, and is at-
tached to his birth-place and the home of his forefa-
thers. The various members of the aaatie families
educate their children in the cool summer of the far
north, and bathe their warm bosoms in July in the iced.
* Stow. Stripe. Hakcwell.
35C
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
water of Hudson's Bay ; but when Boreas scatters
the rushes where they builded their bedchambers,
they desert their fatherland, and fly to disport in the
sunny waters of the south. They are cosmopolites
entirely, seeking their fortunes with the sun. So,
too, heavy-eyed, wise Master Scolopax fixes his
place of abode, not among the hearths and altars
where his infancy was nurtured, but he goeth a
shaaping where best he may run his long bill into
the mud, tracking the warm brookside of juxta-ca-
pricornical latitudes. The songsters of the wood-
land, when their customary crops of insects and ber-
ries are cut off in the fall, gather themselves toge-
ther to renew their loves, and get married in more
genial climates. Even black-gowned Mr. Corvus, —
otherwise called Jim Crow, — in autumnal fasts eor-
templateth Australian carcases. Presently, the
groves so vocal, and the sky so full, shall be silent
and barren. The " melancholy days" will soon be
here. Only- thou, dear Hob White — not of the Man-
hattan— wilt remain. Thy cousin, tctrao ■umbcllus,
will be not far off, it is true ; but he is mountainous
and precipitous, and lives in solitary places, courting
rocky glensandcraggy gorges, misandronist. "Where
the secure deer crops the 3'oung mosses of the moun-
tain stream, and the bear steals wild honey, there
drums the ruffed strutter on his ancient hemlock log.
Ice cools not his blood, nor the deep snow-drift,
whence he, startled, whirrs impetuous to the solemn
pines, and his hiding-places of laurel and tangled
rhododendron, laughing at cheated dogs and wearied
sportsmen. A bird to set traps for. Unfamiliar,
rough, rugged hermit. Dry meat. I like him not.
The quail is the bird for me. He is no rover, r.o
emigrant. He stays at home, and is identified with
the soil. Where the farmer works, he lives, and
loves, and whistles. In budding spring time, and
in scorching summer — in bounteous autumn, and in
barren winter, his voice is heard from the same
bushy hedge fence, and from his customary cedars.
Cupidity and cruelty may drive him to the woods,
and to seek more quiet seats; but be' merciful and
kind to him, and he will visit your barn-yard, and
sing for you upon the boughs of the apple-tree by
your gateway. But when warm May first wooa
the young flowers to open and receive her breath,
then begin the loves, and jealousies, and duels of the
heroes of the bevy. Duels, too often, alas ! bloody
and fatal! for there liveth not an individual of the
gallinaceous order, braver, bolder, more enduring
than a cock quail, fighting for his ladye-love. Arms,
too, he wieldeth, such as give no vain blows, rightly
used. His mandible serves for other purposes than
mere bitirg of grass-hoppers and picking up Indian
corn. While the dire affray rages, Miss Quailina
looketh on, from her safe perch on a limb, above the
combatants, impartial spectatress, holding her love
under her left wing, patiently; and when the van-
quished craven finally bites the dust, descends and
rewards the conquering hero with her heart and
hand.
Now begin the cares and responsibilities of wed-
ded life. Away fly the happy pair to seek some
grassy tussock, where, safe from the eye of the hawk,
and the nose of the fox, they may rear their expect-
ed brood in peace, provident, and not doubting that
their espousals will be blessed with a numerous off-
spring. Oats harvest arrives, and the fields are
waving with yellow grain. Now, be wary, oh
kind-hearted eradler, and tread not into those pure
white eggs ready to burst with life ! Soon there is
a peeping sound heard, and lo ! a proud mother
walkelh magnificently in the midst of her children,
scratching and picking, and teaching them how to
swallow. Happy she, if she may be permitted to
bring them up to maturity, and uneompelled to re-
new her joys in another nest.
The assiduities of a mother have a beauty and a
sacredness about them that command respect and
reverence in all animal nature, human or inhuman
— what a lie does that word carry — except, perhaps,
in monsters, insects, and fish. I never yet heard of
the parental tenderness of a trout, eating up his lit-
tle baby, nor of the filial gratitude of a spider, nip-
ping the life out of his grey-headed father, and
usurping his web. But if you would see the purest,
the sincerest, the most affecting piety of a parent's
love, startle a young family of quails, and watch the
conduct of the mother. She will not leave you. No,
not she. But she will fall at your feet, uttering a
noise which none but a distressed mother can make,
and she will run, and flutter, and seem to try to be
caught, and cheat your outstretched hand, and affect
to be wing-broken, and wounded, and yet have just
strength to tumble along, tmtil she has drawn you,
fatigued, a safe distance from her threatened chil-
dren, and the young hopes of her heart ; and then
will she mount, whirring with glad strength, and
away through the maze of trees you have not seen
before, like a close-shot bullet, fly to her skulking in-
fants. Listen now. Do you hear those three half-
plaintive notes, quickly and clearly poured out?
She is calling the boys and girls together. She
sings not now "Bob White!" nor "Ah! Bob
White !" That is her husband's love-call, or his
trumpet-blast of defiance. But she calls sweetly
and softly for her lost children. Hear them " peep !
peep! peep!" at the welcome voice of their mo-
ther's lore! They are coming together. Soon the
whole family will meet again. It is a foul sin to
disturb them ; but retread your devious way, and
let her hear your coming footsteps, breaking down
the briers, as you renew the danger. She is quiet.
Not a word is passed between the fearful fugitives.
Now, if you have the heart to do it, lie low, keep
still, and imitate the call of the hen-quail. O, mother!
mother ! how your heart would die if you could
witness the deception ! The little ones raise up their
trembling heads, and catch comfort and imagined
safety from the sound. "Feep! peep!" they come
to you, straining their little C3"es, and clustering to-
gether, and answering, seem to say, "Where is she?
Mother! mother! we are here!"
I knew an Ethiopian once — he lives yet in a hovel,
on the brush plains of Matowacs — who called a
whole bevy together in that way. He first shot the
parent bird ; and. when the murderous villain had
ranged them in close company, while, they were
looking over each other's necks, and mingling their
doubts, and hopes, and distresses, in a little circle,
he levelled his cursed musket at their unhappy
breasts, and butchered " What ! all my pretty
ones! Did you say all ?" He did ; and he lives yet!
O, let me not meet that nigger six miles north of
Patchogue, in a place where the scrub oaks cover
with cavernous gloom a sudden precipice, at whose
bottom lies a deep lake, unknown but to the Kwaaek,
and the lost deer hunter. For my soul's 6ake, let
me not encounter him in the grim ravines of the
Callicoon, in Sullivan, where the everlasting dark-
ness of the hemlock forests would sanctify virtuous
murder I
HYMN TUNES AND GEAVE-YARD3.
I went to church one night last week,
lbam forto via sacra, —
as Horace has it ; and into what shrine of shrines
should ry sinful feet be led, but into the freshly
hallowed tabernacle of the new fiee chapel. It was
WILLIAM POST HA WES.
357
Carnival week among the Presbyterians, the season
of Calvinistic Pentecost; and one of the missionary
societies in the celebration of its blessed triumphs,
bulged out, on that night, from the windows of the
gigantic meeting-house, like the golden glories of
thickly crowded Wheat-sheafs from the granary of a
heaven-prospered garnerer. Not, however, did the
zeal of a Crusader against the Paynim, nor the ex-
pected rehearsal of the victories of the Christian
soldier, draw me, unaccustomed, upon holy ground-
Wherefore did I, just now, pricked by conscience,
stop short in the middle of that line from Flaeeus.
I could not add
— stcut mens est mos.
" Mens mos" stuck in my throat. It was no good
grace of mine. Non nobis. Reader, I confess to
thee that I was charmed into the Tabernacle by a
hymn tune.
Now, before I ask for absolution, let me declare,
that ray late unfrequent visitation of the church is
to be attributed to no lack of disposition for faithful
duty, but to the new-fangled notions and fashions of
the elders and preachers, and to my dislike for the
new church music.
It had been an unhappy day with me. My note
lay over in the Manhattan ; ami I had ascertained
that some " regulated" suburban " building lots,"
which 1 had bought a few days before, unsight un-
seen, upon the assurance of a " truly sincere friend,"
were lands covered with water, green mud, and
blackberry bushes, in the bottom of a deep valley,
untraversable and impenetrable as a Florida ham-
mock. Abstracted, in uncomfortable meditation, I
threaded my unconscious pathway homeward, the
jargon of the confused noises of Broadway falling
upon my tympanum utterly unheard. In' this en-
tranced condition, I came abreast of the steps of the
covered entrance to the Tabernacle. Here was
done a work of speedy disenchantment. A strain
of music came floating down the avenue. It was an
old and fondly remembered hymn. It was the
favorite tune of my boyhood. It was the first tune
I ever learned. It was what I loved to sing with
my old nurse and little sisters, when I used to pray.
It was the tune that even now always makes niy
heart swell, and brings tears into my eyes. It was
Old Hundeedth.
Fellow-sinner, peradventure, thou hast never sunf*
Old Hundredth. Thou wert not blessed with pious
parents. The star of the Reformation hath not shone
upon thee. Thou hast not been moved and exalted
by the solemn ecstasy of Martin Luther. Perhaps
thou hast had eunuchs and opera-singers to do thy
vicarious devotions, in recitative, and elaborate can-
tatas; scaling Heaven by appoggiaturas upon the
rungs of a metrical ladder. Lay down this dis-
course. Such as thou cannot — yet I bethink me
now how I shall teach thee to comprehend and feel.
Thou hast seen and heard Der Freischulz? I know
that thou hast. Be not ashamed to confess it before
these good people. They play it at the play-house,
it is true; but what of that; what else is it than a
German camp-meeting sermon set to music ? It is a
solemn drama, showing, terribly, the certain and
awful. fate of the wicked. There is a single strain
of an anthem in that operatic homily — worth all the
rest of the piece ; — dost thou not remember the har-
mony of the early matin hymn unexpectedly spring-
ing from the choir in the neighboring village church,
which, faintly beginning, swells upon your ear, and
upon poor Caspar's, too, pleading with his irresolute
soul, just as the old head-ranger has almost per-
suaded the unhappy boy to renounce the devil, and
to become good ? Lost thou not remember, as the
tune grows upon his ear, the strong resolution sud-
denly taken, the subdued joy, the meek rapture that
illumine the face of the penitent; and bow, with
head bowed down and humble feet, he follows his
old friend to the fountain of pardon and to the altar
of reconciliation '! I see that thou rememberest, and
■ — thou art moved ; — " Be these tears wet V
Here I am happy to receive the congratulations
of the reader, that the similarity of Caspar's case
and my own is at an end. Poetical justice required
that Von Weber's Zamiel should carry off repenting
Caspar from the very entrance to the sanctuary ; —
the civil sexton of the Tabernacle asked me to wilk
in, and showed me to a seat.
The hymn went up like the fragrance of a magni-
ficent sacrifice. Every voice in that crowded house
was uplifted, and swelled the choral harmony. The
various parts fell into each other like mingling
water, and made one magnificent stream of music ;
but yet you could recognise the constituent melo-
dies of which the harmonious whole was made up;
you could distinguish the deep voice of manhood ;
the shrill pipe of boys, and the confident treble of
the maiden communicant, — all singing with earnest-
ness and strength, and just as God and religion
taught them to sing, directly from the heart. To
me, one of the best recommendations of Old Hun-
dredth is, that every Protestant knows it, and can
sing it. You cannot sing it wrong. There is no
fugue, nor da capo, nor place to rest and place to
begin, nor place to shake, nor any other meretricious
affectation about it. The most ingenious chorister —
and the church is cursed with some who are skilful
to a wonder in dampening people's piety, by tearing
God's praises to tatters — cannot find a place in Old
Hundredth where he can introduce a flourish or a
shake. Deo gratias for the comfortable triumph
oxer vainglory. It would be as easy for a school-
master to introduce a new letter into the alphabet;
and old Hundredth may be said, in some sense,
once to have been the alphabet of Christian psal-
mody. I remember a time when it was a sort of
ABC for Protestant children learning to sing. It
was the universal psalm of family worship. But its
day has gone by. It is not a fashionable tune. You
seldom hear it except in the country churches, and
in those not noted for high-priced pews and " good
society."
There is much solemn effect in the accompaniment
of vocal music by a discreetly played organ ; but in
my ears Old Hundredth suffers by the assistance.
The hired organist and bellows-blower have each
his quota of duty to perform, and they generally do it
with so much zeal, that the more excellent music of
the human voice is utterly drowned. And then
there is a prelude, and a running up and down of
keys, which takes off your attention, and makes you
think of the flippancy of the player's fingers, and
that your business is to listen and not to sing. No;
if you would hear, and sing Old Hundredth aright,
go into one of the Presbj'terian meeting-houses that
has retained somewhat of the simplicity and humi-
lity of the early church ; or into the solemn aisles
of the temples which the Creator hath builded in
the woods for the Methodists to go out and worship
in. There you may enjoy the tune in its original,
incorrupt excellence, and join in a universal song of
devotion from the whole assembled people.
To Martin Luther is ascribed the honor of writing
Old Hundredth. But the tune was older than he.
It took its birth with the Christian Church. It was
born in the tone and inflection of voice with which
the early Christians spoke their Saviour's praise.
Martin Luther never did more than to catch the
floating religion of the hymn, and write it in musi-
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
cal letters. It was such music that {lie poor of the
world, out of whom the church was chosen, used to
sing for their consolation amid the pei"secutioiis of
their Pagan masters. It was such simple music that
Paul a:.d Silas sang, at midnight, iu the prison-
house. It was such that afterwards rang from crag
to crag iii the mountain fastnesses of Scotland, when
the hunted Covenanters saluted the dawning Sab-
bath. Such simple music was heard at nightfall in
the tents of the Christian soldiery, that prevailed,
by the help of the God of battles, at Naseby and
Mansion Moor. Such sang our Puritan fathers,
when, in distress for their forlorn condition, they
gave themselves, first to God and then to one
another. Such sang they on the shore of Holland,
when, with prayers and tears, their holy community
divided itself, and when the first American pilgrims
trod, with fearful feet, the deck of the precious-
freighted May-flower.
Amidst the storm they sanp,
And the stars heaid and the sea!
And the stun ding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free !
Where are all the old hymn tunes that the
churches used to sing? Where are " Majesty," and
" Wells," and " Windham," and "Jordan,'' and " De-
vize?," and other tunes, — not all great compositions,
but dear to us because our fathers sar.g them?
The old-fashioned church music has been pushed
from its stool by two sets of innovators. First,
from the rich, sleepy churches, it has been expelled
by the choristers, who seem to prefer to set a tune
which only themselves can warble, as if the better
to show forth their clear alio voices and splendid
power of execution. Ko objection is made to this
monopoly of the musical part of the devotion of the
congregations; for it is getting to be the fashion to
. believe that it is not polite to sing iu church.
Secondly, from the new-light conventicles, the ex-
pulsion has been eli'ected by those reformers of the
reformation, who have compelled Dr. Watts, not
pious enough, forsooth, to stand aside for their own
more spiritual performances. The old hymn tu; es
will not suit these precious compositions. But with
genuine good taste in their adaptation of melodies to
words, they have made a ludicrous enough collec-
tion of musical fancies, of all varieties, of ti ngedy and
farce. Some of their ecstasies are intended to strike
sinners down by wild wboopii gs copied from the in-
cantations of Indian "medicine feasts," bringh g pi e-
sent hell before the victim, and of which his fright-
ened or crazed, but not converted nor convinced soul,
has an antetaste in the howlii g of the discord. Of
this sort of composition there is one which ought to
be handed over to the Shaking Quake. « to be sung
with clapping of hands and dancii g ; I mean that
abortion of some fanatic brain which is adapted to
the horrid wot ds of
O 1 there will he wailing,
"Wai'ii g, waning, wailing,
O! there will be wailing! (to.
Some preachers have thought it would be a good
plan to circumvent the devil by stealing some of his
song tunes; as though profane music could win
souls to love piety better than the hymns of the
saints; and accordingly they have introduced into
their flocks such melodies as " Auld Lai g Syne,"
and " Home, sweet Home !" 0 ! could it be per-
mitted to John Robinson, the pastor of the ietf
England pilgrims; to John Cotton, he who, in the
language of his biographer, was " one of those olive
trees which afford a singular measure of oil for the
illumination of the sanctuary" — to Joint Fisk, who
for " twenty years did sliiue in the golden candle-
stick of Chelmsford" — to Brewster — to Slather — to
any of those fathers of the American church, to
revisit this world, what would they not lament of
the descendants of the Pilgrims !
A SHARK STOKT — FEOJI FIRE ISLAND ANA.
" Well, gentlemen," said Locus, in reply to a unani-
mous call for a story — the relics of supper havii g
been removed, all to the big stone medicine jug, —
" I'll go ahead, if you say so. Here's the story. It
is true, upon my honor, from beginning to end —
every word of it. I once crossed over to Faulkner's
island, to fish for tautauys, as the north side people
call black fish, on the reefs hard by, in the Long
Island Sound. Tim Titus, — who died of the dropsy
down at Shinnecock point, last spring, — lived there
then. Tint was a right good fellow, only he drank
rather too much.
" It was during the latter part of July ; the sharks
and the dog-fish had just begun to spoil sport. When
Tim told me about the sharks, I resolved to go pre-
pared to entertain these aquatic savages with all
becoming attention and regard, if there should
chance to be any interloping about our fishing
ground. So we rigged out a set of extra large hooks,
and shipped some rope-yam find steel chain, ail axe,
a couple of clubs, and an old haipoon, in addition to
our ordinary equipments, and off we started. We
threw out our anchor at half ebb tide, and took some
thumping large fish ; — two of them weighed thirteen
pounds — so you may judge. The reef where we lay,
was about half a mile from the island, and. perhaps,
a mile from the Connecticut shore. We floated there
very quietly, tlirowii g out and Inmli. g in, until the
b caking of my line, with a sudden ami severe jerk,
informed us that the sea attorneys were In woitii g,
down stairs; and we accordingly prepared to give
them a retainer. A salt pork cloak upon one ot our
magnum hooks, forthwith engaged one of the gentle-
men in our service. We got him aloi g-ide, and by
dint of piercing, a d thrurtii g, and bangii g, we ac
complislied a most exciti. g and merry murder. We
had business enough of the kind to keep us employ-
ed until near low water. By this time, the sharks
had all cleared out, and the black fish were biting
again ; the rock began to make its appearance above
the water, and in a little while its hard bald head
was entirely dry. Tim now piopoccd to set me out
upon the rock, while he lowed ashore to get the jug,
width, strange to say, we had left at the louse. I
assented to this proposition ; first, because 1 began
to feel the effects of the sun upon my toi g' e, and
needed something to take, by way of medicine; and
secondly, because the rock was a favorite s] ot for a
rod and reel, and famous for luck ; so I took my
traps, and a box of bait, and jumped upon my new
station. Tim made for the island.
Not many men would willingly have been left
upon a little barren reef, that was covered by every
flow of the tide, in the midst of a waste of waters, at
such a distance from the shore, even wnh an assur-
ance from a companion more to be depended upon
than mine, to return immediately, and lie byto take
him eff. But somehow or other, the excitement of
my sport was so high, and the loninuce of the situa-
tion was so delightful, that I thought of nothii g else
but the prosecution of my fun, and the contempla-
tion of the novelty and beauty of the scene. It was
a mild pleasant afternoon in harvest time. The sky
was clear and pure. The deep blue Sound, heaving
'all around me, was studded with craft of all descrip-
tions and dimensions, fiom the dipping sail-boat to
the rollii g merchantman, sinking and lising like sea-
birds sporting with their white wings in the surge.
The grain and grass, on the neighboring farms, were
WILLIAM POST HAWE&
359
gold and green, and gracefully they bent obeisance
to a gentle breathing southwester. Farther off, the
high upland and the distant coa^t gave a dim relief
to the prominent features of the landscape, and seem-
ed the rich but dusky frame of a brilliant fairy pic-
ture. Then, how siill it was! not a sound could be
heard, except the occasional rustling of my own
motion, and the water beating against the sides, or
gurgling in the fissures of the rock, or except now
and then the cry of a solitary saucy gull, who would
come out of his way in the firmament, to see what I
was doing without a boat, all alone, in the middle
of the Sound; and who would hover, and cry, and
chatter, and. make two or three circling swoops and
dashes at me, and then, after having satisfied his
curiosity, glide away in search of some other fool to
scream at.
I soon became half indolent, and quite indifferent
about fishing; so I stretched myself out, at full
length, upon the rock, and gave myself up to the
luxury of looking and thinking. The divine exer-
cise sojn put me fast asleep. I dreamed away a
couple of hours, and longer might have dreamed,
but for a tired fish-hawk, who chose to make my
heal his resting place, and who waked and started
me to my feet.
"Where is Tim Titus?" I muttered to myself, as
I strained my eyes over the now darkened water.
But none was near me, to answer that interesting
question, and nothing was to be seen of either Tim
or his boat. " He should have been here long ere
this," thought I, " and he promised faithfully not to
stay long — could he have forgotten? or has he paid
too much devotion to the jug?"
I began to feel uneasy, tor the tide was rising fast,
and sjon would cover the top of the rock, and high
water mark was at least a foot above my head. I
buttoned up my coat, for either the coming coolness
of the evening, or else my growing apprehensions,
had set me trembling aid chattering most painfully.
I braced my nerves, and set my teeth, and tried to
hum " begone dull care." keeping time with my
lists upon my thighs. But what music! what me-
lancholy merriment ! I started and shuddered at
the doleful sound of my own voice. I am not natu-
rally a coward, but I should like to know the man
who would not, in such a situation, be alarmed. It
is a cruel death to die, to be merely drowned, and
to go through the ordinary common-places of suffo-
cation, but to see your deatli gradually rising to
your eyes, to feel the water mounting, inch by inch,
upon your shivering sides, and to anticipate the cer-
tainly coming, choking struggle for your last breath,
when, with the gurgling sound of an overflowing
brook taking a new direction, the cold brine pours
into mouth, ears, and nostrils, usurping the seat and
avenues of health and life, and, with gradual flow,
stifling — smothering — -suffocating ! — It were better
to die a thousand common deaths.
This is one of the instances, in which, it must be
admitte 1, salt water is not a pleasant subject of con-
templation. However, the roek was not yet cover-
ed, and hope, blessed hope, stuck faithfully by me.
To beguile, if possible, the weary time, I put on a
bait, and threw out for a fish. I was sooner success-
ful than I could have wished to be, for hardly had
my line struck the water, before the hook was swal-
lowed, and my rod was bent with the dead hard pull
of a twelve foot shark. I let it run about fifty
yards, and then reeled up. He appeared not at ail
alarmed, and I could scarcely feel him bear upon my
fine hair line. He followed the pull gently, and un-
resisting, came up to the rock, laid his nose upon its
side, and looked up into my face, not as if utterly
.unconcerned, but with a sort of quizzical impudence,
as though he perfectly understood the precarious
nature of my situation. The conduct of my captive
renewed and increased my alarm. And well it
might; for the tide was now running over a corner
of the rock behind me, and a small stream rushed
through a cleft, or fissure, by my side, and formed a
puddle at my very feet. I broke my hook out of
the monster's mouth, and leaned upon my rod for
support.
" Where is Tim Titus ?" — I cried aloud — " Curse
on the drunken vagabond I will he never come?"
My ejaculations did no good. No Timothy ap-
peared. It became evident, that I must prepareTor
drowning, or for action. The reef was completely
covered, and the water was above the soles of my
feet. I was not much of a swimmer, and as to ever
reaching the Island, I could not even hope for that
However, there was no alternative, and I tried to
encourage myself, by reflecting that necessity was
the mother of invention and that desperation will
sometimes insure success. Besides, too,T considered
and took comfort, from the thought that I could
wait for Tim, so long as I had a foothold, and then
i commit myself to the uncertain strength of my arms
and legs, for salvation. So I turned my bait box up-
side down, aud mounting upon that, endeavored to
comfort my spirits, and be courageous, but submis-
sive to my fate. I thought of death, and what it
might bring with it, aud I tried to repent of the
multiplied iniquities of my almost wasted life ; but
I found that that was noplace for a sinner to settle
his accounts. Wretched soul! pray, I could not.
The water had now got above my ankles, when,
to my inexpressible joy, I saw a sloop bending down
towards lfte, with the evident intention of picking
me up. No man can imagine what were the sensa-
tions of gratitude which filled my bosom at that
moment.
When she got. within a hundred yards of the reef,
' I sung out to the man at the helm to luff up, and lie
i by, and lower the boat; but to my amazement, I
eonld get no reply, nor no notice of my request. I
entreated them for the love of heaven to take mc
off, aud I promised, I know not what rewards, that
| were entirely beyond my power of bestowal. But
the brutal wretch of a captain, muttering something
to the effect of " that he hadn't time to stop," and
: giving me the kind and sensible advice to pull off
1 my coat, and swim ashore, put the helm hard down,
and away bore the sloop on the other tack.
" Heartless villain !" — I shrieked out in the torture
of my disappointment; " may God reward your in-
humanity." The crew answered my prayer with a
coarse, loud laugh, and the cook asked me through
a speaking trumpet, " If I wasn't afraid of catching
cold," — the black rascal !
It was now time to strip; for my knees felt the
cold tide, and the wind, dying away, left a heavy
i swell, that swayed and shook the box upon which I
was mounted, so that I had occasionally to stoop, and
paddle with my hands, against the water, in order
to preserve my perpendicular. The setting sun sent
his almost horizontal streams of fire across the dark
waters, making them gloomy aud terrific, by the
contrast of his amber aud purple glories.
Something glided by me in the water, and then
made a sudden halt. I looked upon the black mass,
and, as my eye ran along its dark outline, 1 saw, with
horror, it was a shark ; the identical monster, out of
whose mouth I had just broken my hook. He was
fishing, now, for me, and was evidently only wait-
ing for the tide to rise high enough above the rock,
to glut at once his hunger aud revenge. As the wa-
ter continued to mount above my knees, he seemed
to grow more hungry and familiar. At lost, h«
360
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
made a desperate dash, and approached within an
inch of my legs, turned upon his back, and opened his
huge jaws for an attack. With desperate strength,
I thrust the end of my rod violently at his mouth ;
and the brass head, ringing against his teeth, threw
him back into the deep current, and I lost sight of
him entirely. This, however, was but a momentary
repulse ; for in the next minute, he was close behind
my back, and pulling at the skirts of my fustian coat,
which hung dipping into the water. I leaned for-
ward hastily, and endeavored to extricate myself
from the dangerous grasp, but the monster's teeth
were too firmly set, and his immense strength nearly
drew me over. So, down flew my rod, and off went
my jacket, devoted peace-offerings to my voracious
visiter.
In an instant, the waves all around me were lash-
ed into froth and foam. No sooner was my poor old
sporting friend drawn under the surface, than it was
fought for by at least a dozen enormous combatants!
The battle raged upon every side. High, black fins
rushed now here, now there, and long, strong tails
scattered sleet and froth, and the brine was thrown
up in jets, and eddied, and curled, and fell, and swell-
ed, like a whirlpool in Hell-gate.
Of no long duration, however, was this fishy
tourney. It seemed soon to be discovered that
the prize contended for, contained nothing edible
but cheese and crackers, and no flesh, and as its mu-
tilated fragments rose to the surface, the waves sub-
sided into their former smooth condition. Not till
then did I experience the real terrors of my situa-
tion. As Hooked around metosee what had become
of the robbers, I counted one, two, three, yes, up to
twelve, successively of the largest sharks'! ever saw,
floating in a circle around me, like divergent rays,
all mathematically equidistant from the rock, and
from each other ; each perfectly motionless, and
with his gloating, fiery eye fixed full and fierce upon
me. Basilisks and rattle-snakes! how the fire of
their steady eyes entered into my heart! I was the
centre of a circle, whose radii were sharks! I was
the unsprung, or rather unchewed game, at which a
pack of hunting sea-dogs was making a dead point !
There was one old fellow, that kept within the
circumference of the circle. . He seemed to be a sort
of captain, or leader of the band ; or, rather, he act-
ed as the coroner for the other twelve of the inqui-
sition, that were summoned to sit on, and eat up my
body. He glided around and about, and every now
and then would stop, and touch his nose against
some of his comrades, and seem to consult, or to give
instructions as to the time and mode of operation.
Occasionally, he would scull himself up towards me,
and examine the condition of my flesh, and then
again glide back, and rejoin the troupe, and flap his
tail, and have another confabulation. The old ras-
cal had, no doubt, been out into the highways and
bye-ways, and collected this company of his friends
and kin-fish, and invited them to supper. I must
confess, that horribly as I felt, I could not help but
think of a tea party of demure old maids, sitting in
a solemn circle, with their skinny hands in their
laps, licking their expecting lips, while their hostess
bustles about in the important functions of her pre-
parations. With what an eye have I seen such ap-
purtenances of humanity survey the location and
adjustment of some especial condiment, wiiich is
about to be submitted to criticism and consump-
tion.
My sensations began to be, now, most exquisite
indeed ; but I will not attempt to describe them. I
was neither hot nor cold, frightened nor composed;
but I had a combination of all kinds of feelings and
emotions. The present, past, future, heaven, earth,
my father and mother, a little girl I knew once, and
the sharks, were all confusedly mixed up together,
and swelled my crazy brain almost to bursting. I
cried, and laughed, and shouted, and screamed for
Tim Titus. In a fit of most wise madness, I opened
my broad-bladed fishing knife, and waved it around
my head, with an air of defiance. As the tide con-
tinued to rise, my extravagance of madness mount-
ed. At one time, I became persuaded that my tide-
waiters were reasonable beings, who might be talked
into mercyT and humanity, if a body could only hit
upon the right text. So, I bowed, and gesticulated,
and threw out my hands, and talked to them, as
friends and brothers, members of my family, cou-
sins, uncles, aunts, people waiting to have their bills
paid; — I scolded them as my servants; I abused
them as duns ; I implored them as jurymen sitting
on the question of my life; I congratulated and flat-
tered them as my comrades upon some glorious en-
terprise ; I sung and ranted to them, now as an actor
in a play-house, ai d now as an elder at a camp-
meeting; in one moment, roaring
On this cold flinty rock, I will lay down my head,
and in the next, giving out to my attentive hearers
for singing, the hymn of Dr. Watts so admirably ap-
propriate to the occasion,
On slippery rocks I see them stand,
"While fiery billows roll below.
In the meantime, the water had got well up to-
wards my shoulders, and while I was shaking and
vibrating upon my uncertain foothold, I felt the cold
nose of the captain of the band snubbing against my
side. Desperately, and without a definite object, I
stiuck my knife at one of his eyrcs, and by some sin-
gular fortune cut it clean out from the socket. The
shark darted back, and halted. In an instant hope
and reason came to my relief; and it occurred to
me, that if I could only blind the monster, 1 might
yet escape. Accordingly, I stood ready for the next
attack. The loss of an eye did not s'eem to affect
him much, for, after shaking his head once or twice,
he came up to me again, and when he was about
half an inch off, turned upon his back. 1 his was
the critical moment. With a most unaccountable
presence of mind, I laid hold of his nose with my
left hand, and with my right, I scooped out ids re-
maining organ of vision. He opened his big mouth,
and champed his long teeth at me, in despair. But
it was all over with him. I raised my right foot
and gave him a hard shove, and he glided off into
deep water, and weut to the bottom.
Well, gentlemen, I suppose you'll think it a hard
story, but it is none the less a fact, that I served
every remaining one of those nineteen sharks in the
same fashion. They all came up to me, ore by one,
regularly, and in order; and I scooped their eyes
out, and gave them a shove, and they went off into
deep water, just like so many lambs. By the time
I had scooped out and blinded a couple of dozen of
them, they began to seem so scarce, that I thought I
would swim for the island, and fight the rest for fun,
on the way ; but just then, Tim Titus hove in sight,
and it had got to be almost dark, and I concluded to
get aboard, and rest myself.
ALEXANDER SLIDEIX MACKENZIE.
Commander Mackenzie, of the Navy, and the au-
thor of the Year in Spain, and other popular
works, was born in New York on the tith of
April, 1803. His father was John Slidell, a highly
esteemed merchant of the city. Mis mother, Mar-
gery or May, as she was called, Mackenzie, was a
ALEXANDER SLIDELL MACKENZIE.
3G1
native of the Highland? of Scotliind, who came to
America when she was quite a child. Mr. Slidell
was a man of great intelligence and of a high
moral and religious character. He was fond of
books, and passed hi? evenings in reading aloud to
liis family, a trait which his son continued. There
are no anecdotes '{ the early years of the latter
preserved ; but h e has been heard to say that as
a child he was no student and not at all preco-
cious. He wa.- at hoarding-school until his early
entrance into the Navy, January 1, 1815, at an age
which precluded many opportunities of education ;
but the deficiency of which his indomitable habits
of application in the study of literature and the
sciences conaected with his profession, and his
strong natu.'al powers of observation, fully sup-
plied. His letters written at sixteen and seven-
teen, whei - he was on board of the Macedonian in
the Pacific, exhibit thus early his settled habits of
study, and his earnest sense of what was going on
around him. At nineteen he took command of a
merchant vessel to improve himself in his profes-
sion. In 1824 he was on duty in the brig Terrier
on the West India station, seeking for pirates,
when a second attack of yellow fever led to his
return home; and in the autumn of 1825, the
year of his appointment to a lieutenancy, he vi-
sited Europe, on leave of absence, for the benefit
of his health. He spent a year in France, mostly
in study, and then commenced the tour in Spain,
the incidents of which he subsequently gave to
the world in his publication, the Year in Spain,
which first appeared in Boston in 1829 and about
the sam3 time in London. Washington Irving
was in Spain at the time of SlideU's visit, engaged
in writing his life of Columbus, and the two
friends, passed their time in intimacy. It is to
Slidell that Irving alludes in a note "to his work
on Columbus where he says, " the author of this
work is indebted for the able examination of the
route of Columbus to an officer of the Navy of the
United States, whose name he regrets not being
at liberty to mention. He has been greatly be-
nefited in various parts of this history by nautical
information from the same intelligent source."
The Year in Spain was received with great favor,
and took its rank in England and America among
the first productions of its class. It was reviewed
in the Quarterly, the Monthly Review, and other
influential publications in London, with many
commendations on its spirit and interest, and the
fund of information which the author had col-
lected in familiar intercourse with the people ; so
that Washington Irving then in England, writing
home, remarked, "It is quite the fashionable book
of the day, and spoken of in the highest terms in
the highest circles. If the Lieutenant were in
Loudon at present he would be quite a lion." It
had the honor of a translation into the Swedish
language.'
In the years 1830-31-32, Mr. Slidell was on
duty in the Mediterranean, in the Brandywine,
Commodore Biddle. Upon his return home in
1833 he published a volume of Popular Etixays on
Naval Subjects, and projected a two year»' course
of travelling in Great Britain. He passed some
time in England, made a short visit to Spain, and
returned to finish bis tour in England and Ireland,
but was induced by the threatened conflict be-
tween the United States and France to return to
America to resume, if necessary, the active duties
of his profession. There being no probability of
war he prepared at home his book, The American
in England, and shortly after the two volumes of
Spain Bevidted. At this time, in 1836, he pub-
lished a revised and enlarged edition of the Year
in Spain, in New York. In 1837 he was ordered
to the Independence as First Lieutenant, and filled
the duties of executive officer to Commodore Ni-
cholson. It was in the winter of this year that, in
accordance with the request of a maternal uncle,
lie added, by an Act of the New York Legislature,
his mother's name to his own. The Independence
conveyed Mi-. Dallas, the Minister to Russia, to St.
Petersburg, which gave Lieutenant Slidell an op-
portunity to write home a description of the visit
of the Emperor to the ship at Cronstadt. From
Cronstadt the Independence proceeded to Brazil,
where Lieutenant Slidell was placed in command
of the Dolphin. His cruise in this vessel was of
much interest. He was at Baliia during the siege
of that place, and at its surrender, and was an eye-
witness of many of the political events of the Rio
de la Plata at that period, an account of some of
■which he published in a pamphlet at the time.
General Rosas was his warm friend, and continued
in correspondence with him for many years after.
The American merchants of Rio Janeiro expressed
their approval of his course. He returned from
the Brazil station in 1839.
^t
:^^~V-W"fc'
Whilst in Boston, previously to the sailing of
the Independence, he was requested by Mr. Sparks
to contribute a life of Paul Jones to the series of
American Biography. He anticipated writing
this at sea, hut his duties prevented. He com-
menced it on his return, and it was published in
Boston in 1841.
He had a love of country life, not unusual
with men who pass much of their lives upon
the sea, and now established his home (be had
married, in 1835, a daughter of the late Morris
Robinson of New York) at a farm on the Hud-
son, midway between Sing Sing and Tarrytown.
Here he afterwards parsed his time when not oc-
cupied in his profession, to which, notwithstand-
ing his success in literature, he always continued
3G2
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
■warmly attached as his first duty. In the summer
of 1840, at the request of Dr. Grant Perry,
he wrote the life of his father Commodore Oliver
Perry. In 184-1 he received his rank of Com-
mander, and took charge of the Missouri Steamer
till his command of the Brig Somers in May, 1842,
then used as a school-ship and manned by appren-
tices. In this he was able to further his favorite
plan of the improvement of the character of the
y service hi the education of the sailor. He took
with him on his first cruise to Porto Rico a young
student of divinity to hold the services of the
Episcopal church, a practice which he always ob-
served in every vessel which he commanded.
He sailed again with despatches for the squadron
on the African coast in September of the same
year. On the return voyage Midshipman Spencer
was arrested, with a number of the crew, on a
charge of mutiny. A council of officers decided
that the execution of the three chief persons ac-
cused was a necessary measure, and the decision
was carried into effect at the yard-arm. The Somers
came into New York in December, when a Court
of Enquiry of the three senior officers of the Navy,
Commodores Stewart, Jacob Jones, and Dallas,
justified the act. To remove any further grounds
of complaint, at Commander Mackenzie's own re-
quest, a court-martial was held at New York in
February, of winch Commodore Downes was
President, and eleven of his brother officers, his
seniors or eqnal -i in rank, members. He was again
acquitted, and the congratulations of large and in-
fluential bodies of hi i fellow citizens in New York,
Philadelphia, and Boston, tendered to him. The
citizen* of Boston requested his bust, which was
executed by Dexter and lias been placed in the
Athenaeum. He remained at home till 1840, oc-
cupying himself in writing the .Life of Commo-
dore Decatur, whirh was published in the summer
of that year. In May, 1840, he was sent by the
President on a private mission to Cuba and thence
sailed to Mexico. He was ordnance officer with
Commodore Perry in the Mississippi at Vera
Cruz, whence he returned in 1847. The next
year he had command of the Mississippi. His
health was now much impaired. lie died at home
September 13, 1848.
His literary characteristics are readily noted.
/ Whatever he took in hand, whether the narrative
of his own adventures, or the story of the lives of
others, was pursued with diligence, a skill which
he seern^ to have owed as much to nature as to
art, and in a full equable style. His American
lives of Paid Jones, Perry, and Decatur, are happy
instances of biographical talent, and are produc-
tions which', no less by their treatment than their
subject matter, will continue; to be received with
favor. His descriptions of travel are remarkable
for their truthfulness and happy fidelity to nature,
and the unaffected interest which they exhibit in
whatever is going on about him. There is also a
fertile vein of good humor which illustrates the
old remark, that a book which it is a pleasure to
read it has teen also a pleasure to write. Greatly
as Americans have excelled in this species of writ-
ing, the country has never probably had a better
representative abroad describing the scenes which
he visits. Spain, always a theme fruitful in the
picturesque, loses nothing of its peculiar attrac-
tiveness in his hands. He travels as Irving, In-
glis, Ford, and many others have done, with a con-
stant eye to Gil Bias and Don Quixote. It is in a
similar vein that he visits England, and doubtless
his still unpublished Tour in It eland presents the
same attractive qualities. He appears always to
have had this descriptive talent. A series of let-
ters from his early years, written from different
parts of the world, which we have seen, are gra-
phic, minute, and faithful. He was always a con-
scientious student of life and nature as of books,
and his pen was the ready chronicler of hisobser-
; vations. The style in this, as in most cases, marks
the man. Though reserved in his manners, and
somewhat silent, there was great gentleness and
refinement in his dis] osition. His exactness in
/ discipline and indexible performance of dutyasan
officer, and his strict sense of religious no less than
of patriotic obligations, while they gained him the
respect, were not at the loss of the affection of his
companions. The unforced humor and ease of his
writings are easily read indications of his amiable
character. In person Commander Mackenzie was
well formed, graceful, with a fine observant eye,
and animated expression of countenance.
ZARAGOZA — FROM SPAIN REVI6ITED.
On enterii g the gate of the Ebro I found myself
within tbe famous old city of Zaragoza; renowned,
in chronicles and ballads, for the achievements of its
sons: the capital, moreover, of thnt glorious king-
dom of Aragon, so illustrious for its ancient laws
and liberties, for its conquests and oxtirj ation of
the Moors, and for the wisdom and prowess of its
kii gs; but, above all, gloiious now and for ever, for
her resistance to a tieac-herous and poweiful foe;
a resistance undertaken in a frantic spii it of patriot-
ism, pausing for no leflection and aomitth g of no
reasoning, and which was continued in defiance of
all the havoc occasioned in a plaee wholly inde-
fensible, according to the arts of war, until, wasted
by assaults, by conflagrations, by famine. byT pesti-
lence, and every horror, Zaiagoza at length yielded
only in eeasi, g to exist.
A few steps lioni the gate brought me to the great
square. It was crowded with a vast concoinse of
people, consisth g at once of the busy and the i rife
of a population of near sixty thousand souls: the
busy brought thete for the transaction of their
affairs, and the idle in search of occupation, or for
the retail and exchai ge of gossip. ' The arcades and
the inteiior of the se,uaie weie everywhere filled
with such as seld bread, meat, vegetables, and all
the necessaries of life, together with such rude
fabrics as come within the compass of Spanish
ingenuity. Beggars proclaimed their poverty and
misfortune, and the compensation which Jesus and
Mary would give, in .'mother world, to such chari-
table souls as bestowed alms on the wi etched in
this; and blind men chanted a rude ballad which
recounted the sad fate of a your g woman forced to
marry a man whom she did not love, or offered for
sale verses, such as were suited for a gallant to sing
beneath the balcony of Ids mistress. Trains of
heavily-laden mules entered and disapj eai.ed again ;
and carts and wagons slowly lumbered thiough,
creaking and groaning at every step. Here was
every variety of diess peculiar to the different
provinces of Spain. A few had wai.deicd to this
distant mart from the sunny laud of Andalusia; but
there were more from Catalonia, Valencia, and Bis-
cay, Zaragoza being the great conneeth g thorough-
fare between tho-e industrious and commeieial
provinces. The scene was noisy, tumultuous, and
ALEXANDER SLIDELL MACKENZIE.
3G3
full of vivacity and animation; and I felt tiiat
pleasure in contemplating it, Which an arrival in a
city of some importance never fails to afford, after
the quiet and monotony of small villages.
Catching a distant view of the renowned Church
of the Pillar on the left, and of the Aragonese
Giralda, the new tower, on the opposite hand, I
came into a street which seemed to be consecrated
to learning. On either hand were bookshops, filled
with antique tomes, bound in parchment, with
clasps of copper, and having a monkish and con-
ventual smell ; while, seated upon the pavement at
the sunny side, were scores of cloaked students,
conning ragged volumes, and passing an apparent
interval in the academic hours in preparation for
rehearsal, and in storing up a stock of heat to carry
them safely through the frigid atmosphere of some
Gothic hall, in which the light of science was wooed
'with a pious exclusion of the assistance of the sun.
Other students were more agreeably employed in
gambling in the dirt for a few euartos. One of
them, who had been looking over the g ime, and had
probably lost, followed me, holding out the greasy
tatters of a broken cocked hat, and supplicating a
Utile alms to pursue his studies. He had 0.1 a cloak
which hung in tatters, a pair of black worsted
stockings, foxy and faded, and possibly a pair of
trousers, while a sto'ik, streaked with violet, showed
that he was a can lidate for the church: a mass of
uncombe I and matted hair hung about his forehead;
his teeth were stained, like his fi.gei-s, with the oil
from the paper cigars; and his complexion and
whole appearance indicated a person nourished
from day to day o i unwholesome fool, irregularly
and precariously procured. He followed me for
some distance, whining forth his petition. At length
I said to him, somewhat briefly — " Perdon usted
amino ! no hay nad'i /"—and he happening to catch
sight, at the same moment, of a half-smoked frag-
ment of a cigar, stopped short, picked it up, and
proceeded to prepare it for further fumigation.
Tracing our way through narrow, winding, aid
ill-pived alleys, we at length approached the
southern portion of the city, and entered the spa-
cious street called the Coso, which lies in the ino-
dern part of Zarngoza. It was on this side that the
chief attack of the French was dire ted. They ap-
proached by a level plain, demolishing conve .ts,
churches, and dwellings; battering with their cau-
non. discharging bo.nln, and spri ging mines, until
this whole district was red iced to a wide-extended
heap of rui is. A few walls of convents, half de-
molished, arches yawning, and threatening to crush
at each instant whoever may venture b-now, ami a
superb facade, standing in lonely g.a.n'.eur, to attest
the magnificence of the temple of which it origi-
nally formed part, still remain to testify to the
heroic obstinacy with which Zaragoza resisted.
Some modern houses have arisen in this neighbor-
hood. They are of neat and tasteful construction,
ami form a singular contrast with the antiquated
and crowded district through which I had just
.passed, not less than with the monastic ruins which
frown upon and threaten to crush them, for their
saciilegious intrusion upon consecrated ground.
F.om the Coso a wide avenue extends to the gate
of Madrid, and owes its opening and enlargement to
the batteries of the French. Its origin is connected
with a dreadful catastrophe, but its present uses are
of the most peaceful kind. It is now a public walk,
planted with trees, and enlivened by fountains;
and the Zaragozana of our day now coquets and
flourishes her fan, and plays off the whole b ittery
of her charms, on the very spot where her father or
her grandfather, or haply an ancestor of her own
sex, poured forth their life's blood in defence of their
couirtry.
LODGINGS IN MADRID AND A LANDLADY — FROM THE SAME.
I was far too uncomfortable in my wretched inn
to think of remaining there during the whole time
I proposed to stay in Madrid. Florencia, who
promised to find me a place, if possible, in her own
neighborhood, said that there was no want of hired
apartments about the Gate of the Sun ; but there
was some difficulty in finding such as were in all
respects unexceptionable, since many establishments
of this sort were kept by persons of somewhat
equivocal character, who enticed young men into
their houses with a view of fascinating and leading
them astray. Nevertheless, at the end of a day or
two, passed in diligent search, she sent me word to
take possession of an apartment which she had re-
tained for me in the street of Carmel, and which,
though the entrance was in a different street, had
its front just where I wanted it, on the street of
i Montera, and the balcony next to her own.
Immediately within the doorway, giving admis-
| sion to a passage in itself sufficiently narrow, was a
modest little moveable shop, which came and went,
I knew not whither, morning and night, and which
i disappeared altogether on feast and bullfight days.
: It was kept by a thin, monastic-looking individual,
I wiio sold waxen tapers, arms, legs, eyes, ears, and
I babies, all religious objects connected with funeral
ceremonies, or charms to offer at the shrh.e of some
! celebrated saint, for a happy delivery, or for the
recovery of an afflicted member of the easily dis-
ordered tenement, in which our nobler part is shut
up.
Having traversed this first passage opening on the
street, I found myself on a crooked serpentine stair-
way, which turned to the right and to the left with-
out reason or ceremony, aim in almost utter dark-
ness. Doors were scattered about on either hand,
a id I rang at ha'.f a dozen, saluted by the barking
of dog;, the growling of Spaniards interrupted in
the en,oymcnt of the siesta and torpid state which
follow the repletion of a g easy dinner, or by the
sharp and a.gry to ics of scoldi. g female., ere I at
le gth found myself at the right one. Nor did I
ever get used to' the eccentricities of this most iu-
vo.ve 1 entrance. Coming home, night after night,
at tno dead hour of two or three, having patrolled
the streets with a drawn dagger under my cloak, to
defend myself ag ii..st the robberies that were of
constant ocenrre.-ce, I used to get into the outer door
by the aid of the double key whiejh I carried, and
leaching the end of the passage, I would co niuencc
ascending without any geometrical principle to
guide me. When I should have turned to tne left
I would turn to the right, dislocating my foot
against a wall, or else keep straight on until vio-
lently arrested, and in serious da iger of damaging
or distorting my nose. Sometimes I stepped up
when I should have stepped down, and snook my
whole frame to its centre. And thus I have more
than once passed half an hour, moving abont, like a
troubled spirit, from the ground floor to the garret,
fitii g my key into strange doors, to the terror of
the inmates, who, dreaming of robbery and mur-
der, would begin to rattle snbrcj or bawl for assist-
ance.
But to return to my new landlady. I must con-
fess that I was not particularly disposed to bo
pleased either with her or her habitation, when I
at length rang at the right door, and she admitted
me. On entering the apartment desig.icd'for me,
however, I found that it was far better than its ap-
proaches had foretold, being matted and furnished
364
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
with more than usual neatness. The alcove, con-
cealed by nice white curtains, contained a bed of
inviting cleanliness, and the brasier and othei ar-
ticles of furniture, susceptible of receiving a polish,
shone with the lustre of consummate house-wifery.
When I got before the broad light of the balcony,
which enjoyed the sunny exposure so essential,
where artificial heat of a wholesome kind is not to
be procured, I had an opportunity of examining the
person of my patrona; and I saw at a glance that
Florencin had taken effectual means to protect me
against every temptation of the devil. Dona Lu- [
cretia, whose present, rather than whose past history,
doubtless rendered her name an appropriate one, !
was a hale, happy old lady, of five-and-fifty or j
more, still struggling to keep young. She was j
plump and well conditioned, with, however, a neat
little foot, which she had somehow managed to
keep within the dimensions of a small shoe, though
her good keeping hastened to show itself above, in
a fat and unconstrained ankle. Her eye, too, had
some remains of lustre, and the long habit of leering
and casting love-glances had left about it a certain
lurking expression of roguery.
She was a native of Zamora, and had never mar-
ried ; not, by her account, for want of offers, for she
had received many ; but having seen that her father
and mother had lived unhappily together, and her
earliest recollections being of domestic disturbances,
when the time arrived to think of this matter, and
occasion called upon her to determine, for she told
me, and I believed her, that she had been very
handsome, she asked herself the question, " Shall I
make the misery of my parents my own ? or shall I
not rather live singly blessed?" Having well
weighed all these considerations, she, after mature
deliberation, determined on philosophic principles
for a life of liberty, since, though she admitted
that men were a very good and useful race of ani-
mals, she said she never yet had seen one whom she
was willing to erect into a permanent lord and mas-
ter.
Her present pastimes were suited to her age ; a
little gossip each morning with a toothless old dame,
who came to tell the parish news, of births, deaths,
marriages, and murders, occupied the hour succeed-
ing the domestic duties of the day, and went on
without interruption, as the pipkin simmered with
the daily puehero; on a feast-day, fan in hand, and
mantilla duly adjusted, she would go in state to
mass, taking the key of the door, and followed by the
stout maid of all work, in the character of a duena:
at the bullfight she never fails to attend, for she was
a zealous ajicionada; and almost nightly she went
off to a tc.atro cascro, a reunion for private theatri-
cals, held in the inelegant barrier of the Lavapies.
The man who brushed my clothes and cleaned my
boots, and between whom and the old lady there
was a friendship of many years' standing, was one of
the principal actors. I went for curiosity to see one
performance, and was astonished, not only at the
very tolerable style of the acting, but also at the
singularity of the whole circumstance, of people in
an humble sphere of life, instead of spending the
little superfluity of their earnings in getting drunk,
or congregating together in places from which the
other sex was excluded, thus combining to fit up,
and paint with the greatest taste, a little theatre,
where they not only played farces and danced the
bolero, but even commenced regularly, as at the
great theatres, by going through a solemn didactic
piece. On this occasion they played the Telos be
Meneses, an old Spanish tragedy of the cloak and
sword, filled with the most exaggerated and nobly
extravagant sentiments.
A LONDON COFFEE-ROOM AT DINNER TIME — FROM THE AMERI-
CAN IN ENGLAND.
The coffee-room, into which I now entered, was a
spacious apartment of oblong form, having two
chimneys with coal fires. The walls were of a dusky
orange ; the windows at either extremity were hung
with red curtains, and the whole sufficiently well
illuminated by means of several gas chandeliers. I
hastened to appropriate to myself a vacant table by
the side of the chimney, in order that I might have
some company besides my own musing, and be able,
for want of better, to commune with the fire. The
waiter brought me the carte, the list of which did
not present any very attractive variety. It struck
me as very insulting to the pride of the Frenchman,
whom I had caught a glimpse of on entering, not to
say extremely cruel, to tear him from the joys and
pastimes of his belle France, and conduct him to this
land of fogs, of rain, and gloomy Sundays, only to
roast sirloins and boil legs of mutton.
The waiter, who stood beside me in attendance,
very respectfully suggested that the gravy-soup was
exceedingly good ; that there was some fresh sole,
and a particularly idee piece of roast-beef. Being
very, indifferent as to what I ate, or whether I
ate anything, and moreover quite willing to be
relieved from the embarrassment of selecting from
such an unattractive bill of fare, I laid aside the
carte, not however before I had read, with some
curiosity, the following singular though very sensi-
ble admonition, " Gentlemen are particularly re-
quested not to misearve the joints."
I amused myself with the soup, sipped a little
wine, and trifled with the fish. At length I found
myself face to face with the enormous sirloin. There
was something at least in the rencounter which con-
veyed the idea of society ; and society of any sort is
better than absolute solitude.
I was not long in discovering that the different
personages scattered about the room in such an un-
social and misanthropic manner, instead of being
collected about the same board, as in France or my
own country, and, in the spiiit of good fellowship
and of boon companions, relieving each other of
their mutual ennuis, though they did not speak a
word to each other, bj' which they might hereafter
be compromised and socially ruined, by discovering
that they had made the acquaintance of an individual
several grades below them in the scale of rank, or
haply as disagreeably undeceived by the abstraction
of a pocket-book, still kept up a certain interchange
of sentiment, by occasional glances and mutual obser-
vation. Man, after all, is by nature gregarious and
social ; and though the extreme limit to which civili-
zation has attained in this highly artificial country
may have instructed people how to meet together in
public places of this description without intermixture
of classes or mutual contamination, yet they cannot,
for the life of them, be wholly indifferent to each
other. Though there was no interchange of senti-
ments by words then, yet there was no want of
mutual observation, sedulously concealed indeed, but
still revealing itself in a range of the eye, as if to ask
a question of the clock, and in furtive glances over a
book or a newspaper.
In the new predicament in which I was now
placed, the sirloin was then exceedingly useful. It
formed a most excellent line of defence, an unas-
sailable breastwork, behind which I lay most com-
pletely entrenched, and defended at all points from
the sharp-shooting of the surrounding observers.
The moment I found myself thus intrenched, I began
to recover my equanimity, and presently took cou-
rage— bearing in mind always the injunction of the
bill of fare, not to misearve the joints — to open an
RALPH WALDO EMEESON.
3G5
embrasure through the tender-loin. Through this I
sent my eyes sharp-shooting towards the guests at
the other end of the room, and will, if the reader
pleases, now furnish him with the result of my
observations.
In the remote corner of the coffee-room sat a party
of three. They had finished their dinner, and were
sipping their wine. Their conversation was carried
on in a loud tone, and ran upon lords and ladies, suits
in chancery, crim. con. cases, and marriage settle-
ments. I did not hear the word dollar once ; but
the grander and nobler expression of thousand pounds
occurred perpetually. Moreover, they interlarded
their discourse abundantly with foreign reminis-
cences and French words, coarsely pronounced, and
awfully anglicised. I drew the conclusion from this,
as well as from certain cant phrases and vulgarisms
of expression in the use of their own tongue, such ns
" regularly done" — " completely floored" — " split the
difference," that they were not the distinguished
people of which they labored to convey the im-
pression.
In the corner opposite this party of three, who
were at the cost of all the conversation of the coffee-
room, sat a long-faced, straight-featured individual,
with thin hair and whiskers, and a bald head.
There was a bluish tinge about his cheek-bones and
nose, and he had, on the whole, a somewhat used
look. He appeared to be reading a book which he
held before him, and which he occasionally put
aside to glance at a newspaper that lay on his lap,
casting, from time to time, furtive glances over book
or newspaper at the colloquial party before him,
whose conversation, though lie endeavored to con-
ceal it, evidently occupied him more than his book.
Halfway down the room, on the same side, sat a
very tall, rosy young man, of six-and-twenty or
more ; he was sleek, fair-faced, with auburn hair,
and, on the whole, decidedly handsome, though his
appearance could not be qualified as distinguished.
He sat quietly and contentedly, with an air of the
most thoroughly vacant bonhommie, never moving
limb or muscle, except when, from time to time, he
lifted to his mouth a fragment of thin biscuit, or re-
plenished his glass from the decanter of black-looking
wine beside him. I fancied, from his air of excellent
health, that he must be a country gentleman, whose
luxuriant growth had been nurtured at a distance
from the gloom and condensation of cities. I could
not determine whether his perfect air of quiescence
and repose were the effect of consummate breeding,
or simply a negative quality, and that he was not
fidgety only because troubled by no thoughts, no
ideas, and no sensations.
There was only one table between his and mine.
It was occupied by a tall, thin, dignified-looking
man, with a very grave and noble east of counte-
nance. I was more pleased with him than with any
other in the room, from the quiet, musing, self-
forgetfnlness of his air, and the mild and civil
manner in which he addressed the servants. These
were only two in number, though a dozen or more
tables were spread around, each capable of seating
four persons. They were well-dressed, decent-look-
ing men, who came and went quickly, yet quietly,
and without confusion, at each call for George or
Thomas. The patience of the guests seemed un-
bounded, and the object of each to destroy as much
time as possible. The scene, dull as it was, fur-
nished a most favourable contrast to that which is
exhibited at the ordinaries of our great inns, or in
the saloons of our magnificent steamers.
Having completed my observations under cover of
the sirloin, I deposed my knife and fork, and the
watchful waiter hastened to bear away the formi-
dable bulwark by whose aid I had been enabled to
reconnoitre the inmates of the coffee-room. A tart
and some cheese followed, and then some dried fruits
aud thin wine biscuits completed my repast. Hav-
ing endeavored ineffectually to rouse myself from
the stupefaction into which I was falling, by a cup
of indifferent coffee, I wheeled my capacious arm-
chair round, aud took refuge from surrounding
objects by gazing in the fire.
The loquacious party had disappeared on their
way to Drury Lane, having decided, after some
discussion, that the hour fur half price had arrived.
The saving of money is an excellent thing ; without
economy, indeed, there can scarcely be any honesty.
But, as a question of good taste, discussions about
money matters should be carried on in a quiet and
under tone in the presence of strangers. When they
had departed, a deathlike stillness pervaded the
scene. Occasionally, the newspaper of the thin
gentleman might be heard to rumple as he laid it
aside- or resumed it; or the rosy gentleman from the
country awoke the awful stillness by snapping a
fragment of biscuit, or depositing his wine-glass
upon the table. Then all was again silent, save
when the crust of the seacoal fire fell in as it con-
sumed, and the sleepy, simmering note in which the
teakettle, placed by the grate in readiness either for
tea or toddy, sang on perpetually.
KALPH "WALDO EMEESON
Was born in Boston some time about the year
1803. His father was a Unitarian clergyman,
and the son was educated for the pulpit of the
sect. After talcing his degree at Harvard, in
1821 he studied divinity, and took charge of a
congregation in Boston, as the colleague of Henry
Ware, jun. ; but soon becoming independent of
the control of set regulations of religious worship,
retired to Concord, where, in 1835, he purchased
the house in which he has since resided. It has
become identified as the seat of his solitary mus-
ings, with some of the most subtle, airy, eloquent,
spiritual productions of American literature.
Mr. Emerson first attracted public attention as a
speaker, by his college orations. In 1837 he de-
livered a Phi-Beta-Kappa oration, Man Think-
ing ; in 1838, his address to the senior class of
the Divinity College, Cambridge, and Literary
Ethics, an Oration. His volume, Nature, the
key-note of his subsequent productions, appeared
in 1839. It treated of freedom, beauty, culture
in the life of the individual, to which outward
natural objects were made subservient. The
Dial : a Magazine for Literature, Philosophy,
and Religion, of which Mr. Emerson was one of
the original editors and chief supporters, was
commenced in July, 1840. It was given to what
was called transcendental literature, and many of
its papers affecting a purely philosophical expres-
sion had the obscurity, if not the profundity, of
abstract metaphysics. The orphic sayings of Mr.
A. Bronson Alcott helped materially to support
this character, and others wrote hardly less intel-
ligibly, but it contained many acute and original
papers of a critical character. In its religious
views it had little respect for commonly received
creeds.
The conduct of the work passed into the hands
of Margaret Fuller, while Mr. Emerson remained
a contributor through its four annual volumes.
His chief articles were publications of the Lea-
SG6
CYCLOPAEDIA OP AMERICAN LITERATURE.
turcs on the Times, and similar compositions,
which he had delivered. The duties of periodical
literature were too restricted and exacting for his
temperament, and his powers gained nothing by
the demand for their display in this form. The
st3"le of composition which lias proved to have
the firmest hold upon him, in drawing out his
thoughts for the public, is a peculiar species of
lecture, in which ho combines the ease and fa-
miliar turn of the essay with the philosophical
dogmatism of the orator and modern oracle.
The collections of his Essays and Lectures com-
menced with the publication in 1841 of a first
series, followed by a second in 1844. His volume
of Poems was issued in 1847. In 1S48 he tra-
velled in England, delivering a course of lectures
in London on The Mind and Manners of the
Nineteenth Century, including such topics as Re-
lation of Intellect to Science; Duties of Men cf
Thought; Politics and Socialism ; Poetry and
Eloquence; Natural Aristoerae.31. He also lec-
tured on the Superlative in Manners and Litera-
ture, and delivered lectures in other parts of
England, in which country his writings have
been received with great favor.
After his return he delivered a lecture on
English Character and Manners, and has since vi-
sited the chief northern cities and literary insti-
tutions, delivering several courses of lectures on
Power, Wealth, the Conduct of Life, and other
topics, which, without obtruding his early meta-
physics, tend more and more to the illustration of
the practical advantages of life.
In 1850 appeared his volume Representative
Men: including portraits of Plato, Swedenborg,
Montaigne, Shakespeare, Napoleon, Goethe. His
notices of Margaret Fuller form an independent
portion of her Memoirs, published in 1852.
The characteristics of Emerson are, in the sub-
ject matter of his discourses, a reliance on indi-
vidual consciousness and energy, independent of
creeds, institutions, and tradition; an acute intel-
lectual analysis of passions and principles, through
which the results are calmly exhibited, with a
species of philosophical huliffereiitism tending to
license in practice, which in the conduct of life he
would be the last to avail himself of. His style
is brief, pithy, neglecting ordinary links of asso-
ciation, occasionally obscure from dealing with
vague and unknown quantities, but always re-
fined; while in his lectures it arrests attention in
the deep, pure tone of the orator, and is not un-
frequently, especially in his latter discourses, re-
lieved by turns of practical sagacity and shrewd
New England humor. It is a style, too, in which
there is a considerable infusion of the poetical
vision, bringing to light remoteevents and illustra-
tions; but its prominent quality is wit, dazzling
by brief and acute analysis and the juxtaposition
of striking objects. In his poems, apart from
their obscurity, Emerson is sometimes bare and
didactic ; at others, his musical utterance is sweet
and powerful.
Mr. Emerson's pursuits being those of the au-
thor and philosopher, be has taken little part in
the public affairs of the clay, except in the matter
of the slavery question, on which he has de-
livered several orations, in opposition to that in-
stitution.
The early death of a younger brother of Emer-
son, Charles Ciiauxcy Emeesox, is remembered
by those who knew him at Cambridge, with re-
gret. He died May 9, 1836. A lecture which
he delivered on Socrates is spoken of with admi-
ration. Holmes, who was his companion in col-
lege, in his metrical essay on poetry, has given a
few lines to his memory, at Harvard, where his
name is on the catalogue of graduates for 1828.
Thou calm, chaste scholar ! I can see thee now,
The first young laurels on thy pallid brow,
O'er thy slight figure floating lightly down,
In graceful folds the academic gown,
On thy curled lip the cdassic lines, that taught
How nice the mind that sculptured them with
thought,
And triumph glistening in the clear blue eye,
Too bright to live, — but oh, too fair to die.
THE PROBLEM.
I like a church ; I like a cowl :
I love a prophet of the soul ;
And on my heart monastic aisles
Fall like sweet 6trabft, or pensive smile" ;
Yet not for all his faith can see
Would I that cowled churchman be.
Why should the vest on him allure,
"Which I could not on me endure ?
Not from a vain or shallow thought
His awful Jove youi:g Phidias brought ;
Never from lips of cunning fell
The thrilling Delphic oracle ;
Out from the heart of nature rolled
The burdens of the Bible old ;
The litanies of nations came,
Like the volcano's tongue of flame,
Up from the burning core below, —
The canticles of love and woe;
The hand that rounded Peter's dome,
And groined the aisles of Christian Rome,
"Wrought in a sad sincerity ;
Himself from God he could not free ;
RALPH WALDO EMERSON'.
SG7
ITo budded bettor than lie knew ; —
The conscious stone to beauty grew.
Ivnow'st thou what wove you yvoodbird's nest
Of leaves, and feathers from her breast i
Or how the fish outbuilt her shell,
Painting with morn eaeli annual cell?
Or how the sacred pine-tree adds
To her old leaves new myriads?
Such and so grew these holy piles,
Whilst love and terror laid the tiles.
Earth proudly wears the Parthenon,
As the best gem upon her zone ;
And Morning opes with haste her lids,
To gaze upon the Pyramids ;
O'er England's abbeys bends the sky,
As on its friends, with kindred eye;
For, out of Thought's interior sphere,
These wonders ro?e to upper air ;
And Nature gladly gave them place,
Adopted them into her race,
And granted them an equal date
With Andes and with Ararat.
These temples grew as g-ows the grass;
Art might obey', but not surpass.
The passive Master le .t his hand
To the vast soul that o'er him planned ;
And the same power that reared the shrine,
Bestrode the tribes that knelt within.
Ever the fiery Pentecost
Girds with o.ie flame the countless host.
Trances the he irt through chanting choirs,
And through the priest the mind inspires.
The word unto the prophet spoken
Was writ on tables yet unbroken ;
The word by seers- or sibyls told,
In groves of oak. or fanes of gold,
Still floats upon the morning wind,
Still whispers to the willing mind.
One accent of the Holy Ghost
The heedless world hath never lost.
I know what say the fathers wise, —
The Book itself before me lies.
Old Chrysostom, best Augustine,
And he who blent both in Ins line,
The younger Golden Lips or mines,
Taylor, the Shakspeare of divines.
His words are music in my ear,
I see his cowled portrait dear;
And yet, for all his faith could see,
I would not the good bishop be.
TACT.
What boots it, thy virtue,
What profit thy parts,
While one thing thou lackest, —
The art of all arts ?
The only credentials,
Passport to success ;
Opens castle and parlor, —
Address, man, Address.
The maiden in danger
Was saved by the swain ;
His stout arm restored her
To Broadway again.
The maid would reward him, —
Gay company come ;
They laugh, (die laughs with them:
He is moonstruck and dumb.
This clinches the bargain ;
Sails out of the bajT;
Gets the vote in the senate.
Spite of Webster and Clay ;
Has for genius no mercy,
For speeches no heed ,
It lurks in the eyebeam,
It leaps to its deed.
Church, market, and tavern,
Bed and board, it will sway.
It has no to-morrow ;
It ends with to-day.
GOOD-BYE.
Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home:
Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine.
Long through thy weary crowds I roam ;
A river-ark on the ocean's brine,
Long I've been tossed like the driven foam;
But now, proud world I I'm going home.
Gool-bye to Flattery's fawning face;
To Grandeur witli his wise grimace;
To upstart Wealth's averted eye ;
To supple Office, low and high ;
To crowded halls, to court and street;
To frozen hearts and hasting feet;
To those who go. ami those who come ;
Good-L>3*e, proud world ! I'm going home.
I am going to my own hearth-stone,
Bosomed in yon green hills alone,—
A secret nook in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned ;
Where arches green, the live-long day,
Echo the blackbird's roundelay,
And vulgar feet have never trod
A spot that is sacred to thought and God.
O, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome ;
And when I am stretched beneath the pines,
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan ;
For what are they all, in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet !
TnE HUMBLE-BEE.
Burly, dozing, humble-bee,
Where thou art is clime for me.
Let them sail for Porto Rique,
Far-off heats through seas to seek ;
I will follow thee alone.
Thou animated torrid zone !
Zigzag Bteerer, desert cheerer,
Let me chase thy waving lines;
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer,
Singing over shrubs and vines.
Insect lover of the sun,
Joy of thy dominion !
Sailor of the atmosphere;
Swimmer through the waves of air;
Voyager of light and noon ;
Epicurean of June;
Wait, I prithee, till I come
Within earshot of thy hum, —
All without is martyrdom.
When the south wind, in May dayB,
With a net of shining haze
Silvers the horizon wall.
And, wilh softness touching all,
Tints the human countenance
Wifh a color of romance,
And, infusing subtle heats,
Turns the sod to violets,
Thou, in sunny solitudes,
Rover of the underwoods,
r
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CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
The green silence dost displace
With thy mellow, breezy bass.
Hot midsummer's petted crone,
Sweet to me thy drowsy tone
Tells of countless sunny hours,
Long daj'S, and 6olid banks of flowers;
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound
In Indian wildernesses found ;
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,
Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure.
Aught unsavory or unclean
Hath my insect never seen ;
But violets and bilberry bells,
Maple sap, and daffodels,
Grass with green ring half-mast high,
Succory to match the sky.
Columbine with horn of honey,
Scented fern, and agrimony,
Clover, catchfly, adder's tongue,
And brier roses, dwelt among ;
All beside was unknown waste,
All was picture as he passed.
Wiser far than human seer,
Yellow-breeched philosopher !
Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,
Thou dost mock at fate and care,
Leave the chaff, and take the wheat
When the fierce north-western blast
Cools sea and land so far and fast,
Thou already slumberest deep ;
Woe and want thou canst outsleep ;
Want and woe, which torture us,
Thy sleep makes ridiculous.
THE APOLOGY.
Think me not unkind and rude
That I walk alone in grove and glen,
I go to the god of the wood,
To fetcli his word to man.
Tax not my sloth that I
Fold my arms beside the brook ;
Each cloud that floated in the sky,
Writes a letter in my book.
Chide me not, laborious band,
For the idle flowers I brought,
Every aster in my hand
Goes home loaded with a thought
There was never mystery
But 'tis figured in the flowers;
Was never secret history
But birds tell it in the bowers.
One harvest from thv field
Homeward brought the oxen strong;
A second crop thine acres yield,
Whilst I gather in a song.
BEAETY — PROM NATURE.
For better consideration, we may distribute the
aspects of Beaut}' in a threefold manner.
1. First, the simple perception of natural forms is
a delight The influence of the forms and actions
in nature is so needful to man, that, in its lowest
functions, it seems to lie on the confines of commodity
and beauty. To the body and mind which have
been cramped by noxious work or company, nature
is medicinal and restores their tone. The tradesman,
the attorney conies out of the din and craft of the
street, and sees the sky and the woods, and is a man
again. In their eternal calm, he finds himself. The
health of the eye seems to demand a horizon. We
are never tired, so long as we can see far enough.
But in other hours, Nature satisfies by its loveli-
ness, and without any mixture of corporeal benefit
I see the spectacle of morning from the hill-top over
against my house, from day-break to sun-rise, with
emotions which an angel might share. The long
slender bars of cloud float like fishes in the sea of
crimson light. From the earth, as a shore, I look
out into that silent sea. I seem to partake its rapid
transformations : the active enchantment reaches
my dust, and I dilate and conspire with the morning
wind. How does Nature deify us with a few and
cheap elements! Give me health and a day, and I
will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous. The
dawn is my Assyria ; the sun-set and moon-rise my
Paphos, and unimaginable realmB of faerie ; broad
noon shall be my England of the senses and the un-
derstanding; the night shall be my Germany of
mystic philosophy and dreams.
Not less excellent, except for our less suscep-
tibility in the afternoon, was the charm, last even-
ing, of a January sunset. The western clcuds
divided and subdivided themselves into pink flakes
modulated with tints of unspeakable softness ; and
the air had so much life and sweetness, that it was
a pain to come within doors. What was it that
nature would say? Was there no meaning in the
live repose of the valley behind the mill, and which
Homer or Shakspeare could not re-form for me in
words? The leafless trees become spires of flame in
the sunset, witli the blue east for their background,
and the stars of the dead ealices of flowers, and
every withered stem and stubble rimed with frost,
contribute something to the mute music.
The inhabitants of cities suppose that the country
landscape is pleasant only half the year. I please
myself with the graces of the winter scenery, and
believe that we are as much touched by it as by the
genial influences of summer. To the attentive eye,
each moment of the year has its own beauty, and in
the same field, it beholds, every hour, a picture
which was never seen before, and which shall never
be seen again. Tiie heavens change every moment,
and reflect their glory or gloom on the plains be-
neath. The state of the crop in the surrounding
farms alters the expression of the earth from week
to week. The succession of native plants in the
pastures and roadsides, which makes the silent clock
by which time tells the summer hours, will make
even the divisions of the day sensible to a keen
observer. The tribes of birds and insects, like the
plants punctual to their time, follow each other,
and the year has room for all. By water-courses,
the variety is greater. In July, the blue pontederia
or pickerel-weed blooms in large beds in the shal-
low parts of our present river, and swarms with
yellow butterflies in continual motion. Art cannot
rival this pomp of puqile and gold. Indeed the
river is a perpetual gala, and boasts each month a
new ornament.
But this beauty of Nature which is seen and felt
as beauty, is the least part. The shows of day, the
dewy morning, the rainbow, mountains, orchards in
blossom, stars, moonlight, shadows in still water,
and the like, if too eagerly hunted, become shows
merely, and mock us with their unreality. Go out
of the house to see the moon, and 't is mere tinsel ;
it will not please us when its light shines upon your
necessary journey. The beauty that shimmers in
the yellow afternoons of October, who ever could
clutch it? Go forth to find it, and it is gone : 't is
only a mirage as you look from the windows of
a diligence.
2. The presence of a higher, namely, of the
spiritual element is essential to its perfection. The
high and divine beauty which can be loved without
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
3G3
effeminacy, is that which is found in combination
with the human will. Beauty is the mark God sets
upon virtue. Ever}' natural action is graceful.
Every heroic act is also decent, and causes the place
and the bystanders to shine. We are taught by
great actions that the universe is the property of
every individual in it. Every rational creature has
all nature for his dowry and estate. It is his, if he
will. He may divest himself of it; lie may creep
into a corner, and abdicate his kingdom, as most
men do, but he is entitled to the world by his
constitution. In proportion to the energy of his
thought and will, he takes up the world into him-
self. "All those things for which men plough,
build, or sail, obey virtue ;" said Sallust. " The
winds and waves," said Gibbon, " are always on the
side of the ablest navigators." So are the sun and
moon and all the stars of heaven. When a noble
act is done, — perchance in a scene of great natural
beauty ; when Leonidas and his three hundred
martyrs, consume one day in dying, and the sun and
moon come each and look at them once in the steep
defile of Thermopylae; when Arnold Wiukelried, in
the high Alps, under the shadow of the avalanche,
gathers in his side a sheaf of Austrian spears to
break the line for his comrades ; are not these
heroes entitled to add the beauty of the scene to the
beauty of the deed * When the bark of Columbus
nears the shores of America ; — before it, the beach
lined with savages, fleeing out of all their huts of cane ;
the sea behind; and the purple mountains of the
Indian Archipelago around, can we separate the
man from the living picture ? Does not the New
World clothe his form with her palm groves and
savannahs as fit drapery ? Ever does natural
beauty steal hi like air, and envelope great actions.
When Sir Harry Vane was dragged up the Tower-
hill, sitting on a sled, to suffer death, as the
champion of the English laws, one of the multitude
cried out to him, " You never sate on so glorious a
seat." Charles II., to intimidate the citizens of Lon-
don, caused the patriot Lord Russell to be drawn in
an open coach, through the principal streets of the
city, on his way to the scaffold. " But," his bio-
grapher says, " the multitude imagined they saw
liberty and virtue sitting by his side." In private
places, among sordid objects, an act of truth or
heroism seems at once to draw to itself the sky as
its temple, the sun as its candle. Nature stretcheth
out her arms to embrace man, only let his thoughts
be of equal greatness. Willingly does she follow
his steps with the rose and the violet, and bend her
lines of grandeur and grace to the decoration of her
darling child. Oily let his thoughts be of equal
scope, and the frame will suit the picture. A virtu-
ous man is in unison with her works, and makes the
central figure of the visible sphere. Homer, Pindar,
Socrates, Phocian, associate themselves fitly in our
memory with the geography and climate of Greece.
The visible heavens and earth sympathize with
Jesus. And in common life, whosoever has seen a
person of powerful character and happy genius, will
have remarked how easily he took all things along
with him, — the persons, the opinions, and the day,
and natirre became ancillary to a man.
3. There is still another aspect under which the
beauty of the world may be viewed, namely, as it
becomes an object of the intellect. Beside the rela-
tion of things to virtue, they have a relation to
thought. The intellect searches out the absolute
order of things as they stand in the mind of God,
and without the colore of affection. The intellec-
tual and the active powers seem to succeed each
other, and the exclusive activity of the one gene-
rates the exclusive activity of the other. There is
TOL. n. — '2±
something unfriendly in each to the other, but they
are like the alternate periods of feeding and work-
ing in animals; each prepares and will be followed
by the other. Therefore does beauty, which, in
relation to actions, as we have seen, conies unsought,
and comes because it is unsought, remain for the
apprehension and pursuit of the intellect; and then
again, in its turn, of the active power. Nothing
divine dies. All good is eternally reproductive.
The beauty of nature reforms itself in the mind,
and not for barren contemplation, but for new
creation.
All men are in some degree impressed by the face
of the world ; some men even to delight. This
love of beauty is Taste. Others have the same love
in such excess, that, not content with admiring,
the3' seek to embody it in new forms. The creation
of beauty is Art.
The production of a work of art throws a light
upon tlie mystery of humanity. A work of art is
an abstract or epitome of the world. It is the
result or expression of nature, in miniature. For,
although the works of nature are innumerable and
all different, the result or the expression of them all
is similar and single. Nature is a sea of forms
radically alike and even unique. A leaf, a sun-
beam, a landscape, the ocean, make an analogous
impression on the mind. What is common to them
all, — that perfectness and harmony, is beauty. The
standard of beauty is the entire circuit of natural
forms, — the totality of nature; which the Italians
expressed by defining beauty "il piu nell' uno."
Nothing is quite beautiful alone: nothing but is
beautiful in the whole. A single object is only so
far beautiful as it suggests this universal grace.
The poet, the painter, the sculptor, the musician,
the architect, seek each to concentrate this radiance
of the world on one point, and each in his several
work to satisfy the love of beauty which stimulates
him to produce. Thus is Art, a nature passed
through the alembie of man. Thus, in art, does
nature work through the will of a man filled with
the beauty of her first works.
The world thus exists to the soul to satisfy the
desire of beauty. This element I call an ultimate
end. No reason can be asked or given why the soul
seeks beauty. Beauty, in its largest and profoundest
sense, is one expression for the universe. God is
the all-fair. Truth, and goodness, and beauty, arc
but different faces of the same All. But beauty in
nature is not ultimate. It is the herald of inward
and eternal beauty, and is not alone a solid and
satisfactory good. It must stand as a part, and not
as yet the last or highest expression of the final
cause of Nature.
LOVE — F30M THE ESSAYS.
Every soul is a celestial Venus to every other soul.
The heart has its Sabbaths and jubilees, in which
the world appears as a hymeneal feast, and all natural
sounds and the circle of the seasons are erotic odes
ami dances. Love is omnipresent in nature as
motive and reward. Love is our highest word, and
the synonym of God. Every promise of the soul has
innumerable fulfilments: each of its joys ripens into
a new want. Nature, uncontainable, flowing, fore-
looking, in the first sentiment of kindness anticipates
already a benevolence which shall lose all particular
regards in its general light. The introduction to this
felicity is in private and tender relation of one to
one, which is the enchantment of human life; which,
like a certain divine rage and enthusiasm, seizes on
man at one period, and works a revolution in his
mind and body ; unites him to his race, pledges him
370
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
to the domestic .and civic relations, carries him with
new sympathy into nature, enhances the power of
the senses, opens the imagination, adds to his charac-
ter heroic and sacred attributes, establishes marriage,
and gives permanence to human society.
The natural association of the sentiment of love
with the heyday of the blood, seems to require that
in order to portray it in vivid tints which every youth
and maid should confess to be true to their throbbing
experience, one must not be too old. The delicious
fancies of youth reject the least savor of a mature
philosophy, as chilling with age and pedantry their
purple bloom. And, therefore, I know I incur the
imputation of unnecessary hardness and stoicism from
those who compose the Court and Parliament of Love.
But from these formidable censors I shall appeal to
my seniors. For, it is to be considered that this pas-
sion of which we speak, though it begin with the
young, yet forsakes not the old, or rather suffers no
one who is truly its servant to grow old, but makes
the aged participators of it, not less than the tender
maiden, though in a different and nobler sort. For,
it is a fire that kindling its first embers in the narrow
nook of a private bosom, caught from a wandering
spark out of another private heart, glows and
enlarges until it warms and beams upon multitudes
of men and women, upon the universal heart of all,
and so lights up the whole world and all nature with
its generous flames. It matters not, therefore, whether
we attempt to describe the passion at twenty, at
thirty, or at eighty years. He who paints it at the
first period, will lose some of its later ; he who paints
it at the last, some of its earlier traits. Only it is to
be hoped that by patience and the muses' aid, we
may attain to that inward view of the law, which
shall describe a truth ever young, ever beautiful, so
central that it shall commend itself to the eye at
whatever angle beholden.
And the first condition is, that we must leave a too
close and lingering adherence to the actual, to facts,
and study the sentiment as it appeared in hope and
not in history. For, each man sees his own life de-
faced and disfigured, as the life of man is not, to his
imagination. Each man sees over his own experi-
ence a certain slime of error, whilst that of other,
men looks fair and ideal. Let any man go back to
those delicious relations which make the beauty of
his life, which have given him sineerest instruction
and nourishment, he will shrink and shrink. Alas!
I know not why, but infinite compunctions embitter
in mature life all the remembrances of budding senti-
ment, and cover every beloved name. Everything
is beautiful seen from the point of the intellect, or as
truth. But all is sour, if seen as experience. Details
are always melancholy ; the plan is seemly and no-
ble. It is strange how painful is the actual world, —
the painful kingdom of time and place. There dwells
care and canker and fear. With thought, with the
ideal, is immortal hilarity, the rose of joy. Round it
all the muses sing. But with names and persons
and the partial interests of to-day and yesterday, is
grief.
The strong bent of nature is seen in the proportion
which this topic of personal relations usurps in the
conversation of society. What do we wish to know
of any worthy person so much as how he has sped
in the history of this sentiment? What books in the
circulating libraries circulate ? How we glow over
these novels of passion, when the story is told with
any spark of truth and nature! And what fastens
attention, in the intercourse of life, like any passage
betraying affection between two parties ? Perhaps
we never saw them before, and never shall meet them
again. But we see them exchange a glance, or be-
tray a deep emotion, and we are no longer strangers.
We understand them, and take the warmest interest
in the development of the romance. All mankind
love a lover. The earliest demonstrations of compla-
cency and kindness are nature's most winning pic-
tures. It is the dawn of civility and grace in the
coarse and rustic. The rude village boy teazes the
girls about the school-house door ; — but to-day he
comes running into the entry, and meets one fair
child arranging her satchel ; he holds her books to
help her, and instantly it seems to him as if 6he
removed herself from him infinitely, and was a
sacred precinct. Among the throng of girls he runs
rudely enough, but one alone distances him: and
these two little neighbors that were so close just now,
have learned to respect each other's personality.
Or who can avert his eyes from the engaging, half-
artful, half-artless ways of school girls who go into
the country shops to buy a skein of silk or a sheet
of paper, and talk half an hour about nothing, with
the broad-faced, good-natured shop-boy. In the
village, they are on a perfect equality, which love
delights in, and without any coquetry the happy, af-
fectionate nature of woman flows out in this pretty
gossip. The girls may have little beauty, yet plainly
do they establish between them and the good boy
the most agreeable, confiding relations, what with
their fun and their earnest, about Edgar, and Jonas,
and Almira, and who was invited to the party, and
who danced at the dancing-school, and when the
singing-school would begin, and other nothings con-
cerning which the parties cooed. By-and-by that
boy wants a wife, and very truly and heartily will
he know where to find a sincere and true mate, with-
out any risk such as Milton deplores as incident to
scholars and great men.
I have been told that my philosophy is unsocial,
and that, in public discourses, my reverence for the
intellect makes me unjustly cold to the personal rela-
tions. But now I almost shrink at the remembrance
of such disparaging words. For persons are love's
world, and the coldest philon pher cannot recount
the debt of the young soul wa Jering here ii. nature
to the power of love, without being tempted to un-
say, as treasonable to nature, aught derogatory to
the social instincts. For, though the celestial rapture
falling out of heaven seizes only upon those of tender
age, and although a beauty overpowering all analysis
or comparison, and putting us quite beside ourselves,
we can seldom see after thirty years, yet the re-
membrance of these visions outlasts all other remem-
brances, and is a wreath of flowers on the oldest
brows. But here is a strange fact ; it may seem to
many men in revising their experience, that they
have no fairer page in their life's book than the
delicious memory of some passages wherein affection
contrived to give a witchcraft surpassing the deep
attraction of its own truth to a parcel of accidental
and trivial circumstances. In looking backward,
they may find that several things which were not the
charm, have more reality to this groping memory
than the charm itself which embalmed them. But
be our experience in particulars what it may, no
man ever forgot the visitations of that power 10 his
heart and brain, which created all things new;
which was the dawn in him of music, poetry, and
art; which made the face of nature radiant with
purple light, the morning and the night varied
enchantments ; when a single tone of one voice could
make the heart beat, and the most trivial circum-
stance associated with one form is put in the amber
of memory ; when we became all eye when one was
present, and all memory when one was gone; when
the youth becomes a watcher of windows, and
studious of a glove, a veil, a ribbon, or the wheels af
a carriage ; when no place is too solitary, and none
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
371
too silent for him who has richer company and
sweeter conversation in his new thoughts, than any
old friends, though best and purest, can give him ;
for, the figures, the motions, the words of the
beloved object are not like other images written in
water, but, as Plutarch said, " enamelled in fire," and
make the study of midnight.
Thou art not gone being gone, where'er thou art,
Thou leav'st in him thy watchful eyes, in him thy loving
heart.
In the noon and the afternoon of life, we still throb
at the recollection of days when happiness was not
happy enough, but must be drugged with the relish
of pain and fear; for he touched the secret of the
matter, who said of love,
All other pleasures are not worth its pains,
and when the day was not long enough, but the night
too must be consumed in keen recollections ; when
the head boiled all night on the pillow with the gene-
rous deed it resolved on : when the moonlight was
a pleasing fever, and the stars were letters, and the
flowers ciphers, and the air was coined into song ;
when all business seemed an impertinence, and all the
men and women running to and fro in the streets,
mere pictures.
The passion re-makes the world for the youth. It
makes all things alive and significant. Nature grows
conscious. Every bird on the boughs of the tree
sings now to his heart and soul. Almost the notes
are articulate. The clouds have faces, as lie looks on
them. The tree3 of the forest, the waving grass and
the peeping flowers have grown intelligent; and al-
most he fears to trust them with the secret which
they seem to invite. Yet nature soothes and sympa-
thizes. In the green solitude he finds a dearer home
than with men.
Fountain heads and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves,
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are safely housed, save bats and owls,
A midnight bell, a passing groan,
These are the sounds we feed upon.
Behold there in the wood the fine madman ! He
is a palace of sweet sounds and sights ; he dilates ;
he is twice a man ; he walks with arras akimbo ; he
soliloquizes ; he accosts the grass and the trees ; he
feels the blood of the violet, the clover, and the lily
in his veins ; and he talks with the brook that wets
his foot.
The causes that have sharpened his perceptions of
natural beauty, have made him love music and verse.
It is a fact often observed, that men have written good
verses under the inspiration of passion, who cannot
write well under any other circumstances.
The like force has the passion over all his nature.
It expands the sentiment ; it makes the clown gentle,
and gives the coward heart. Into the most pitiful and
abject it will infuse a heart and courage to defy the
world, so only it have the countenance of the beloved
object. In giving him to another, it still more gives
him to himself. He is a new man, with new percep-
tions, new and keener purposes, and a religious so-
lemnity of character and aims. He does not longer
appertain to his family and society. He is somewhat.
He is a person. He is a soul.
MONTAIGNE — FROM REPRESENTATIVE MEN.
A single odd volume of Cotton's translation of the
Essays remained to me from my father's library,
when a boy. It lay long neglected, until, after many
years, when I was newly escaped from college, I read
the book, and procured the remaining volumes. I
remember the delight and wonder in which I lived
with it. It seemed to me as if I had myself written
the book, in some former life, so sincerely it spoke to
my thought and experience. It happened, when in
Paris, ill 1S33, that in the cemetery of Pere la Chaise,
I came to a tomb of Auguste Collignon, who died in
1830, aged sixty-eight years, and who, said the mo-
nument, " lived to do right, and had formed himself
to virtue on the Essays of Montaigne." Some years
later, I became acquainted with an accomplished
English poet, John Sterling ; and, in prosecuting my
correspondence, I found that, from a love of Mon-
taigne, he had made a pilgrimage to his chateau, still
standing near Castellan, in Perigord, and, after two
hundred and fifty years, had copied from the walls
of his library the inscriptions which Montaigne had
written there. That Journal of Mr. Sterling's, pub-
lished in the Westminster Review, Mr. Hazlitt has
reprinted in the Prolegomena to his edition of the
Essays. I heard with pleasure that one of the
newly-discovered autographs of William Shake-
speare was in a copy of Florio's translation of Mon-
taigne. It is the only book which we certainly know
to have been in the poet's library. And, oddly
enough, the duplicate copy of Florio, which the Bri-
tish Museum purchased, with a view of protecting
the Shakespeare autograph (as I was informed in
the Museum), turned out to have the autograph of
Ben Jonson in the fly-leaf. Leigh Hunt relates of
Lord Byron, that Montaigne was the only great wri-
ter of past times whom he read with avowed satis-
faction. Other coincidences, not needful to be men-
tioned here, concurred to make this old Gascon still
new and immortal for me.
In 1571, on the death of his father, Montaigne,
then thirty-eight years old, retired from the practice
of law at Bordeaux, and settled himself on his estate.
Though he had been a man of pleasure, and some-
times a courtier, his studious habits now grew on
him, and he loved the compass, staidness, and inde-
pendence of the country gentleman's life. He took
up his economy in good earnest, and made his firms
yield the most. Downright and plain-dealing, and
abhorring to be deceived or to deceive, he was es-
teemed in the country for his sense and probity.
In the civil wars of the League, which converted
every house into a fort, Montaigne kept his gates
open, and his house without defence. All parties
freely came and went, his courage and honor being
universally esteemed. The neighboring lords and
gentry brought jewels and papers to him for safe-
keeping. Gibbon reckons, in these bigoted times,
but two men of liberality iii France, — Henry IV. and
Montaigne.
Montaigne is the frankest and honestest of all wri-
ters. His French freedom runs into grossness ; but
he has anticipated all censure by the bounty of his
own confessions. In his times, books were written
to one sex only, and almost all were written in Latin ;
so that, in a humorist, a certain nakedness of state-
ment was permitted, which our manners, of a litera-
ture addressed equally to both sexes, do not allow.
But, though a biblical plainness, coupled with a
most uiicanonical levity, may shut his pages to many
sensitive readers, yet the offence is superficial. He
parades it: he makes the most of it: nobody can
think or say worse of him than he does. He pro-
tends to most of the vices ; and, if there be any vir-
tue in him, he says, it got in by stealth. There is no
man, in his opinion, who has not deserved hanging
five or six times; and he pretends no exception in
his own behalf. " Five or six as ridiculous stories,"
too, he says, " can be told of me, as of any man liv-
ing." But, with all this really superfluous frank-
ness, the opinion of an invincible probity grows into
every reader's mind.
" When I the most strictly and religiously confess
myself, I find that the best virtue I have has in ii
372
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
some tincture of vice : and I am afraid that Plato, in
his purest virtue (I, who am as sincere and perfect
a lover of virtue of that stamp as any other what-
ever), if he had listened, and laid his ear close to
himself, would have heard some jarring sound of
human mixture ; but faint and remote, and only to
be perceived by himself."
Here is an impatience and fastidiousness at color
or pretence of any kind. He has been in courts so
long as to have conceived a furious disgust at ap-
pearances; he will indulge himself with a little
cursing and swearing; he will talk with sailors and
gipsies, use flash and street ballads: he has stayed
in-doors till he is deadly sick ; he will to the open
air, though it rain bullets. He has seen too much
of gentlemen of the long robe, until he wishes for
cannibals ; and is so nervous, by factitious life, that
he thinks, the more barbarous man is, the better he
is. He likes his saddle. You may read theology,
and grammar, and metaphysics elsewhere. 'What-
ever you get here, shall smack of the earth and of
real life, sweet, or smart, or stinging. He makes no
hesitation to entertain you with the records of his
disease ; and his journey to Italy is quite full of that
matter. He took and kept this position of equilibrium.
Over his name, he drew an emblematic pair of scales,
and wrote Que srais je ? under it. As I look at his
effigy opposite the title-page, I seem to hear him say,
'You may play old Poz, if you will; you may rail
and exaggerate, — I stand here for truth, and will not,
for all tiie states, and churches, and revenues, and
personal reputations of Europe, overstate the dry
fact, as I see it; I will rather mumble and prose
about what I certainly know, — my house and barns;
my father, my wife, and my tenants; my old lean
bald pate ; my knives and forks ; what meats I eat,
and what drinks I prefer ; and a hundred straws just
as ridiculous, — than I will write, with a fine crow-
quill, a fine romance. I like gray days, and autumn
and winter weather. I am gray ami autumnal my-
self, and think an undress, and old shoes that do not
pinch my feet, and old friends who do not constrain
me, and plain topics where I do not need to strain
myself and pump my brains, the most suitable. Our
condition as men is risky and ticklish enough. One
cannot be sure of himself and his fortune an hour,
but he may be whisked off into some pitiable or
ridiculous plight. Why should I vapor and play the
philosopher, instead of ballasting, the best I can, this
dancing balloon ? So, at least, I live within com-
pass, keep myself ready for action, and can shoot the
gulf, at last, with decency. If there be anything
farcical in such a life, the blame is not mine: let it
lie at fate's and nature's door."
The Essays, therefore, are an entertaining solilo-
quy on every random topic that comes into his head ;
treating everything without ceremony, yet with mas-
culine sense. There have been men with deeper in-
tight; but, one would say, never a man with such
abundance of thoughts: he is never dull, never in-
sincere, and has the genius to make the reader care
for all that he cares for.
The sincerity and marrow of the man reaches to
his sentences. I know not anywhere the book that
seems less written. It is the language of conversa-
tion transferred to a book. Cut these words, and
they would bleed ; they are vascular and alive.
One has the same pleasure in it that we have in lis-
tening to the necessary speech of men about their
work, when any unusual circumstance gives momen-
tary importance to the dialogue. For blacksmiths
and teamsters do not trip in their speech ; it is a
shower of bullets. It is Cambridge men who correct
themselves, and begin again at every half sentence,
and, moreover, will pun, and refine too much, and
swerve from the matter to the expression. Mon-
taigne talks with shrewdness, knows the world, and
books, and himself, and uses the positive degree:
never shrieks, or protests, or prays: no weakness,
no convulsion, no superlative: does not wish to
jump out of his skin, or play any antics, or annihilate
space or time ; but is stout and solid ; tastes every
moment of the day ; likes pain, because it makes
him feel himself, and realize things ; as we pinch
ourselves to know that we are awake. He keeps
the plain ; he rarely mounts or sinks ; likes to feel
solid ground, and the stones underneath. His writ-
ing has no enthusiasms, no aspiration ; contented,
self-respecting, and keeping the middle of the road.
There is but one exception, — in his love for Socrates.
In speaking of him, for once his cheek flushes, and
his style rises to passion.
Montaigne died of a quinsy, at the age of sixty, in
1592. When he came to die, he caused the mass to
be celebrated in his chamber. At the age of thirty-
three, he had been married. " But," he says, " might
I have had my own will, I would not have married
"Wisdom herself, if she would have had me : but 'tis
not to much purpose to evade it, the common custom
and use of life will have it so. Most of my actions
are guided by example, not choice." In the hour of
death, he gave the same weight to custom. Que
scaisjc ? What do I know?
This book of Montaigne the world has endorsed,
by translating it into all tongues, and printing se-
venty-five editions of it in Europe: and that too, a
circulation somewhat chosen, namely, among cour-
tiers, soldiers, princes, men of the world, and men of
wit and generosity.
Shall we say that Montaigne has spoken wisely,
and given the right and permanent expression of the
human mind, on the conduct of life ?
GEOEGE HENRY CALVEET
"Was born at Baltimore, in Maryland, in 1803.
His grandfather, Benedict Calvert of Mount Airy,
Prince George's county, was a son of Lord Balti-
more, and an intimate friend of General "Wash-
ington. After the resignation of his commission
at Annapolis, "Washington passed the first night
of his journey homeward at Mount Airy with the
tory Benedict Calvert, — a circumstance severely
commented on by the political enemies of the
great Patriot* The father of Calvert was George
Calvert of Biverdule, an estate near "Washington,
now held and occupied by an eminent agricultu-
rist, the brother of our author, Charles Calvert,
and a favorite resort of Henry Clay, an intimate
friend of the family. George Calvert, the parent,
married Rosalie Eugenia Stier d'Artrelaer of Ant-
werp, a lineal descendant of Rubens, of a family
of rank and antiquity. The chateau d'Artrelaer,
a castellated mansion of the thirteenth or four-
teenth centuiy, is still in the possession of the
family. Calvert's maternal grandfather came to
America about the close of the last century, with
his daughter, to escape the spoliations of the
French emperor. ISTapoleonism is not one of his
descendant's traits. Few writers have hit that
assumption of power with more severity than our
author in many of his philosophical reflections.
The birth of Calvert thus ascends in an honor-
able lineage in both the colonial and European
* In Sparkss Correspondence "if Washington there is a
letter to Benedict Culvert relative to a projected tnurriuge
between his daughter udJ a member of Wasbiitcton's family
GEORGE HENRY CALVERT.
field. He was educated at Harvard and at Got-
tingen, where he became thoroughly imbued with
German literature. On his return to Maryland
he was for several years the editor of the Balti-
more American, at that time a neutral paper.
"While thus engaged he published in 1832 a vo-
lume, Illustrations of Phrenology, a collection of
passages from the Edinburgh Phrenological Jour-
nal, with an introduction giving an analysis of
the sy-item. It is noticeable as the first book
published in America on the subject. The same
distinction belongs to his notice of the water cure,
which lie announced to his countrymen in a let-
ter from Boppert, on the Rhine, August, 1S43,
which was published in the Baltimore American.
His Volume from the Life of Herbert Barclay
was published at Baltimore in 1833; a transla-
tion of Schiller's Don Carlos, in 1830; Count
Julian, an original tragedy, in 1840 ; Arnold and
Andre, a dramatic fragment; and two cantos of
Cabiro, a poem in the Don Juan stanza, with a
better earnestness, in the same year. In 1845 he
published a translation in New York of a portion
of the Goethe and Schiller Correspondence; in
1816, on his return from a tour abroad, a first
series of Scenes and Thoughts in, Europe, in which
Hydropathy, the system of Fourier, and other fa-
vorite topics, were ably discussed ; followed by a
second in 1853.
With an episode of foreign travel in 1850, the
fine spirit of which is chronicled in the last men-
tioned production, Mr. Calvert has been since
1843 a resident of Newport, Rhode Island, where,
on the revival of its charter, he became the first
mayor of the city in 1853. When the fortieth
anniversary of the battle of Lake Erie was cele-
brated in that city the same year, he delivered the
oration on the occasion — a graphic historical sketch
of the battle. Mr. Calvert has also been a con-
tributor to the Nexn York Review, the Forth
American, the Few York Quarterly, and other
publications.
The literary productions of Mr. Calvert arc
marked by their nice philosophical speculation,
their sense of honor and of beauty, and their pure
scholastic qualities. There is a certain fastidious-
ness and reserve of the retired thinker in the
manner, with a fondness for the aphorism ; though
there is nothing of the selfish isolation of the
scholar in the matter. The thought is original,
strongly conceived, and uttered with firinness.t
The topics are frequently of every-day life, it be-
ing the author's motive to affect the public wel-
fare by his practical suggestions from the laws of
health, philosophy, and art. Of these he is at
taice a bold and delicate expounder, a subtle and
philosophical critic.
WASHINGTON — FEOSI ARNOLD AND ANDHE.
Washington
Doth know no other language than the one
We speak: and never did an English tongue
Give voice unto a larger, wiser mind.
You'll task j'our judgment vainly to point out
Through all this desp'rate conflict, in his plans
A flaw, or fault in execution. He
In spirit is unconquerable, as
la genius perfect. Side by side I fought
With him in that disastrous enterprise,
Where rash young Braddock fell ; and there I
marked
The vef ran's skill contend for mastery
With youthful courage in his wondrous deeds.
Veil might the bloody Indian warrior pause,
Amid his massacre confounded, and
His bahicd rifle's aim, till then unerring,
Turn from " that tall young man," and deem in
awe
That the Great Spirit hovered over him;
For he, of all our mounted officers,
Alone came out unscathed from that dread carnage
To guard our shattered army's swift, retreat.
For years did his majestic form hold place
Upon my mind, stampt in that perilous hour,
In th' image of a strong armed friend, until
I met him next, as a resistless foe.
'Twas at the tight near Princeton. In quick march,
Victorious o'er his van, onward we pressed ;
When, moving with firm pace, led by the Chief
Himself, the central force encountered us.
One moment paused th' opposing hosts — and then
The rattling volley hid the death it bore:
Another — and the sudden cloud, nprolled,
Displayed, midway between the adverse lines,
His drawn sword gleaming high, the Chief — as
though
That crash of deadly music, and the burst
Of sulphurous vapor, had from out the earth
Summoned the God of war. Doubly exposed
He stood unharmed. Like eagles tempest-borne
Rushed to his side his men ; and had our souls
And arms with two-fold strength been braced, we
yet _
Had not withstood that onset. Thus does he
Keep ever with occasion even step, —
Now, was ily before our ea^er speed
Retreating, tempting us with battle's promise,
Oidy to toil us with a vain pursuit —
Now, wheeling rapidly about our flanks,
Startling our ears with sudden peal of war,
And fronting in the thickest of the fight
The common soldier's death, stirring the blood
Of faintest hearts to deeds of bravery
By his great presence, — ar.d his every act,
Of heady onslaught as of backward march,
From thoughtful judgment first inferred.
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
ALFIERI AND DANTE.
Alfieri tells, that he betook himself to writing, be«
cause in his miserable age and land he had no scope
for action ; and that he remained single because he
•would not be a breeder of slaves. He utters the
despair, to passionate tears, which he felt, when
young, and deeply moved by the traits of greatness
related by Plutarch, to find himself in times and in
a country where no great thing could be either said
or acted. The feelings here implied are the breath
of his dramas. In them, a clear nervous under-
standing gives rapid utterance to wrath, pride, and
impetuous passion. Though great within his sphere,
his nature was not ample and complex enough for
the highest tragedy. In his composition there w*
too much of passion and too little of high emotion.
Fully to feel and perceive the awful and pathetie
in human conjunctions, a deep fund of sentiment is
needed. A condensed tale of passion is not of itself a
tragedy. To dark feelings, resolves, deeds, emotion
must give breadth, and depth, and relief. Passion fur-
nishes crimes, but cannot furnish the kind and degree
of horror which should accompany their commission.
To give Tragedy the grand compass and sublime
significance whereof it is susceptible, it is not enough
that through the storm is visible the majestic figure
of Justice : the blackest clouds must be fringed with
the light of Hope and Pity ; while through them
Religion gives vistas into the Infinite, Beauty keep-
ing watch to repel what is partial or deformed. In
Alfieri, these great gifts are not commensurate with
his power of intellect and passion. Hence, like the
French classic dramatists, he is obliged to bind his
personages into too narrow a circle. They have not
enough of moral liberty. They are not swayed
merely, they are tj'rannized over by the passions.
Hence they want elasticity and color. They are
like hard engravings.
Alfieri does not cut deep into character: he gives
a clean outline, but broad flat surfaces without fiuish
of parts. It is this throbbing movement in details,
which imparts buoyancy and expression. Wanting
it, Alfieri is mostly hard. The effect of the whole is
imposing, but does not invite or bear close inspec-
tion. Hence, though he is clear and rapid, and tells
a story vividly, his tragedies are not life-like. In
Alfieri there is vigorous rhetoric, sustained vivacity,
fervent passion ; but no depth of sentiment, no play
of a fleet rejoicing imagination, nothing " visionary,"
and none of the " golden cadence of poetry." But
his heart was full of nobleness. He was a proud,
lofty man, severe, but truth-loving and scornful of
littleness. He delighted to depict characters that
are manly and energetic. He makes them wrathful
against tyranny, hardy, urgent for freedom, reclaim-
ing with burning words the lost rights of man, pro-
testing fiercely against oppression. There is in
Alfieri a stern virility that contrasts strongly with
Italian effeminateness. An indignant frown sits
ever on his brow, as if rebuking the passivity of his
countrymen. His verse is swollen with wrath. It
has the clangor of a trumpet that would shame the
soft piping of flutes.
Above Alfieri, far above him and all other Italian
greatness, solitary in the earliness of his rise, ere
the modern mind had worked itself open, and still
as solitary amidst the after splendors of Italy's fruit-
fulness is Dante. Take away any other great poet or
artist, and in the broad shining rampart wherewith
genius has beautified and fortified Italy, there would
be a mournful ciiasm. Take away Dante, and you
level the Citadel itself, under whose shelter the
whole compact cincture has grown into strength and
beauty.
Three hundred years before Shakespeare, in 1265,
was Dante born. His social position secured to him
the best schooling. He was taught and eagerly
learnt all the crude knowledge of his day. Through
the precocious susceptibility of the poetic tempera-
ment, he was in love at the age of nine years. This
love, as will be with such natures, was wrought into
his heart, expanding his young being with beautiful
visions and hopes, and making tuneful the poetry
within him. It endured with his life, and spiritual-
ized his latest inspirations. Soberly he afterwards
married another, and was the father of a numerous
family. In the stirring days of the Guelfs and Ghi-
bellines, he became a public leader, made a cam-
paign, was for a while one of the chief magistrates
of Florence, her ambassador abroad more than once,
and at the age of thirt3--six closed his public career
in the common Florentine way at that period,
namely, by exile. Refusing to be recalled on con-
dition of unmanly concessions, he never again saw
his home. For twenty years he was an impove-
rished, wandering exile, and in his fifty-sixth year
breathed his last at Ravenna.
But Dante's life is his poem. Therein is the spirit
of the mighty man incarnated. The life after earthly
death is his theme. What a mould for the thoughts
and sympathies of a poet, and what a poet, to fill all
the chambers of such a mould! Man's whole nature
claims interpretation ; his powers, wants, vices, as-
pirations, basenesses, grandeurs. The imagination
of semi-Christian Italy had strained itself to bring
before the sensuous mind of the South an image of
the future home of the soul. The supermundane
thoughts, fears, hopes of his time, Dante condensed
into one vast picture — a picture cut as upon ada-
mant with diamond. To enrich Hell, and Pui gatory,
and Paradise, he coined his own soul. His very
body became transfigured, purged of its flesh, by
the intensity of fiery thought. Gaunt, pale, stern,
rapt, his " visionary" eyes glaring under his deep
furrowed blow, as he walked the streets of Verona,
he heard the people whisper, " That is he who has
been down into Hell." Down into the depths of his
fervent nature he had been, and kept himself lean
by brooding over his passions, emotions, hopes, and
transmuting the essence of them into everlasting
song.
Conceive the statuesque grand imagination of
Michael Angelo united to the vivid homely particu-
larity of Defoe, making pictures out of materials
drawn from, a heart whose rapturous sympathies
ranged with Orphean power through the whole ga-
mut of human feeling, from the blackest hate up to
the brightest love, and 3'ou will understand what is
meant by the term Dantesquc. In the epitaph for
himself, written by Dante and inscribed on his tomb
at Ravenna, he says : — " I have sung, while travers-
ing them, the abode of God, Phlegethon and the
foul pits." Traversing must be taken literally.
Dante almost believed that he had traversed them,
and so does his reader too, such is the control the
poet gains over the reader through his burning in-
tensity and graphic pieturesqueness. Like the mark
of the fierce jagged lightning upon the black night-
cloud are some of his touches, as awful, as fearfully
distinct, but not as momentary.
In the face of the contrary judgment of such
criticsas Shelley and Carlyle, 1 concur in the common
opinion, which gives preference to the Inferno over
the JPurr/atorto and Paradiso. Dante's rich nature
included the highest and lowest in humanity. With
the pure, the calm, the tender, the ethereal, his sym-
pathy was as lively as with the turbulent, the pas-
sionate, the gross. But the hot contentions of the
time, and especially their effect upon himself, —
through them an outcast and proud mendicant, —
GEORGE HENRY CALVERT.
375
forced the latter upon his heart as his unavoidable
familiars. All about and within him were plots, am-
bitions, wraths, chagrins, jealousies, miseries. The
times and his own distresses darkened his mood to
the lurid hue of Hell. Moreover, the happiness of
Heaven, the rewards of the spirit, its empyreal joys,
can be but faintly pictured by visual corporeal
images, the only ones the earthly poet possesses. The
thwarted imagination loses itself in a vague, daz-
zling, golden mist. On the contrary, the trials and
agonies of the spirit in Purgatory and Hell, are by
such images suitably, forcibly, definitely set forth.
The Bufferings of the wicked while in the flesh are
thereby typified. And this suggests to me, that one
bent, as many are, upon detecting Allegory in Dante,
might regard the whole poem as one grand Allegory,
wherein, under the guise of a pictute of the future
world, the poet has represented the effect of
the feelings in this ; the pangs, for example, of the
murderer and glutton in Hell, being but a portraiture,
poetically colored, of the actual torments on earth
of those who commit murder and gluttony. Finally,
iu this there is evidence — and is it not conclusive ?
— of the superiority of 'the Book of Hell, that in
that book occur the two most celebrated passages in
the poem, — passages, in which with unsurpassed
felicity of diction and versification, the pathetic and
terrible are rounded by the spirit of poetry into
pictures, where simplicity, expression, beauty, com-
bine to produce effects unrivalled in this kind in the
pages of literature. I refer of course to the stories
of Francesca and Ugolino.
Dante's work is untranslatable. Not merely be-
cause the style, form, and rhythm of every great
poem, being the incarnation of inspired thought, you
cannot but lacerate the thought iu disembodying it;
but because, moreover, much of the elements of its
boly, the words namely iu which the spirit made it-
self visible, have passed away. To get a faithful
English transcript of the great Florentine, we should
need a diction of the fourteenth century, moulded
by a more fiery and potent genius than Chaucer.
Dot the thoughts solely, as in every true poem, are
so often virgin thoughts; the words, too, many of
them, are virgin words. Their freshness and unworn
vigor are there alone in Dante's Italian. Of the
modern intellectual movement, Dante was the ma-
jestic herald. In his poem are the mysterious sha-
dows, the glow, the fragrance, the young life-promis-
ing splendors of the dawn. The broad day has its
strength and its blessings; but it can give only a
faint image of the glories of its birth.
The bitter woes of Dante, hard and bitter to the
shortening of his life, cannot but give a pang to the
reader whom his genius has exalted and delighted.
He was a life-long sufferer. Early disappointed in
love; not blest, it would seem, in his marriage;
foile 1 as a statesman; misjudged and relentlessly
proscribed by the Florentines, upon whom from the
pits of Hell his wrath wreaked itself in a damning line,
calling them, " Gente avara, invida, e superba ;" a
homeless wanderer; a dependant at courts where,
though honored, he could not be valued ; obliged to
consort there with buffoons and parasites, he whose
great heart wa-i full of honor, and nobleness, and
tenderness; and at last, all his political plans and
hop< :s baffled, closing his mournful days far, far away
from home and kin, wasted, sorrow-stricken, broken-
hearted. Most sharp, mo4 cruel were his woes.
Yet to them perhaps we owe his poem. Had he not
been discomfited and exiled, who can say that the
mood or the leisure would have been found for such
poetry? His vicissitudes and woes were the soil to
feed and ripen his conceptions. They steeped him
in dark experiences, intensified his passions, enrich-
ing the imagination that was tasked to people Hell
and Purgatory ; while from his own pains he turned
with keener joy and lightened pen to the beatitudes
of Heaven. But for his sorrows, in his soul would
not have been kindled so fierce a fire. Out of the
seething gloom of his sublime heart shot forth forked
lightnings which still glow, a perennial illumination
— to the eyes of men, a beauty, a marvel, a terror.
Poor indeed he was in purse ; but what wealth had
he not in his bosom! True, he was a father parted
from his children, a proud warm man, eating the
bread of cold strangers ; but had he not his genius
and its bounding offspring for company, and would
not a day of such heavenly labor as his outweigh a
month, aye, a year of crushed pride ? What though
by the world he was misused, received from itiittle,
his own even wrested from him ; was he not the
giver, the conscious giver, to the world of riches
fineless ? Not six men, since men were, have been
blest with such a power of giving.
THE NUT*.
From amidst the town flights of steps led me, on
a Sunday morning, up a steep height, about two
hundred feet, to the palace of the Grand Duke.
Begilded and bedamasked rooms, empty of paint-
ings or sculpture, were all that there was to see, so
I soon passed from the palace to the terrace in front
of it.
A landscape looks best on Sunday. "With the
repose of man Nature sympathizes, and in the inward
stillness, imparted unconsciously to every spirit by
the general calm, outward beauty is more faithfully
imaged.
From the landscape my mind was soon withdrawn,
to an object beneath me. Glancing over the terrace-
railing almost into the chimneys of the houses below,
my eyes fell on a female figure in black, pacing
round a small garden inclosed by high walls. From
the privileged spot where I stood, the wall3 were
no defence, at least against masculine vision. The
garden was that of a convent, and the figure walk-
ing in it was a nun, upon whose privacy I was thus
involuntarily intruding. Never once raising her
eyes from her book, she walked round and round
the inelosure in the Sabbath stillness. But what to
her was this weekly rest ? She is herself an inces-
sant sabbath, her existence is a continuous stillness.
She has set herself apart from her fellows ; she
would no more know their work-day doings; she is
a voluntary somnambulist, sleeping while awake ;
she walks on the earth a fiesh-and-blood phantom.
What a fountain of life and love is there dried up !
To cease to be a woman ! The warm currents that
gush from a woman's heart, all turned back upon
their source ! What an agony ! — And yet, could my
eyes, that follow the quiet nun in her circumscribed
walk, see through her prison into the street behind
it, there they might, perchance at this very moment,
fall on a sister going freely whither she listeth, and
yet, inclosed within a circle more circumscribed
a thousand fold than any that stones can build — the
circle built by public reprobation. Not with down-
cast lids doth she walk, but with a bold stare that
would out-look the scorn she awaits. No Sabbath
stillness is for her — her life is a continuous oigie.
No cold phantom is she — she has smothered her
soul in its flesh. Not arrested and stagnant arc the
currents of her woman's heart — infected at their
spring, they flow foul and fast. Not apart has she
set herself from her fellows — she is thrust out from
among them. Her mother knows her no more, nor
her father, nor her brother, nor her sister. In
exchange for the joys of daughter, wife, mother,
woman, she has shame and lust. Great God I What
376
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
a tragedy she is. To her agony all that the poor
nun has suffered is beatitude. — Follow now, in your
thought, the two back to their childhood, their
sweet chirping innocence. Two dewy buds are j
they, exhaling from their folded hearts a richer \
perfume with each maturing month, — two beaming |
cherubs, that have left their wings behind them,
eager to bless and to be blest, and with power to
replume themselves from the joys and bounties of
an earthly life. In a few short years what a dis-
tortion ! The one is a withered, fruitless, branch- ;
less stem ; the other, an unsexed monster, whose
touch is poisonous. Can such things be, and men :
still smile and make merry? To many of its mem-
bers, society is a Saturn that eats his children — a
fiend,That scourges men out of their humanity, and
then mocks at their fall.
A nun, like a suicide, is a reproach to Christianity
— a harlot is a judgment on civilization.
BONAFAKTE.
Bonaparte was behind his age ; he was a man of
the past. The value of the great modern instru-
ments and the modern heart and growth he did not
discern. He went groping in the mediseval times
to find the lustreless sceptre of Charlemagne, and he
saw not the paramount potency there now is in that
of Faust. He was a great cannoneer, not a great
builder. In the centre of Europe, fiom amidst the
most advanced, scientific nation on earth, after nine-
teen centuries of Christianity, not to perceive that
lead in the form of type is far more puissant than in
the form of bullets ; not to feel that for the head of
the French nation to desire an imperial crown was
as unmanly .is it was disloyal, that a rivalry of
rotten Austria and barbaric Russia was a despicable
vanity; not to have yet learned how much stronger
ideas are than blows, principles than edicts — to be
blind to all this, was to want vision, insight, wisdom.
Bonaparte was not the original genius he has been
vaunted ; he was a vulgar copyist, and Alexander
of Macedon and Frederick of Prussia were his
models. Force was his means, despotism his aim ;
war was his occupation, pomp his relaxation. For
him the world was divided into two — his will, and
those who opposed it. He acknowledged no duty,
he respected no light, he flouted at integrity, he
despiseth truth. He had no belief in man, no trust
in God. In his wants he was ignoble, in his methods
ignorant. He was possessed by the lust of isolated,
irresponsible, boundless, heartless power, and he
believed that he could found it with the sword and
bind it with lies; and so, ere he began to grow old,
what he had founded had already toppled, and what
he had bound was loosed. He fell, and. as if history
would register his disgrace with a more instructive
emphasis, he fell twice; and exhausted France, be-
leaguered by a million of armed foe3, had to accept
the restored' imbecile Bourbons.
HOLIEP.E ASD EACHEL.
At the Theatre Franrais, I saw Moliere and Ra-
chel. It is no disparagement of Holiere to call him
a truncated Shakespeare. The naturalness, vigor,
common sense, practical insight and scenic life of
Shakespeare he has ; without Shakespeare's purple
glow, his reach of imagination and mighty intellec-
tual grasp, which latter supreme qualities shoot light
down into the former subordinate ones, and thus im-
part to Shakespeare's comic and lowest personages a
poetic soul, which raises and refines them, the want
whereof in Moliere makes his low characters border
on farce and his highest prosaic.
Rachel is wonderful. She is on the stage an em-
bodied radiance. Her body seems inwardly illumi-
nated. Conceive a Greek statue endued with speech
and mobility, for the purpose of giving utterance to
a profound soul stirred to its depths, and you have
an image of the magic union in her personations of
fervor and grace. Till I heard her, I never fully
valued the might of elocution. She goes right to
the heart by dint of intonation ; just as, with his
arm ever steady, the fencer deals or parries death by
the mere motion of his wrist. Phrases, words, sylla-
bles, grow plastic, swell or contract, come pulsing
with life, as they issue from her lips. Her head is
superb; oval, full, large, compact, powerful. She
cannot be said to have beauty of face or figure ; yet
the most beautiful woman were powerless to divert
from her the eyes of the spectator. Her spiritual
beauty is there more bewitching than can be the
corporeal. When in the Horaces she utters the
curse, it is as though the whole electricity of a tem-
pest played through her arteries. It is not Corneille's
Camille, or Racine's Hermione, solely that you be-
hold, it is a dazzling incarnation of a human soul.
SUITSIE LINCOLN FAIRFIELD.
Sumneb Lincoln-, the son of Dr. Abner Fairfield,
a physician of Warwick, Massachusetts, was horn
in that town on the twenty -fifth of June, 1803.
In 1806 his father, who had previously removed
to Athens, a village on the LTudson, died, leaving
a widow and two children in humble circum-
stances. The family retired to the home of the
mother's father, a farm-houso in We'tern Massa-
chusetts, where Fairfield remained until his twelfth
year. After a twelvemonth passed at school he
entered Brown University. Here lie studied so
unremittingly, that, after a few months, he was
attacked by a severe fit of sickness. On his re-
covery he endeavored to eke out his support by
teaching, but failing in this was forced to leave
college and seek a living as a tutor at the south.
He passed two years in this occupation, and in
preparation for the ministry, but in consequence
of the deatli of his friend and instructor, the Rev.
Mr. Cranston of Savannah, he changed his plan
of life and returned to the north. He had during
this period published " two pamphlets of rhymes,"
which, as we are informed in his biography by
his widow " he ever after shrunk from reading,"
were probably of indifferent merit.
He returned to the north with the determina-
tion to pursue a literary life, and in December,
1825, saded for London. He carried letters of
introduction to the conductors of periodicals, and
obtained engagements as a writer. His poem,
The Cities of the Plain, a description of the de-
struction of Sodom and Gomorrah, appeared in
the Oriental Herald, edited by J. S. Buckingham,
the traveller and lecturer. He was received in
France by La Fayette, and wrote his Pire la
Chaise and Westminster Abbey, at Versailles.
He also wrote letters descriptive of his tour to
the New York Literary Gazette, edited by James
G. Brooks. He returned home in July, 1826, and
soon after published a volume of poems, entitled
The Sisters of Saint Clara, a tale of Portugal,
which was followed in 1830 by Abaddon, the
SUMNER LINCOLN FAIRFIELD.
377
Spirit of Destruction, and other Poems, another
volume of poetry.
The next event in his life was his marriage to
Miss Jane Frazee. Fie removed with his wife to
Elizabethtown, with the intention of forming a
classical school, but before the honeymoon was
over the sheriff levied on their furniture and they
were set adrift. They afterwards resided at Bos-
ton, Harper's Ferry, and Philadelphia, the hus-
band gaining a precarious subsistence by writing
for the press, and becoming somewhat soured by
want of success. In 1828 he republished in a
volume The Cities of the Plain, with a few mis-
cellaneous pieces. A few months after, by the
influence of his Philadelphia friends, he was placed
at the head of Newtown Academy, about thirty
miles from that city. The situation pleased him,
and his affairs went on with unwonted serenity
until one July afternoon a favorite pupil, while
bathing with him in the river, was unfortunately
drowned. The event caused a temporary disar-
rangement of the duties of the school, and threw
such a gloom over the mind of the teacher that
he insisted upon leaving his situation and remov-
ing to New York. By the exertions of his wife,
in personally soliciting subscriptions, the means
were secured, principally in Boston, whither the
pair resorted in 1829, for the publication of a
new poem, The Last Night of Pompeii, which
appeared on their return to New York in 1832.
It was maintained by Mr. Fairfield that he had
anticipated in this poem the leading material of
Bulwer's novel, bearing a similar title, published
in London in 1834. His next enterprise was a
monthly periodical. His wife was again his can-
vasser, and the North American Magazine was
started in Philadelphia in 1833. He continued
to edit it for live years, when, the enterprise prov-
ing unproductive, lie disposed of the property to
Mr. James 0. Brooks of Baltimore.
The poet now became completely disheartened,
fell into irregularities, and with a family of five
children was often straitened in his finances. His
health rapidly failed, and in the fall of 1843 he
left Philadelphia with his mother for New Or-
leans. He arrived in the following spring, and
was cheered by meeting with his old friend Mr.
George D. Prentice. He died soon after, on the
Oth of March, 1844.
His wife had for some time previously been
engaged in obtaining subscriptions for a complete
edition of his poems. The first of two contem-
plated volumes, but the oidy one published, ap-
peared in 1841. In 1846 Mrs. Fairfield issued a
small volume containing a life of her husband,
from her pen, and a few of his poems.*
Mr. Fairtield possessed an ardent poetical tem-
perament, with many of the qualities commonly
assigned to the man of genius. He always main-
tained a certain heat of enthusiasm, but the flame
burnt too rapidly for genuine inspiration. He
was frequently common-place and turgid. His
imagination was active but undisciplined, and led
him to undertake comprehensive and powerful
themes which required greater judgment than he
* In addition to the titles of Fairfield's separate publica-
tions, already given, we may add the Siege of Constantinople,
Charleston. S. 0., 1822; Lays of Melpomene, Portland, 1824;
Mina, a Dramatic Sketch, with other Poems. Baltimore, 1825;
The Heir of the World and Lesser Poems, Philadelphia, 1829.
had to bestow. He possessed various accom-
plishment s, and particularly excelled as an in-
structor in his favorite historical and belles-let-
tres departments.
PERE LA CHAISE.
Beautiful city of the dead ! thou staud'st
j Ever amid the bloom of sunny skies
And blush of odors, and the stars of heaven
i Look, with a mild and holy eloquence,
| Lpon thee, realm of silence ! Diamond dew
| And vernal rain and sunlight and sweet airs
j For ever visit thee ; and morn and eve
Dawn first and linger longest on thy tombs
Crowned with their wreaths of love and rendering
back
From their wrought columns all the glorious beams,
That herald morn or bathe in trembling light
The calm and holy brow of shadowy eve.
Empire of pallid shades! though thou art near
The noisy traffic and thronged intercourse
Of man, yet stillness sleeps, with drooping eyes
And meditative brow, for ever round
Thy bright and sunny borders ; and the trees,
That shadow thy fair monuments, are green
Like hope that watches o'er the dead, or love
That crowns their memories ; and lonely birds
Lift up their simple songs amid the boughs,
And with a gentle voice, wail o'er the lost,
The gifted and the beautiful, as they
Were parted spirits hovering o'er dead forms
Till judgment summous earth to its account.
Here 'tis a bliss to wander when the clouds
Paint the pale azure, scattering o'er the scene
Sunlight and shadow, mingled yet distinct,
And the broad olive leaves, like human sighs,
Answer the whispering zephyr, and soft buds
Unfold their hearts to the sweet west wind's kiss,
And Nature dwells ia solitude, like all
Who sleep in silence here, their names and deeds
Living in sorrow's verdant memory.
Let me forsake the cold and crushing world
And hold communion with the dead ! then thought.
The silent angel language heaven doth hear,
Pervades the universe of things and gives
To earth the deathless hues of happier climes.
All, who repose undreaming here, were laid
In their last rest with many prayers and tears,
The humblest as the proudest was bewailed,
Though few were near to give the burial pomp.
Lone watehings have been here, and sighs have risen
Ot't o'er the grave of love, and many hearts
Gone forth to meet the world's sniiie desolate.
The saint, with scrip and staff, and scallop-shell
And crucifix, hath closed his wanderings here;
The subtle schoolman, weighing thistle-down
In the great balance of the universe,
Sleeps in the oblivion which his folios earned ;
The sage, to whom the earth, the sea and sky
Revealed their sacred secrets, in the dust,
Unknown unto himself, lies cold and still;
The dark eyes and the rosy lips of love,
That basked in passion's blaze till madness came,
Have mouldered in the darkness of the ground;
The lover, and the soldier, and the bard —
The brightness, and the beauty, and the pride
Have vanished— and the grave's great heart is still J
Alas! that sculptured pyramid outlives
The name it should perpetuate ! alas !
That obelisk and temple should but mock
With effigies the form that breathes no more.
The cypress, the acacia, and the yew
Mourn with a deep low sigh o'er buried power
37S
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
And mouldered loveliness and soaring mind,
Yet whisper, " Faith surmounts the storm of death !"
Beautiful city of the dead ! to sleep
Amid thy shadowed solitudes, thy flowerB,
Thy greenness and thy beauty, where the voice,
Alone heard, whispers love — and greenwood choirs
Sing 'mid the stirring leaves — were very bliss
Unto the weary heart and wasted mind,
Broken in the world's warfare, yet still doomed
To bear a brow undaunted ! Oil, it were
A tranquil and a holy dwelling-place
To those who deeply love but love in vain,
To disappointed hopes and baffled aims
And persecuted youth. How sweet the sleep
Of such as dream not — wake not — feci not here
Beneath the starlight skies and flowery earth,
'Mid the green solitudes of Pere La Chaise !
EOBEET M. BIED,
Tiie author of several successful plays and novels,
was born at Newcastle, Delaware, in 1803. He
was educated in Philadelphia, where he became a
physician. His literary career commenced in
1828 by the publication, in the Philadelphia
Monthly Magazine, of three tales entitled The Ice
Inland, The Spirit of the Reeds, and The Phantom
Players, and a poem, Saul's Last Day. His
tragedy of The Gladiator was soon after pro-
duced by Edwin Forrest, who enacted the princi-
pal character. The play still keeps possession of
the stage as a favorite among his personations.
^^w< — *_ ct. — -&£* — jZ .
Spartacus was followed by Oralloosa, a tragedy
whose scene is laid in Peru at the time of its con-
quest by the Spaniards. It was well received on
its first presentation, but has since been laid
aside.
The Broker of Bogota, the most finished of the
author's dramuticcompositions, was next produced,
like its two predecessors, by Mr. Forrest, but has
not obtained the permanent popularity of the
Gladiator.*
* Mr. Hoes, in his Dramatic Authors of America, mentions
another dramatic production of Dr. Bird, hitherto unpublished,
entitled Pelopidas.
In 1834 Dr. Bird published Calavar, or the
Knight of the Conquest, a Romance of Mexico,
in which he has presented a glowing and carefully
prepared historical picture.
The Infidel, or the Fall of Mexico, a second
historical novel on the same picturesque period,
and introducing several of the personages of the
previous tale, appeared in 1835.
In 1836 Sheppard Lee, a novel, was published
anonymously, but has been generally attributed to
the author of Calavar. It is a fanciful story of a
farmer who, discontented with his position of
moderate wealth and independence, falls into a
swoon, and in that state undergoes a series of
transmigration^ into the bodies of several persons,
whose circumstances in life he has heretofore
deemed happier than his own. He finally returns
with a thankful and contented heart to his pristine
condition.
In 1837 the author's most successful work,
Nick of the Woods or the Jibbenainosay, appeared.
The scene of this spirited romance is laid in Ken-
tucky soon after the close of the Revolutionary
warn The characters are all the strongly indi-
vidualized men of pioneer life, and the Indians are
portrayed from the point of view of the settler as
vindictive and merciless savages, unrelieved by
any atmosphere of poetry or sentiment, and
are probably more true to life than those of
Cooper.
In 1838 Dr. Bird published Peter Pilgrim, or a
Rambler's Recollections, a collection of magazine
papers, including an account of the Mammoth
Cave, of which he was one of the early explorers,
and the first to describe with any degree of
minuteness.
This work was followed in 1839 by The Ad-
ventures of Robin Bay, a novel of romantic
adventure, in which the hero, ca>t an unknown
orphan on the shore of Barnegat, and brought
up among the rude wreckers of the beach, works
his way through many interesting and surpris-
ing adventures, in which marine risks and the
Florida war contribute an exciting quota, to a fair
degree of repose and prosperity. The interest of
ah involved plot in this, as in Dr. Bird's other
fictions, is maintained with much skill, though
with some sacrifice of the probabilities from the
outset to the close.
After the publication of this work Dr. Bird
devoted himself for several years almost exclu-
sively to the cultivation of a farm. He returned to
Philadelphia to edit the North American Gazette,
of which he became one of the proprietors, and
died in that city of a brain fever in January, 1854.
Dr. Bird's fictions possess great animation in
the progress and development of the story. The
conversational portions show the practised hand
of the dramatist. The incidents of the story are
also managed with a view to stage effect ; and a
proof of these dramatic qualities has been afforded
in the success which has attended an adaptation
of Nick of the Woods for the theatre, in every
part of the country. ,
THE BEECH-TREE.
There's a hill by the Schuylkill, the river of hearts,
And a beech-tree that grows on its side,
In a nook that is lovely when sunshine departs.
And twilight creeps over the tide :
ROBERT M. BIRD.
How sweet, at that moment, to steal through the
grove,
In the shade of that beech to recline,
And dream of the maiden who gave it her love,
And left it thus hallowed in mine.
Here's the rock that she sat on, the spray that she
held,
When she bent round its grey trunk with me ;
And smiled, as with soft, timid eyes, she beheld
The name I had carved on the tree ; —
So carved that the letters should look to the west,
As well their dear magic became,
So that when the dim sunshine was sinking to rest
The last ray should fall on her name.
The singing-thrush moans on that beech-tree at morn*
The winds through the laurel-bush sigh,
And afar comes the sound of the waterman's horn,
And the hum of the water-fall nigh.
No echoes there wake but are magical, each,
Like words, on my spirit they fall ;
They speak of the hours when we came to the beech,
And listened together to all.
And oh, when the shadows creep out from the wood,
When the breeze stirs no more on the spray,
And the sunbeam of autumn that plays on the flood,
Is melting, each moment, away ;
How deai', at that moment, to steal through the
grove,
In the shade of that beech to recline.
And dream of the maiden who gave it her love,
And left it thus hallowed in mine.
A EESCFE — FROM NICK OF THE WOODS.
With these words, having first examined his own
and Roland's arms, to see that all were in proper
battle condition, and then directed little Peter to
ensconce in a bush, wherein little Peter straightway
bestowed himself, Bloody Nathan, with an alacrity
of motion and ardor of look that indicated anything
rather than distaste to the murderous work in hand,
led the way along the ridge, until he had reached
the place where it dipped down to the valley, covered
with the bushes through which he expected to
advance to a desirable position undiscovere 1.
But a better auxiliary even than the bushes was
soon discovered by the two friends. A deep gully,
washed in the side of the hill by the rains, was here
found running obliquely from its top to the bottom
affording a covered way, by which, as they saw at a
glance, they could approach within twenty or thirty
yards of the foe untirely unseen ; and, to add to its
advantages, it was the bed of a little water-course,
whose murmurs, as it leaped from rock to rock,
assured them they could as certainly approach un-
heard.
" Truly," muttered Nathan, with a grim chuckle,
as he looked, first at the friendly ravine, and then at
the savages below, " the Philistine rascals is in our
hands, and we will smite them hip and thigh I"
With this inspiring assurance he crept into the
ravine ; and Roland following, they were soon in
possession of a post commanding, not only the spot
occupied by the enemy, but the whole valley.
Peeping through the fringe of shrubs that rose, a
verdant parapet, on the brink of the gully, they
looked down upon the savage party, now less than
forty paee3 from the muzzles of their guns, and
wholly unaware of the fate preparing for them.
The scene of diversion and torment was over : the
prisoner, a man of powerful frame but squalid ap-
pearance, whose hat, — a thing of shreds and patches,
— adorned the shorn pate of one of the Indians, while
his eoat, equally rusty and tattered, hung from the
Ehoulders of a second, lay bound under a tree, but so
nigh that they could mark the laborious heavings of
his chest. Two of the Indians sat near him on the
grass, keeping watch, their hatchets in their hands,
their guns resting witlun reach against the trunk of
a tree overthrown by some hurricane of former years,
and now mouldering away. A third was engaged
with his tomahawk, lopping away the few dry
boughs that remained on the trunk. Squatting at
the fire, which the third was thus laboring to re-
plenish with fuel, were the two remaining savages ;
who, holding their rifles in their hands, divided their
attention betwixt a shoulder of venison roasting on a
stick in the fire, and the captive, whom they seemed
to regard as destined to be sooner or later disposed
of in a similar manner.
The position of the parties precluded the hope
Nathan had ventured to entertain of getting them in
a cluster, and so doing double execution with each
bullet; but the disappointment neither chilled his
ardor nor embarrassed his plans. His scheme of at-
tack had been framed to embrace all contingencies ;
and he wasted no further time in deliberation. A
few whispered words conveyed his last instructions
to the soldier ; wiio, reflecting that he was fighting
in the cause of humanity, remembering his own
heavy wrongs, and marking the fiery eagerness that
flamed from Nathan's visage, banished from hismind
whatever disinclination he might have felt at begin-
ning the fray in a mode so seemingly treacherous
and ignoble. He laid his axe on the brink of the
gully at his side, together with his foraging cap ; and
then, thrusting his rifle through the bushes, took aim
at one of the savages at the fire, Nathan directing his
piece against the other. Both of them presented the
fairest marks, as they sat wholly unconscious of their
danger, enjoying in imagination the tortures yet to
be inflicted on the prisoner. But a noise in the
gully, — the falling of a stone loosened by the soldier's
foot, or a louder than usual plash of water — suddenly
roused them from their dreams : they started up,
and turned their eyes towards the hill. — " Now,
friends" whispered Nathan; — "if thee misses, thee
loses thee maiden and thee life into the bargain. — Is
thee ready \"
" Read}'," was the reply.
" Right, then, through the dog's brain, — fire !"
The crash of the pieces, and the fall of the two
victims, both marked by a fatal aim, and both
pierced through the brain, were the first announce-
ment of peril to their companions; who, springing
up, with yells of fear and astonishment, and snatch-
ing at their arms, looked wildly around them for the
unseen foe. The prisoner also, astounded out of his
despair, raised his head from the grass, and glared
around. The wreaths of smoke curling over tho
bushes on the lull-side, betrayed the lurking-place
of the assailants , and savages and prisoner turning
together, they all beheld at once the spectacle of
two human heads, — or, to speak more correctly, two
human caps, for the heads were far below them, —
rising in the smoke, and peering over the bushes, as
if to mark the result of the volley. Loud, furious,
and exulting were the screams of the Indians, as
with the speed of thought, seduced by a stratagem
often practisel among the wild heroes of the border,
they raised and discharged their pieces against the
imaginary foes so incautiously exposed to their ven-
geance. The caps fell, and with them the rifles that
had been employed to raise them ; and the voice of
Nathan thundered through the glen, as lie grasped
his tomahawk and sprang from the ditch, — " Now,
friend! up with thee axe, and do thee duty i"
With these words, the two assailants at once
leaped into view, and with a bold hurrah, and bolder
hearts, rushed towards the fire, where lay the undis-
3S0
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
charged rifles of their first victims. The savages
yelled also ia reply, and two of them bounded for-
ward to dispute the prize. The third, staggered
into momentary inaction by the suddenness and
amazement of the attack, rushed forward but a step ;
but a whoop of exultation was on his lips, as he
raised the rifle which he had not yet discharged, full
against the breast of bloody Nathan. But his
triumph was short-lived; so fatal as it must have
proved to the life of Nathan, it was averted b}r an
unexpected incident. The prisoner, near whom he
stood, putting all his vigor into one tremendous
effort, burst his bonds, and, with a yell ten times
louder and fiercer than had yet been uttered, added
himself to the combatants. With a furious cry of
encouragement to his rescuers, — "Hurrah for Ken-
tucky ! — give it to 'em good!" he threw himself upon
the savage, beat the gun from his hnnds, and grasp-
ing him in his brawny arms, hurled him to theeaitli,
where, rolling over and over in mortal struggle,
growling and whooping, and rending one another
like wild beasts, the two, still locked in furious em-
brace, suddenly tumbled down the banks of the
brook, there high and steep, and were immediately
lost to sight.
Before this catastrophe occurred, the other Indians
and the assailants met at the fire ; and each singling
out his opponent, and thinking no more of the rifles,
they met as men whose only business was to kill or
to die. With his axe flourished over his head,
Nathan rushed against the tallest and foremost
enemy, who, as he advanced, swung ids tomahawk,
in the act of throwing it. Their weapons parted
from their hands at the same moment, and with per-
haps equal accuracy of aim; but meeting with a
crash in the air, they fell together to the earth,
doing no harm to either. The Indian stooped to re-
cover his weapon ; but it was too late : the hand of
Nathan was already upon his shoulder': a single ef-
fort of his vast strength sufficed to stretch the savage
at his feet, and holding him dowrn with knee and
hand, Nathan snatched up the nearest axe. "If the
life of thee tribe was in thee bosom," he cried with a
look of unrelenting fury, of hatred deep and inefface-
able, " thee should die the dog's death, as thee does !"
And with a blow furiously struck, and thrice re-
peated, he despatched the struggling savage as he
lay.
He rose, brandishing the bloody hatchet, and
looked for Ids companion. He found him upon the
earth, lying upon the breast of his antagonist, whom
it had been his good fortune to overmaster. Both
had thrown their hatchets, and both without effect,
Roland because skill was wanting, and the Shawnee
because, in the act of throwing, lie had stumbled
over the body of one of his comrades, so as to dis-
order his aim, and even to deprive him of his footing.
Before he could recover himself, Roland imitated
Nathan's example, and threw himself upon the un-
lucky Indian — a youth, as it appeared, whose strength,
perhaps at no moment equal to his own, had been
reduced by recent wounds, — and found that he had
him entiiely at his mercy. This circumstance, and
the knowledge that the other Indians were now
overpowered, softened the soldier's wrath ; and when
Nathan, rushing to assist him, cried aloud to him
to move aside, that he might ' knock the assns-
sin knave's brains out,' Roland replied by begging
Nathan to spare his life. " I have disarmed him,"
he cried, — "he resists no more — don't kill him."
" To the last man of his tribe 1" cried Nathan with
unexampled ferocity ; and, without another word,
drove the hatchet into the wretch's brain.
The victors now leaping to their feet, looked round
for the fifth savage and the prisoner; and directed
by a horrible din under the bank of the stream,
which was resounding with curses, groans, heavy
blows, and the plashing of water, ran to the spot,
where the last incident of battle was revealed to
them in a spectacle as novel as it was shocking. The
Indian lay on his back suffocating in mire and water;
while astride his body sat the late prisoner, covered
froi.p head to foot with mud and gore, furiously ply-
ing iiis fists, for he had no other weapons, about the
head and face of his foe, his blows falling like sledge-
hammers or battering-nuns, with such strength nnd
fury that it seemed impossible any one of them could
fail to crush the skull to atoms ; and all the while
garnishing them with a running accompaniment of
oaths and maledictions little less emphatic and over-
whelming. " You switches gentlemen, do yTou, you
exflunctified, peiditioned rascal? Ar'n't you got it,
you niggur-in-law to old Sattnn? you 'tarnal half-
imp, you? H'yar's for }"ou, you dog, and thar's for
you, j'ou dog's dog ! H'yar's the way I pay you in
a small-change of sogdologers !"
And thus he cried, until Roland and Nathan seiz-
ing him by the shoulders, dragged him by main
force from the Indian, whom, as was found when
they came to examine the body afterwards, he had
actually pommelled to death, the skull having been
beaten in as with bludgeons. — The victor sprang
upon his feet, and roared his triumph aloud : —
" Ar'n't I lick'd him handsome ! — Hurrah for Ken-
tucky and old Salt— Cock-a-doodle-doo |"
And with that, turning to his deliverers, he dis-
played to their astonished eyes, though disfigured by
blood and mire, the never-to-be-forgotten features of
the captain of horse-thieves, Roaring Ralph Stack-
pole.
WILLIAM BINGHAM TAPPAN,
TnE author of several volumes of pleasing occa-
sional poems, was born in Beverly, Massachusetts,
October 29, 1794. He published a volume of
poems in Philadelphia in 1819, a portion of which
he included in a larger collection in 1822. An-
other followed in 1834, and an additional volume,
The Poems of William, B. Tappan, not contain-
ed in a former volume, in 1886. A complete
collection was formed in 1848, in four volumes,
entitled, Poetry of the Heart ; Sacred and Mis-
cellaneous Poems ; Poetry of Life ; The Sunday
School, and other Poems.
These productions are all brief, and on topics
suggested in many instances by the clerical pro-
fession of their author. One of the longest is on
the Sunday School, and amongst the most spirited,
A Sapphic, for Thanksgiving. We cite the open-
ing stanzas —
When the old Fathers of New England sought to
Honor the Heavens with substance and with first
fruits,
They, with their blessings — all uncounted — summed
UP
Their undeservings.
They praised Jehovah for the wheat sheaves
gathered :
For corn and cattle, and the thrifty orchards ;
Blessings of baskef, storehouse, homestead, hamlet;
Of land and water.
They praised Jehovah for the Depth of Riches
Opened and lavished to a world of penury; .
Mines — whose red ore, unpriced, unbought, i: poured
from
Veins unexhausted.
JOHN K. MITCHELL.
381
They made confession of their open errors;
Honestly told God of their secret follies ;
Afresh their service as true vassals pledged him,.
And then were merry.
Strong was their purpose; Nature made them
nobles ;
Religion made them kings, to reign for ever !
Hymns of Thanksgiving were their happy faces.
Learning in music.
The author is a resolute advocate of total absti-
nence, and opponent of slavery. The picturesque
incidents of the missionary career, the hazards
of a sailor's life ashore as well as afloat, the joys
and sorrows of the fireside, and the inspiriting
themes of Christian faith, are also frequently and
variously dwelt upon. The verses are uniformly
smooth, musical, and in excellent taste.
THE SUNDAY SCHOOL.*
" Takes care of the Children !" — there's many
To sneer at a mission so small ;
Thank God, in earth's famine, for any
Cheap crumbs of his mercy that fall !
For the crying-out wide desolations,
In Zion a table is spread ; — ■
Coming up are the hungry by nations ;
But where shall the Children be fed?
T is noble — sublimity's in it,
When Charity maketh her proof,
And " speech,'' " resolution," and "minute,"
Stirs arches of Exeter-roof;
By gold, and a word, are at pleasure
The Cross and the Lion unfurled,
To take of Idolatry measure,
And vanquish for Jesus the world.
To contest, so brilliant and pleasant,
Let princes and emperors lead ; —
Be lifeguards of noblemen present,
And prelates and baronets bleed ;
We ask not, we wish not to battle
With them; but our disciplined? band
Marshal onwards, and where the shots rattle
Behold us ! the Infantry stand !
In the plebeian suburbs of Glos'ter,
More glory and royalty meet
Round him, who was eager to foster
The children that troubled the street ; —
Aye, nobler, sublimer, and better
Her office and honors, we see,
Who, patiently, letter by letter,
Here teaches the child at the knee.
"Takes care of the Children!" — where growing
In August are vintage and corn,
Who gazes and thinks of the sowing
Of sweet little April with scorn ?
" Small things" may be jeered by the scoffer,
Yet drops that in buttercups sleep.
Make showers ; — and what would he offer
But sand, as a wall for the deep ?
" Takes enre of the Children ?" — nor wasted
Is care on the weakest of these ;
The culturer the product has tasted,
And found it the palate to please.
There are sheaves pushing higher and faster,
And Age has more branches and roots, —
A young German philanthropist, in seeking to canr out
n favorite plan of benevolence towards the rising race, applied
to the American Sunday School Union for help", because it is
•The Society that takes care of tho Children.1"— Twentv-
Viird Atuiuul Report.
But dearer are none to the Master
Thau Childhood, in blossoms and fruits!
Our life is no " dream" — we began it
In tears, and on Time's narrow brink,
'Till farewells we wave to this planet,
We must wake up and labor and think, —
And effort concentrate, not scatter,
Un objects all worthy of us ; —
Where and how, we perceive is no matter,
Only blessing fix deep for the curse.
Yet, as choice in the vineyard's permitted,
Where labor is never in vain,
And patience and prayer, unremitted,
At last yield the harvest of grain —
In a world where the brambles oft sting us,
'T is well to choose pleasantest bowers; —
" Taking care of the Children" will bring us
The nearest to Heaven and Flowers!
JOHN K. MITCHELL,
A physician' of Philadelphia, and a contributor
of professional literature to the American Medical
and Physical Journal, is also the author of a vo-
lume, Indecision, a Tale of the Far West, and other
Poems, published by Carey and Hart in 1839.
Dr. Mitchell was born at Shepardstown, Vir-
ginia, in 1798. His family was from Scotland;
and on the death of his father, he was sent to be
educated in Ayr and at Edinburgh. Returning
to America, he studied medicine with Dr. Chap-
man at Philadelphia. In 1841, he was chosen
professor of the Practice of Medicine in the Phila-
delphia Jefferson Medical College.
In addition to the writings alluded to, Dr.
Mitchell published in 1821, a poem entitled St.
Helena, iy a Yankee.
Indecision, his longest production, is a didactic
poem, " intended," says his friend, the late Joseph
C. Neal, in a biographical notice in Graham's Ma-
gazine,* " to convey a moral of the most useful
character, by proving —
That Indecision marks its path with tears ;
That want of candor darkens future years;
That perfect truth is virtue's safest friend,
And that to shun the wrong is better than to mend.
And the poet has carried out the idea in a story
of romantic incident, somewhat unequal and
hasty at times, in its construction, but, on the
whole, marked with power, and calculated deeply
to interest the reader."
The following spirited lyric was written in
1820.
THE BRILLIANT NOR1 WEST.
Let Araby boast of her soft spicy gale,
And Persia her breeze from the rose-scented vale ;
Let orange-trees scatter in wildness their balm,
Where sweet summer islands lie fragrant and calm;
Give me the cold blast of my country again,
Careering o'er snow-covered mountain and plain,
And coming, though scentless, yet pure, to my breast,
With vigor and health from the cloudless Nor' West.
I languish where suns in the tropic sky glow,
And gem-studded waters on golden sands flow,
Where shrubs, blossom-laden, bright birds and sweet
trees
With odors and music encumber the breeze;
* August. 1846, where will be found an enumeration of TV.
Mitchell's medical papers, and Several Lectures before the
Franklin Institute.
SS2
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
I languish to catch but a breathing of thee,
To hear thy wild winter-notes, brilliant and free,
To feel thy cool touch on my heart-strings opprest,
And gather a tone from the bracing Nor' West,
Mists melt at thy coming, clouds flee from thy wrath,
The marsh and its vapors are sealed on thy path,
For spotless and pure as the snow-covered .North,
Their cold icy cradle, thy tempests come forth.
The blue robe is borrowed from clearest of skies,
Thy sandals were made where the driven snow lies,
And stars, seldom seen in this low world, are blest
To shine in thy coronet — brilliant Nor' West.
For ever, for ever, be thine, purest wind,
The lakes and the streams of my country to bind ;
And oh ! though afar I am fated to roam,
Still kindle the hearths and the hearts of my home !
While blows from the polar skies holy and pure
Thy trumpet of freedom, the land shall endure,
As snow in thy pathway, and stars on thy crest.
Unsullied and beautiful — glorious Nor' West.
THE NEW ATfD THE OLD 60NG.
A new song should be sweetly sung,
It goes but to the ear ;
A new song should be sweetly sung,
For it touches no one near :
But an old song may be roughly sung;
The car forgets its art,
As conies upon the rudest tongue,
The tribute to the heart.
A new song should be sweetly sung,
For memory gilds it not;
It brings not back the strains that rung
Through childhood's sunny cot.
But an old song may be roughly sung,
It tells of days of glee,
When the boy to his mother clung,
Or danced on his father's knee. •
On tented fields 'tis welcome still;
Tis sweet in the stormy sea,
In forest wild, on rocky hill,
And away on the pr:iirie lea: —
But dearer far the old song,
When friends we love are nigh,
And well known voices, clear and strong,
Unite in the chorus cry
Of the old song, the old song,
The song of the days of glee,
When the boy to his mother clung,
Or danced on his father's kneel
Oh, the old song — the old song 1
The song of the days of glee,
The new song may be better sung,
But the good old song for inel
EICHABD PEN2T SMITH
Was born in Philadelphia, and was educated
as a lawyer. His father, William Moore Smith,
who transmitted a taste for literature to his son,
is spoken of as a poetical writer of reputa-
tion. The first appearance of Richard Penn
Smith as an author was in the contribution of a
series of Essays entitled " The Plagiary" to the
Union. He was for five years, from 1822, the
proprietor and editor of the Aurora, in which he
succeeded Duane. He then returned to his pro-
fession of the law, still pursuing his literary tastes.
In 1831 he published a novel of the American
Revolution, The Forsaken. He is also the author
of two volumes of short stories, The Actress of
Padua and other Tales. He was a frequent wri-
ter of poetical pieces for the newspapers; but
chiefly known as a ready writer of dramatic pieces
for the 6tage. His tragedy of Caius Marius,
written for Edwin Forrest, was brought out by the
latter on the stage. He wrote numerous other
successful plays, some of the titles of which are,
Quite Correct, The Eighth of January, The Sen-
tinels, William Penn, the Water Witch, Is she a
Brigand? &e. Rees, in his Dramatic Authors, enu-
merates these, and tells an anecdote illustrating
his equanimity while turning off these hasty pro-
ductions for ready money. Leaving the theatre
one night at the close of the performance of a
piece of his composing, he met an old schoolfellow
who, ignorant of his friend's share in it, saluted
him. " Well, this is really the most insufferable
trash that I have witnessed for some time."
" True," replied Smith, " but as they give me a
benefit to-morrow night as the author, I hope to
have the pleasure of seeing you here again."
He died at his residence on the Schuylkill,
August 12, 1854. He had ceased to write for
some years before his death, having suffered from
a dropsical affection.*
MES. LOUISA J. HALL.
Louisa Jane, the daughter of Dr, James Park, of
Newburyport, was born in that place, February 7,
1802. Her father, in 1811, opened a school for
young ladies in Boston, at which the daughter
received a thorough education. She commenced
writing at an early age, and a few of her poems
appeared anonymously in the newspapers when
she was about twenty.
In 1825, the first half of her dramatic poem
of Miriam was read at a literary party in Bos-
ton ; the author, unknown as such to the compa-
ny, was present, and so much encouraged by
the commendations the work received, that she
completed it soon after. It was not published
until 1837.
In 1831, she removed with her father to Wor-
cester, where she was afflicted for four or five years
with almost total blindness. Her deprivation was
partially relieved by her father's kindness, who
read to her for hours daily from his well stocked
library, and assi-ted her in the preparation of
two prose compositions, which she afterwards
published, Joanna of Naples, a tale, and a life of
Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, the learned friend of Dr.
Johnson.
In 1840, Miss Park was married to the Rev.
Edward B. Hall, a Unitarian clergyman of Pro-
vidence, Rhode Island.
The scene of Miriam is laid in Rome, in the
early ages of the Chris tian church. The characters
of the piece are few, and the action confined en-
tirely to the antagonism between the dominant
idolatry and the yet persecuted Faith.
Miriam, a young Christian maiden, is sum-
moned by her father and brother to attend the
burial rites of one of their persecuted sect. Her
refusal excites their surprise, but they depart on
| their errand. Paulus, the son of Piso, "a noble Ro-
man, a persecutor of the Christians," enters. Un-
l able to change his faith.she has remained behind for
! a farewell interview. While they are together, her
! brother Euphas returns, reproaches her for what
* Eees's Dramatic Authors of America.
LOUISA J. HALL.
383'
he deems her immorality, and brings intelligence
that the assembly had been surprised, and her
father, with others, led to prison to be condemn-
ed to death. Euphas summons other Christians,
who surround Panlus ; and departs to propose to
Piso, who is devotedly attached to his only son,
an exchange of prisoners. The next scene intro-
duces the merciless Roman ruler. Euphas is in
despair, when Miriam enters. Her resemblance
to her deceased mother powerfully affects Piso,
who, years ago, a soldier in Syria, had wooed the
latter "when a maiden, and now discovers the rival
who became her husband within his power.
Finding he can save his son's life only by the re-
lease of all the captives, he promises that they
shall return at the appointed time, the break of
the following day. To this, and its first locality,
the scene changes. The brother and sister return
with the promise, and are soon followed by the
mockery of its fulfilment. The Christian captives
are introduced, bearing with them the aged Thra-
seno, stretched dead upon a bier, having been
strangled in prison by order of his old rival. Mi-
riam sinks under this accumulated misery. She
rallies a moment as her lover proclaims that hence-
forth his part and lot are with those about him,
and craves, as a sincere convert, the rite of bap-
tism ; but while the funeral dirge rises around the
body of her father, her gentle spirit passes from
earth.
"We quote the concluding scene of the drama :—
Christians enter, and the group opening, displays the
body of Thraseno on a bier.
Paidus. (Springing forward.) Oh foul and bloody
deed! — and wretched son!
That knows too well whose treachery hath done this !
An aged Christian. Thus saith the man of blood,
" My word is kept.
I send you him I promised. Have ye kept
Your faith with me ? If so, there is naught more
Between us three. Bury your dead, — ami fly!"
First Christian. A rufliaii's strangling hand hath
grasped this throat !
And on the purple lip convulsion still
Lingers with awful tale of violence.
Oh, fearful was the strife from which arose
Our brother's spirit to its peaceful home !
Let grief, let wrath, let each unquiet thought
Be still, and round the just man's dust ascend
The voice of pray'r.
Paulus. Not yet! oh! not quite yat\
Hear me, 3'e pale and horror-stricken throng !
Hear me, thou sobbing boy ! My Miriam, turn —
Turn back thy face from the dim world of death,
And hear thy lover's voice ! — What seest thou
In the blue neav'ns with fixed and eager gaze?
Miriam. Angels are gathering in the eastern sky —
The wind is playing 'mid their glittering plumes —
The sunbeams dance upon their golden harps —
Welcome is on their fair and glorious brows!
Hath not a holy spirit passed from earth,
Whom ye come forth to meet, seraphic forms?
Oh, fade not, fade not yet ! — or take me too,
For earth grows dark beneath my dazzled eye!
Paulus. Miriam I in mercy spread not yet thy
wings!
Spurn me not from the gate that opes for thee !
Miriam. In which world do I stand ! A voice
there was
Of prayer and woe. That must have rung on earth !
Say on.
Paulus. Christians! I must indeed say on
Or my full heart will break ! — No heathen is't
On whom ye gaze with low'ring, angry eyes.
My father's blood — his name, his faith, his gods —
I here abjure ; and only ask your prayers,
The purifying water on my brow,
And words of hope to soothe my penitence —
Ere I atone my father's crimes with blood.
[Silence.
And will none speak? Am I indeed east off —
Rejected utterly ? Will no one teach
The sinner how to frame the Christian's prayer,
Help me to know the Christian's God aright,
Wash from my brow the deep-red stains of guilt?
Must I then die in ignorance and sin?
Miriam. O earth ! be not so busy with my soul!
Paulus ! what wouldest thou ?
Paulus. The rite that binds
New converts to your peaceful faith.
Miriam. Good brethren,
Hear ye his prayer ! Search ye the penitent,
Bear him forth with you in your pilgrimage,
And when his soul in earnest hath drunk in
The spirit of Christ's law, seal him for Heaven
And now — would that my chains were broke I Half-
freed
My spirit struggles 'neath the dust that lies
So heavy on her wings ! — Paulus, we part.
But oh, how different is the parting hour
From that which crushed my hopeless spirit erst!
Joy — joy and triumph now
Paulus. Oh, name not joy.
Miriam. Why not ? If but one ray of light from
Heaven
Hath reached thy soul, I may indeed rejoice!
Ev'n thus, in coming days, from martyrs' blood
Shall earnest saints arise to do God's work.
And thus with slow, sure, silent step shall Truth
Tread the dark earth, and scatter Light abroad,
Till Peace and Righteousness awake, and lead
Triumphant, in the bright and joyous blaze,
Their happy myriads up to yonder skies !
Euphas. Sister! with 6ueh a calm and sunny
brow
Stand'st thou beside our murdered father's bier?
Miriam. Euphas, thy hand ! — Aye, clasp thy bro-
ther's han 1 '
Ye fair and young apostles! go ye forth —
Go side by side beneath the sun and storm,
A dying sister's blessing on your toils!
When ye have poured the oil of Christian peace
On passions rude and wild — when ye have won
Dark, sullen souls from wrath and sin to God — :
Whene'er ye kneel to bear upon your prayers
Repentant sinners up to yonder heaven,
Be it in palace — dungeon — open air —
'Mid friends — 'mid raging foes — in joy — in grief —
Deem not ye pray alone , — man never doth I
A sister spirit, ling'ring near, shall fill
The silent air around you with her prayers,
Waiting till ye too lay your fetters down,
And come to your reward ! — Go fearless forth ;
For glorious truth wars with you, and shall reign.
[Seeing the bier.
My father ! sleepest thou ? — Aye, a sound sleep.
Dreams have been there — oh, horrid dreams ! — but
now,
The silver beard heaves not upon thy breast,
The hand I press is deadly, deadly cold,
And thou wilt dream, wilt never suffer, more.
Why gaze I on this clay ! It was not this —
Not this I reverenced and loved !
My friends,
Raise ye the dirge ; and though I hide my face
In my dead father's robe, think not I weep.
3S4
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
I 'would not have the sight of those I love
Too well, — ev'n at this solemn hour, too well, —
Disturb my soul's communion witli the blest !
Jly brother, — sob not so !
DIEGE,
Shed not the wild and hopeless tear
Upon our parted brother's bier ;
"With heart subdued and steadfast eye,
Oh, raise each thought to yonder sky !
Aching brow and throbbing breast
In the silent grave shall rest;
But the clinging dust in vain
Weaves around the soul its chain.
Spirit, quit this hind of tears,
Hear the song of rolii g -.bores;
Shall our wild and selrh-h prayers
Call thee back to mortal cares?
Sainted spirit ! fare thee well!
More than mortal tongue can tell •.
Is the joy that even now
Crowns our blessed martyr's brow 1
Euphas. Paulus, arise !
We must away. Thy father's wrath
Paulus. Oh, peace 1
My Miriam, — speak to us! — she doth not stir !
Euphas. Methought I saw her ringlets move 1
First Christian. Alas!
Twas but the breeze that lifted those dark locks!
They never will wave more.
Euphas. It cannot be !
Let me but look upon her face ! — Oh, God !
Death sits in that glazed eye !
First Christian. Aye, while we sung
Her father's dirge — acros's the young and fair
I saw death's shudder pass. Kay, turn not pale.
Borne on the solemn strain, her spirit soared
Most peacefully on high.
Chastened ye are
And 1." "nd by sorrow to your holy task.
Arise, — and in your youthful memories
Treasure the end of innocence. — Away,
Beneath far other skies, weep — if ye can —
The gain of those ye loved.
Euphas. Lift this fair dust. —
My brother! speechless, tearless grief for her
"Who listeneth for thy pray'rs?
Paulus. My mind is dark.
The faith which she bequeathed must lighten it-
Come forth, and I will learn. — Oh, Miriam !
Can thy bright faith e'er comfort grief like mine?
MAEIA J. McINTOSH.
Miss McIxtosit, the author of a series of fictions,
characterized by their truthfulness and happy
style, is the descendant of a Scottish family,
which came among the first settlers to Georgia.
Her ancestors in Scotland were distinguished by
the handling of the sword rather than the pen,
though an uncle of her grandfather, Brigadier-
General "William Mcintosh, who led the Highland
troops in the rising of 1715, during ?, fifteen years'
imprisonment in the Castle of Edinburgh, where
he died, wrote a treatise on " Inclosing, Fallow-
ing, and Planting in Scotland." "With fortunes
greatly diminished by the adherence of his family
to the Stuarts, her great-grandfather, Capt. John
More Mcintosh, with one hundred adherents,
sailed from Inverness, in 1735, for the colony of
Georgia, and landing on the banks of the Alata-
maha, named the place at which they settled New
Inverness, now Darien, in the county which still
retains the name of Mcintosh. This John More
Mcintosh was the same who originated and was tha
first signer of the protest made by the colonists to
the Board of Trustees in England, against the in-
troduction of African slaves into Georgia. Of his
sons and grandsons, seven bore commissions in
the American Army of the Revolution. Of
these, Major Lachlan Mcintosh was the father
of our author. He combined the dissimilar pro-
fessions oi the law and of arms. His standing as
a lawyer was high in his native state, and after
the war of the Revolution, political honors were
often thrust upon him, and his pen was often
employed in defence of fhe measures of his party.
He was admired for his social qualities, and his
warm heart and conversational talents are still
remembered. He was married to an accom-
plished lady, wno united great energy of character
to purely feminine traits. Major Mcintosh re-
sided after the Revolution in the village of Sun-
bury, forty miles south of Savannah, on the sea-
coast of Georgia, where our author was born. In a
reminiscence of this spot she thus records her
impressions of its scenery. " Sunbury was beau-
tifully situated about five miles from the ocean,
on a bold frith or arm of the sea, stretching up
between St. Catherine's Island on the one side
and the main land on the other, forming, appa-
rently, the horns of a crescent, at the base of
which the town stood. It was a beautiful spot,
carpeted with the short-leaved Bermuda grass,
and shaded with oak, cedar, locust, and a flower-
ing tree, the Pride of India. It was then the
summer resort of all the neighboring gentry, who
went thither for the sea air. "Within the last
twenty years it has lost its character for health,
and is now a desolate ruin ; yet the hearts of
those who grew up in its shades still cling to the
memory of its loveliness ; a recollection which
exists as a bond of union between them, which
no distance can wholly sever. Its sod, still greeu
and beautiful as ever, is occasionally visited by a
MARIA J. McINTOSH.
3SI
solitary pilgrim, who goes thither with something
of the tender reverence with which ho would
visit the grave of a beloved friend."
In Sunbury, at an academy, which dispensed
its favors to pupils of both sexes, Miss Mcintosh
received all of her education for which she was
indebted to schools;* and there the first twenty
years of her life were spent. After that time her
home having been broken up by the death of her
mother, she passed much of her time with a
married sister, who resided in New York, and
afterwards with her brother, Capt. James M.
Mcintosh of the U. S. navy, whose family had
also removed to that city. In 1835, Miss
Mcintosh was induced to sell her property in
Georgia, and invest the proceeds in New York.
The investment proving injudicious, she was
dependent on her friends or her pen. She
characteristically chose the independence and
intellectual development of the latter. Her first
thought was to translate from the French. A
friend advised her to attempt a juvenile series of
publications, which should take the place in moral
Science which the popular " Peter Parley" books
had taken in matters of fact, and suggested
" Aunt Kitty" as a nom de plume. The story of
'Blind Alice was accordingly written in 1838, but
did not find a publisher till 1841. Its success led
to a second, Jessie G-rahame, which was followed
in quick succession by Florence Arnott, Grace
and Clara, and Ellen, Leslie. Each of these
little works was designed for the inculcation and
* A few notes before us, from the pen of Miss Mcintosh,
contain a souwnir to the memory of this head master of
Sunbury. " He was an Irish Gentleman — an epithet which
he marked as quite distinct from that of a Gentleman from
Ireland. He was a graduate of the University of Antrim ; — a
Presbyterian divine, yet not in early life after a very strict
model. He would indeed, then, have answered Addison's de-
mands well, being quite willing to avail himself of the elo-
quence of the classics of the pulpit, while he could take a
hand readily, either in backgammon — Sjr Roger de Coverley's
special requisition — or in whist. In his latter years, however,
for he has passed away from earth, he became an earnest and
sincere Christian minister, and might have said to many of his
order, ' I was iu labors more abundant.' As a teacher lie was
unsurpassed. Taught in the niceties of his own language and
of the dead languages, as few American scholars of that day
were, he seemed especially gifted for the communication of
knowledge to others. On his first arrival in this country ho
had resided in Alexandria, and had taught iu the family of
General Washington, as he was proud of remembering. When
he came to Georgia lie married ; — there he continued to live, j
and there he died at a very advanced age, nearly, if not quite, i
a hundred. Even to the last year of his life he would have de-
tected an imperfect concord or false prosody. When he was a
teacher, the barbarous age of the rod and the ferule still con- I
tinned, and the boys of his school sometimes complained that
they were made to expiate by their application, not their own
faults onlj'. but also those of their fair companions, who were
of course exempted from such punishments. To those who
showed any interest in study, he was kind and indulgent. To
myself he scarcely offered any constraint, permitting me often
to choose my studies and prescribe my own lessons. The
natural dislike of a vivacious girl to plod ever and ever in one
beaten track, while boys, who were not always brighter than
herself, were leaving her to penetrate into the higher myste-
ries of science, he stimulated rather than repressed, producing
thus an emulation, which gave a healthy impulse to both parties.
I remember often to have heard Dr. Me Whir — for this was
Ihe name of the master — say, that this rivalry had done more
for his school than a dozen rods, and I am quite sure that with
it there mingled no bitterness, for some of those lads have
been among the best friends of my life. The peculiar training
of such a school must of course have exercised no small influ-
ence on the mental characteristics. It perhaps enabled me to
exercise more readily the self-reliance necessary when thrown
on my own resources, — yet it never inclined me for a moment
to the vagaries of those who stand forth as the champions of
women's rights. He who best understood the nature lie had
formed, assigned to woman a position of subjection and de-
pendence, and I consider the noblest right to be, the right
intelligently to obey His laws. In that obedience is found,
doubtless, the highest honor of man or woman."
vol. ii. — 25
illustration of some moral sentiment. In Blind
Alice it was the happiness springing from the
exercise of benevolence; in Jessie Grahame, the
love of truth ; in Florence Arnott, the distinction
between true generosity and its counterfeit; in
Grace and Clara, the value of the homely quality
of justice ; and in Ellen Leslie, the influence of
temper on domestic happiness. In 1844, Con-
quest and Self- Conquest, and Woman an Enigma,
were published by the Harpers. In 1845, the
same publishers brought out Pravse and Prhu
ciple, and a child's tale called The Cousins. Her
next work, To Seem and to Be, was published in
1846 b}r the Appletons, who, in 1S47, republished
Aunt Kitty's Tales, collected from the previous
editions into a single volume. In 1848, the same
house published Charms and Counter Charms,
and the next year, Donaldson Manor, a collec-
tion of articles written at various times for
magazines, and strung together by a slight
thread. In 1850, was brought out Woman in
America, the only purely didactic work the
author has pulished. In 1853, appeared The
Lofty and the Lowly, a picture of the life of the
slave and the master, in the southern portion of
the United States.
In England, Miss Mcintosh's hooks have enjoyed
a good reputation, with a large popular sale. They
were first introduced by the eminent tragedian,
Mr. Macready, who, having obtained Aunt Kitty's
Tales in this country to take home to his child-
ren, read them himself on the voyage, as he
afterwards wrote to a friend in this city, with
such pleasure, that soon after his arrival in Lon-
don ho placed them in the hands of a publisher,
who reproduced them there. The author's other
books have been published in England as they
made their appearance iu America, and in the
competition for uncopyrighted foreign literature,
by more than one London publisher; though with
the liberty of occasionally changing the name.
TUE BROTHERS ; OR, IN TITF. FASITION AND ABOVF. TUF.
FASHION.*
"Some men are born to greatness — some achieve
greatness — and some have greatness thrust upon
them." Henry Manning belonged to the second of
these three great classes. The son of a mercantile
adventurer, who won and lost a fortune by specula-
tion, he found himself at sixteen years of age called
on to choose between the life of a Western farmer,
with its vigorous action, stirring incident, and rough
usage — and the life of a clerk in one of the most
noted establishments in Broadway, the great source
and centre of fashion in New York. Mr. Morgan,
the brother of Mrs. Manning, who had been recalled
from the distant West by the death of her husband, .
and the embarrassments into which that event had
plunged her, had obtained the offer of the latter si-
tuation for one of his two nephews, and would take
the other with him to his prairie-home.
" I do not ask you to go with me, Matilda," he
said to his sister, " because our life is yet too wild
and rough to suit a delicate woman, reared, as you
have been, in the midst of luxurious refinements.
The difficulties and privations of life in the West
fall most heavily upon woman, while she lias little
of that sustaining power wdiieh man's more adven-
turous spirit finds in overcoming difficulty and cop-
ing with danger. But let me have one of your
* From the Evenings at Donaldson Manor. .
380
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
boys, and by the time lie has arrived at manhood, |
he will be able, I doubt not, to offer you in his j
home all the comforts, if not all the elegances of
your present abode."
Mrs. Manning consented; and now the question
was, which of her sons should remain with her, and
which should accompany Mr. Morgan. To Henry
Manning, older by two years than his brother
George, the choice of situations was submitted.
He went with his uncle to the Broadway establish-
ment, heard the duties which would be demanded
from him, the salary which would be given, saw the
grace with which the eltganis behind the counter
displayed their silks, and satins, and velvets, to the
elegantes before the counter, and the decision with
which thej- promulgated the decrees of fashion ; and
with that just sense of his own powers which is the
accompaniment of true genius, he decided at once
that there lay hia vocation. George, who had not
been without difficulty kept quiet while his brother
was forming his decision, as soon as it was an-
nounced, sprang forward with a whoop that would
have suited a Western forest better than a ftew
York drawing-room, threw the Horace he was read-
ing across the table, clasped first his mother and
then his uncle in his arms, and exclaimed, " I am the
boy for the West. I will help you to fell forests
and build cities there, uncle. Why should not we
build cities as well as Romulus and Remus ?"
" I will supply your cities with all their silks, and
satins, and velvets, and laces, and charge them no-
thing. George," said Henry Manning with that air
of superiority with which the worldly-wise often
look on the sallies of the enthusiast.
"You make my head ache, my son," complained
Mrs. Manning, shrinking from his boisterous gratu-
lation ; — but Mr. Morgan returned his hearty em-
brace, and as he gazed into his bold, bright face,
with an eye as bright as his own, replied to his
burst of enthusiasm, " You are the very boy for the
West, George. It is out of such brave stuff that
pioneers and city-builders are always made."
Henry Manning soon bowed himself into the favor
of the ladies who formed the principal customers of
his employer. By his careful and really correct
habits, and his elegant taste in the selection and ar-
rangement of goods, he became also a favorite with
his employers themselves. They needed an agent
for the selection of goods abroad, and tl.ey sent him.
He purchased cloths for them in England and silks
in France, and came home with the reputation of a
travelled man. Having persuaded his mother to
advance a capital for him by selling out the bank
stock in width Mr. Morgan had funded her little
fortune, at twenty-four years of age he commenced
business for himself as a French importer. Leavii g
a partner to attend to the sales at home, he went
abroad for the selection of goods, and the further
enhancement of his social reputation. lie returned
in two years with a fashionable figure, a most
recherche style of dress, moustachios of the most
approved cut, and wdiiskers of faultless curl— a
finished gentleman in his own conceit. With such
attractions, the prestige which he del ived from his
reported travels and long residence abroad, and the
savoir /aire of one who hail made the conventional
arrangements of society his study, he quickly rose
to the summit of his wishes, to the point which it
bad been his life's ambition to attain. He became
the umpire of taste, and his word was received as
the fiat of fashion. He continued to reside with his
mother, and paid great attention to her style of
dress, and the arrangements of her house, for it was
important that his mother should appear properly.
Poor Mrs. Manning ! she sometimes thought that
proud title dearly purchased by listening to his
daily criticisms on appearance, language, manners,
which had been esteemed stylish enough in their
day.
George Manning had visited his mother only once
since he left her with all the bright imagii.ii gs and
boundless confidence of fourteen, and then Henry
was in Europe. It was during the first winter after
his return, and when the brothers had been sepa-
rated for nearly twelve veais, that Mrs. Manning
informed him she had received a letter from George,
announcing his intention to be in New York in De-
cember, and to remain with them through most, if
not all the winter. Henry Manning w as evidently
annoyed at the announcement.
" I wish," he said, " that George had chosen to
make his visit in the summer, when most of the peo-
ple to whom I should hesitate to introduce him
would have been absent. I should be sorry to hurt
his feelings, but really, to introduce a Western
farmer into polished society " Henry Manning
shuddered and was silent. " And then to choose
this winter of all winters for his visit, and to come
in December, just at the very time that I heard yes-
terday Miss Harcourt was coming from Washington
to spend a few weeks with her friend, Mrs. Duf-
field ! "
" And what has Miss Harcourt's visit to Mrs.
Buffield to do with Gcoige's visit to us?" asked Mrs.
Manning.
" A great deal — at least it has a great deal to do
with my regret that he should come just now. I
told you how I became acquainted with Emma Har-
court in Europe, and what a splendid creature she
is. Even in Paris she bore the palm for wit and
beauty — and fashion too — that is in English and
American society. But I did not tell you that she
received me with such distinguished favor, and
evinced so much pretty consciousness at my atten-
tions, that had not her father, having been chosen
one of the electors of President and Vice-President,
hurried from Paris in order to be in this country in
time for his vote, I should probably have been in-
duced to marry her. Her father is in Congress this
year, and you see, she no sooner learns that I am
here, than she comes to spend part of the winter
with a friend in New York."
Henry arose at this, walked to a glass, sui veyed
his elegant figure, and continuing to cast occasional
glances at it as he walked backwards and forwards
through the loom, resumed the conveisation, or ra-
ther his own communication.
"All this is very encouraging, doubtless; but
Emma Harcourt is so perfectly elegant, so thoroughly
refined, that I dread the effect upon her of any
outre association — by the by, mother, if I obtain her
permission to introduce you to her, you will not
wear that brown hat in visiting her — a brown hat
is my aversion — it is positively vulgar. But to re-
turn to George — how can I introduce him, with Ids
rough, boisterous, Western manner, to this courtly
lady? — the very thought chills me" — and Henry
Manning shivered — " and yet how can I avoid it, if
we should be engaged ?"
With December came the beautiful Emma Har-
court, and Mrs. Dufneld's house was thronged with
her admirers. Her's was the form and movement
of the Huntress Queen rather than of one trained
in the halls of fashion. There was a joyous free-
dom in her air, her step, her glance, which, had she
been less beautiful, less talented, less fortunate in
social position or in wealth, would have placed her
under the ban of fashion ; but, as it was, she com-
manded fashion, and even Henry Manning, the very
slave of conventionalism, had no criticism for her.
MARIA J. McINTOSH
387
He had been among the first to call on her, and the
blush that flitted across her cheek, the smile that
played upon her lips, as he was announced, might
well have flattered o,.e even of less vanity.
The very next day, before Henry had had time to
improve these symptoms of her favor, on returning
home, at five o'clock to his dinner, he found a
stranger in the parlor with his mother. The gentle-
man arose on his entrance, and he had scarcely time
to glance at the tall, uiauly form, the lofty air, the
commanding brow, ere he found himself clasped in
Ms arms, with the exclamation, "I)ear Henry! how
rejoiced I am to see you again."
In George Manning the physical and intellectual
man had been developed in rare harmony. He was
taiier and larger every way than his brother Henry,
and the self-reliance which the latter had labori-
ously attained from the mastery of all conventional
rules, was his by virtue of a courageous soul, which
held hself above all rules but those prescribed by
its own high sense of the right. There was a sin-
gular contrast, rendered yet more striking by some
points of resemblance, between the pupil of society
and the child of the forest — betweea the Parisian
elegance of Henry, and the proud, free grace of
George. His were the step and bearing which we
have seen in an Indian chief; but thought had left
its impress on his brow, and there was in his coun-
tenance that indescribable air of refinement which
m irks a polished mind. In a very few minutes
Henry became reconciled to his brother's arrival,
and satisfied with him in all respects but one — his
dress. This was of the finest cloth, but made into
large, loose trowsers, and a species of hu iting-shirt,
trimmed with fur, beltel around the waist, and de-
scending to the knee, instead of the tight pantaloons
and closely fitting body coat prescribed by fashion.
The little party lingered long over the table — it was
seven o'clock before they arose from it.
" Dear mother," said George Manning, " I am
6orry to leave you this evening, but I will make you
rich amends to-morrow by introducing to you the
friend I am going to visit, if you will permit me.
He iry, it is so long 6inee I was in New York that I
need some direction in finding my way — must I turn
up or down Broadway for Number — , in going from
this street ?"
" Number — ," exclaimed Henry in surprise;
" you must be mistnken — that is Mrs. Duffiel l's."
" Then I am quite right ; for it is at Mrs. Duf-
fiel l's that I expect to meet my friend this evening."
With some curiosity to know what friend of
George coul 1 have so completely the entree of the
fashionable Mrs. Duffield's house as to make an ap-
pointment there, Henry proposed to go with him
and show him the way. There was a momentary
hesitation in George's manner before he replied;
" Very well, I shall be obliged to you."
" But — excuse me, George — you are not surely
going in that dress — this is oue of Mrs. Duffield's re-
ception evenings, and, early as it is, you will find
company there."
George laughed as he replied ; " They must take
me ;is I am, Henry. We do not receive our fashions
from Paris at the West."
Henry almost repented his offer to accompany his
brother, but it was too late to withdraw; for
George, unconscious of this feeling, had taken his
cloak and cap, and was awaiting his escort. As
they approached Mrs. Duffield's house, George, who
hai hitherto led the conversation, became silent, or
answered his brother only in monosyllables, and
then not always tot'ie purpose. As thev entered
the hall, the hats and cl iiks displayed there showed
that, as Henry suppoicd, they were not the earliest
visitors. George paused for a moment, and said,
" You must go in without me, Henry. Show me to
a room where there is no company," he continued,
turning to a servant—" and take this card in to Mrs.
Duffield — be sure to give it to Mrs. Duffield her-
self."
The servant bowed low to the commanding
stranger ; and Henry, almost meehanicall}', obeyed
his direction, muttering to himself, " Free and easy,
upon my honor." He had scarcely entered the usual
reception-room, and made his bow to Mrs. Duffield,
when the servant presented his brother's card. He
watched her closely, and saw a smile playing over
her lips as her eyes rested on it. She glanced
anxiously at Miss Harcourt, and crossing the room
to a group in which she stood, she drew her aside.
After a few whispered words, Mrs. Duffield placed
the card in Miss Harcourt's hand. A sudden flash
of joy irradiated every feature of her beautiful
face, and Henry Manning saw that, but for Mrs.
Duffiel l's restraining hand, she would have rushed
from the room. Recalled thus to a recollection of
others, she looked around her, and her eyes met his.
In an instant her face was covered with blushes, and
she drew back with embarrassed consciousness — al-
most immediately, however, she raised her head
with a proud, bright expression, and though she did
not look at Henry Manning, he felt that she was
conscious of his observation, as she passed with a
composed yet joyous step from the room.
Henry Manning was awaking from a dream. It
was not a very pleasant awakeni ;g ; but as his vanity
rather than his heart was touched, he was able to
conceal his chagrin, and appear as interesting and
agreeable as usual. He now expected, with some
impatience, the denouement of the come ly. An
hour passed away, and Mi's. Duffield's eye began to
consult the marble clock on her mantel-piece. The
chime for another half hour rang out ; and she left
the room and returned in a few minutes, leaning on
the arm of George Manning.
" Who is that?— What nobledooking man is
that?" were questions Henry Manning heard from
many — from a very few only the exclamation, " How
oddly he is dressed I" Before the evening was over
Henry began to feel that he was eclipsed on his own
theatre — that George, if not in the fashion, was yet
more the fashion than he.
Following the proud happy glance of his brother's
eye, a quarter of an hour later, Henry saw Miss
Harcourt entering the room in an opposite direction
from that in wuioh he had lately come. If this
were a ruse on her part to veil the connexion be-
tween their movements, it was a fruitless caution.
None who had seen her before could fail now to ob-
serve the softened character of her beauty, and
those who saw
A thousand blushing apparitions start
Into her face —
whenever his eyes rested on her, could scarcely
doubt his influence over her.
The next morning George Manning brought Miss
Harcourt to visit his mother; and Mrs. Manning rose
greatly in her son Henry's estimation when he saw
the affectionate deference evinced towards her by
the proud beauty.
" How strange my manner must have seemed to
you sometimes!" said Miss Harcourt to Henry one
day. " I was engaged to George long before I met
you in Europe; and though I never had courage to
mention him to you, I wondered a little that you
never spoke of him. I never doubted for a moment
that you were acquainted with our engagement."
" I do not even yet understand where and how
you and George met."
388
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
" We met at home — my father was governor of
the territory — State now — in which your uncle
lives : our homes were very near each other's, and
so we met almost daily while I was still a child.
We have had all sorts of adventures together ; for
George was a great favorite with my father, and I
was permitted to go with him anywhere. He has
saved my life twice — once at the imminent peril of
his own, when with the wilfulness of a spoiled
child I would ride a horse which he told me I could
not manage. Oh! you know not half his noble-
ness," aud tears moistened the bright eyes of the
happy girl.
Henry Manning was touched through all his con- j
ventionalism, yet the moment after he said, " George
is a fine fellow, certainly ; but I wish you could
persuade him to dress a little more like other |
people."
" I would not if I could," exclaimed Emma Har-
court, while the blood rushed to her temples ; " fa-
shions and all such conventional regulations are
made for those who have no innate perception of
the right, the noble, the beautiful— not for such as
he — he is above fashion."
What Emma would not ask, she yet did not fail
to recognise as another proof of correct judgment,
when George Manning laid aside his Western cos-
tume and assumed one less remarkable.
Henry Manning had received a new idea — that
there are those who are above the fashion. Allied
to this was another thought, which in time found
entrance to his mind, that it would be at least as
profitable to devote our energies to the acquisition
of true nobility of soul, pure and high thought and
refined taste, as to the study of those conventional-
isms which are but their outer garment, and can at
■best only conceal, for a short time, their absence.
LYDIA MAEIA CHILD.
The maiden name of Mrs. Child was Francis.
She was born in Massachusetts, but passed a por-
tion of her earlier career in Maine, where her fa-
ther removed shortly after her birth.
In the year 1824 she published her first work,
Hobomoh, a tale founded upon the early history
of New England. The story told by Dr. Gris-
wold in relation to this commencement of a long
literary career is a curious one. While on a visit
to her brother, the Rev. Conyers Francis, minis-
ter in Watertown, Massachusetts, she accidentally
met with the recent number of the North Ame-
rican Review and read an article on Yamoyden by
Dr. Palfrey, in which the field offered by early
New England history for the purposes of the no-
velist is dwelt upon. She took pen in hand and
wrote off the first chapter of Hobomok. Her
brother's commendation encouraged her to pro-
ceed, and in six weeks the story was completed.
In the following year she published The Rebels, a
tale of the Revolution. Like Hobomok it intro-
duces the most prominent historical personages of
its scene and time to the reader, and with such
effect that a speech put in the mouth of James
Otis is often quoted as having been actually pro-
.nounced by the statesman.
'Ip/tA/OC^,
In 1S26 she married Mr. David L. Child, and
in 1827 commenced Tlie Juvenile Miscellany, a
monthly magazine. She next issued The Fru-
gal Housewife, a work on domestic economy and
culinary matters, designed for families of limited
means. In 1831 she published The Mother's
Booh, a volume of good counsel on the training of
children, and in 1832 The OirVs Booh, a work of
somewhat similar nature. Her Lives of Madame
de Stael, Madame Roland, Lady Russell, and Ma-
dame Guyon, were published about the same time
in two volumes of the Ladies' Family Library, a
series of books edited by her, for which she also
prepared the Biographies of Good Wives, in one
volume, and the History of the Condition of
Women in all Ages, in two volumes.
In 1833 she published The Coronal, a collection
of miscellanies in prose and verse, which she had
previously contributed to various annuals, and in
the same year An Appeal for that Class of Ame-
ricans called Africans, a vigorous work which
created a great sensation. Dr. Channing is said
to have walked from Boston to Roxbury to see
and thank the author, personally a stranger to
him.
In 1835, Philothea, a classical romance of the
days of Pericles and Aspasia, appeared. It is the
most elaborate and successful of the author's pro-
ductions, and is in close and artistic keeping with
the classic age it portrays. Most of the statesmen
and philosophers of the time are introduced in its
pages with a generally close adherence to history,
though in the character of Plato she has departed
in a measure from this rule by dwelling on the
mystical doctrines of the philosopher to the ex-
clusion of his practical traits of character. The
female characters, Philothea, Eudora, and the ce-
lebrated Aspasia, are portrayed with great beauty
and delicacy.
In 1841 Mrs. Child and her husband, removing
to New York, became the editors of the National
Anti-Slavery Standard. In the same j'ear she
commenced a series of letters for the Boston Cou-
rier, which were afterwards republished in two
volumes with the title of Letters from New York,
a pleasant series of descriptions of the every-day
life of the metropolis, abounding to the observant
and appreciative eye in picturesque incident and
suggestion for far-reaching thought. M'Donald
Clarke forms the subject of one of these letters.
Others are occupied by the humanitarian institu-
tions of the city, others by flowers and markets.
The peripatetic trades come in for their share of
notice, nor are the pathetic narratives of want,
temptation, and misery, the annals of the cellar
and garret, omitted. Occasional excursions to
the picturesque and historic villages of the Hud-
son, Staten Island, and other near at hand rural
retreats, give an additional charm to these de-
lightful volumes.
In 1846 Mrs. Child published a collection of her
magazine stories under the title of Fact and Fic-
tion. She has now in press a work in three vo-
lumes, one of the most elaborate which she has
undertaken, entitled The Progress of Religious
Ideas, embracing a view of every form of belief
"from the most ancient Hindoo records to the
complete establishment of the Catholic Church."
OLE EXTI. — FROM LETTERS FROM NEW "XOEK.
Welcome to thee, Ole Bui !
A welcome, warm and free !
LYDIA MARIA CHILD.
389
For heart and memory are full
Of thy rich minstrelsy.
'Tis music for the tuneful rills
To flow to from the verdant hills ;
Music such as first on earth
Gave to the Aurora birth.
Music for the leaves to dance to ;
Music such as sunbeams glance to;
Treble to the ocean's roar,
On some old resounding shore.
Silvery showers from the fountains;
Mists unrolling from the mountains;
Lightning flashing through a cloud,
When the winds are piping loud.
Music full of warbling graces,
Like to birds in forest places,
Gushing, trilling, whirring round,
Mid the pine trees' murm'ring sound.
The martin scolding at the wren,
"Which sharply answers back again,
Till across the angry song
Strains of laughter run along.
Now leaps the bow, with airy bound,
Like dancer springing from the ground,
And now like autumn wind comes sighing,
Over leaves and blossoms dying.
The lark now singeth from afar,
Her carol to the morning star,
A clear soprano rising high,
Ascending to the inmost sky.
And now the scattered tones are flying,
Like sparks in midnight darkness dying,
Gems from rockets in the sky,
Falling — falling — gracefully.
Now wreathed and twined — but still evolving
Harmonious oneness is revolving ;
Departing with the faintest sigh,
Like ghost of some sweet melody.
As on a harp with golden strings,
All nature breathes through thee,
And with her thousand voices sings
The infinite and free. v
Of beauty she is lavish ever ; ,i • '(
Her urn is always full ; *t
But to our earth she giveth never
Another Ole Bui.
OLD AGE — FROM LETTERS FROM NEW YORK
Childhood itself is scarcely more lovely than a
cheerful, kind, sunshiny old age.
How I love the mellow sage,
Smiling through the veil of age 1
And whene'er this man of years
In the dance of joy appears,
Age is on his temples hung,
But his heart — his heart is young I
Here is the great secret of a bright and green old
age When Tithouus asked for an eternal life in the
body, and found, to his sorrow, that immortal youth
was not include 1 in the bargain, it surely was be-
cause he forgot to ask the perpetual gift of loving
and sympathizing.
Next to this, is an intense affection for nature, and
for all simple tilings. A human heart can never
grow old, if it takes a lively interest in the pairing of
birds, the re-production of flowers, and the changing
tints of autumn-ferns. Nature, unlike other friends,
has an exhnustless meaning, which one sees and
hears more distinctly, the more they are enamoured
of her. Blessed are they who hear it ; for through
tones come the most inward perceptions of the spirit.
Into the ear of the soul, which reverently listens, '
Nature whispers, speaks, or warbles, most heavenly
arcana.
And even they who seek her only through science,
receive a portion of her own tranquillity, and perpe-
tual youth. The happiest old man I ever saw, was
one who knew how the mason-bee builds his cell, and
how every bird lines her nest; who found pleasure
in a sea-shore pebble, as boys do in new marbles ;
and who placed every glittering mineral in a focus
of light, under a kaleidoscope of his own construc-
tion. The effect was like the imagined riches of fairy
land ; and when an admiring group of happy young
people gathered round it, the heart of the good old
man leapt like the heart of a child. The laws of na-
ture, as manifested in her infinitely various opera-
tions, were to him a perennial fountain of delight ;
and, like her, he offered the joy to all. Here was no
admixture of the bad excitement attendant upon
ambition or controversy ; but all was serenely
happy, as are an angel's thoughts, or an infant's
dreams.
Age, in its outward senses, returns again to child-
hood ; and thus should it do spiritually. The little
child enters a rich man's house, and loves to play
with the things that are new and pretty, but he
thinks not of their market value, nor does he pride
himself that another child cannot play with the same.
The farmer's home will probably delight him more;
for he will love living squirrels better than marble
greyhounds, and the merry bob o'lincoln better than
stuffed birds from Araby the blest ; for they cannot
sing into his heart. What he wants is life and love
— the power of giving and receiving joy. To this
estimate of things, wisdom returns, after the intui-
tions of childhood are lust. Virtue is but innocence
on a higher plane, to be attained only through severe
conflict. Thus life completes its circle ; but it is a
circle that rises while it revolves ; for the path of
spirit is ever spiral, containing all of truth and love
in each revolution, yet ever tending upward. The
virtue which brings us back to innocence, on a higher
plane of wisdom, may be the childhood of another
state of existence ; and through successive conflicts,
we may again complete the ascending circle, and find
it holiness.
The ages, too, are rising spirally ; each containing
all, yet ever ascending. Hence, all our new things
are old, and yet they are new. Some truth known
to the ancients meets us on a higher plane, and we
do not recognise it, because it is like a child of earth,
which has passed upward and become an angel.
Nothing of true beauty ever passes away. The youth
of the world, which Greece embodied in immortal
marble, will return in the circling Ages, as innocence
comes back in virtue ; but it shall return filled with
a higher life; and that, too, shall point upward.
Thus shall the Arts be glorified. Beethoven's music
prophesies all this, and struggles after it continually ;
therefore, whosoever hears it, (with the inward, as
well as the outward ear,) feels his soul spread its
strong pinions, eager to pass "the flaming bounds of
time and space," and circle all the infinite.
TnE BROTHERS.
Three pure heavens opened, beaming in three pure hearts,
and nothing was in them but God, love, and joy, and the
little tear-drop of earth which bangs upon all our liowers. —
Itichter.
Few know how to estimate the precious gem of
friendship at its real worth ; few guard it with the
tender care which its rarity and excellence deserve.
Love, like the beautiful opal, is a clouded gem,
which carries a spark of fire in its bosom ; but true
390
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
friendship, like a diamond, radiates steadily from its
transparent heart
This sentiment was never experienced in greater
depth and purity than by David and Jonathan True-
man, brothers of nearly the same age. Their friend-
ship was not indeed of that exciting and refreshing
character, which is the result of a perfect accord of
very different endowments. It was unison, not har-
mony. In person, habits, and manners, they were
as much ahke as two leaves of the same tree.
They were both hereditary members of the Society
of Friends, and remained so from choice. They
were acquainted in the same circle, and engaged in
similar pursuits. " Their souls wore exactly the
same frockcoat and morning-dress of life; I mean
two bodies with the same cuffs and collars, of the
same color, button-holes, trimmings, and cut."
Jonathan was a li'.tle less sedate than his older
brother; he indulged a little more in the quiet,
elderly sort of humor of the " Cheeryble Brothers."
But it was merely the difference between the same
lake perfectly calm, or faintly rippled by the
slightest breeze. They were so constantly seen to-
gether, that they were called the Siamese Twins.
Unfortunately, this similarity extended to a senti-
ment which does not admit of partnership. They
both loved the same maiden.
Deborah "Winslow was the only daughter of one
of those substantial Quakers, who a discriminating
observer would know, at first sight, was '; well to
do in the world;" for the fine broadcloth coat and
glossy hat spoke that fact with even less certainty
than the perfectly comfortable expression of coun-
tenance. His petted child was like a blossom planted
in sunny places, and shielded from every rude wind.
All her little-lady-like whims were indulged. If the
drab-colored silk was not exactly the right shade,
or the Braithwaite muslin was not sufficiently fine
and transparent, orders must be sent to London, that
her daintiness might be satisfied. Her countenance
was a true index of life passed without strong emo-
tions. The mouth was like a babe's, the blue eyes
were mild and innocent, and the oval face was un-
varying in the delicate tint of the sweet pea blos-
som. Her hair never draggled into ringlets, or
played with the breeze ; its silky bands were always
like molasses-candy, moulded to yellowish whiteness,
and laid in glossy braids.
There is much to be said in favor of this unvary-
ing serenity ; for it saves a vast amount of suffering.
But all natures cannot thus glide through an un-
ruffled existence. Deborah's quiet temperament
made no resistance to its uniform environment; but
had I been trained in her exact sect, I should inevi-
tably have boiled over and melted the moulds.
She had always been acquainted with the True-
man brothers. They all attended the same school,
and they sat in sight of each other at the same
meeting; though Quaker custom, ever careful to
dam up human nature within 6afe limits, ordained
that they should be seated on different sides of the
house, and pass out by different doors. They visited
the same neighbors, and walked home in company.
She probably never knew, with positive certainty,
which of the brothers she preferred ; she had
alwajTs been in the habit of loving them both ; but
Jonathan happened to ask first, whether she loved
him.
It was during an evening walk, that he first men-
tioned the subject to David; and he could not see
how his lips trembled, and his face flushed. The
emotion, though strong and painful, was soon sup-
pressed ; and in a voice but slightly constrained, he
inquired, " Does Deborah love thee, brother?"
The young man replied that he thought so, and
he intended to ask her, as soon as the way
opened.
David likewise thought, thnt Deborah was at-
tached to him ; and he had invited her to ride the
next day, for the express purpose of ascertaining the
point. Never had his peaceful soul been in such a
tumult. Sometimes he thought it would be right
[ and honorable to tell Deborah tin t they both loved
her, and ask her to name her choice. " But then if
she should prefer me," he said to himself, " it will
make dear Jonathan very unhappy; and if she should
choose him, it will be a damper on her happiness,
to know that I am disappointed. If she accepts
him, I will keep my secret to myself. It is a heavy
cross to take up ; but 'William Penn says, ' no cross,
no crown.' In this case, I would be willing to give
up the crown, if I could get rid of the cross. But
then if I lay it down, poor Jonathan must bear it
I have always found that it brought great peace of
mind to conquer selfishness, and I will strive to do
so now. As my brother's wife, she will still be a
near and dear friend; a..d their children will seem
almost like my own."
A current of counter thoughts rushed through his
mind. He rose quickly and walked the room, with
a feverish agitation he had never before experienced.
But through all the conflict, the idea of saving his
brother from suffering remained paramount to his
own pain.
The promised ride could not be avoided, but it
proved a temptation almost too strong for the good
unselfish man. Deborah's sweet face looked so
pretty under the shadow of her plain bonnet; her
soft hand remained in Ins so confidingly, when she
was about to enter the chaise, and turned to speak
to her mother; she smiled on him so affectionately,
and called him Friend David, in such winning tones,
that it required all his strength to avoid uttering
the question, which for ever trembled on his lips :
" Dost thou love me, Deborah j" But alw; ys there
rose between them the image of that dear brother,
who slept in his arms in childhood, and shared the
same apartment now. " Let him have the first
chance," he said to himself. " If he is accepted, I
will be resigned, and will be to them both a true
friend through life." A very slight pressure of the
hand alone betrayed his agitation, when he opened
the door of her house, and said, " Farewell, De-
borah."
In a few days, Jonathan informed him that he was
betrothed ; and the magi animous brother wished
him joy with a sincere heart, concealing that it was a
sad one. His first impulse was to go away, that he
might not be daily reminded of what he had lost ;
but the fear of marring their happiness enabled him
to choose the wiser part of making at once the effort
that must be made. No one suspected the sacrifice
he laid on the altar of friendship. When the young
couple were married, he taxed his ingenuity to fur-
nish whatever he thought would please tiie bride,
by its peculiar neatness and elegance. At first, he
found it very hard to leave them by their cozv plea-
se nt fireside, and go to his own solitary apartment,
where he never before iiad dwelt alone; and when
the bride and bridegroom looked at each other ten-
derly, the glance went through his heart like an
arrow of fire. But when Deborah, with gentle
playfulness, apologized for having taken his brother
away from him, he replied, with a quiet smile,
" Nay, my friend, I have not lost a brother, I have
only gained a sister." His self-denial seemed so easy,
that the worldly might have thought it cost him
little effort, and deserved no praise; but the angels
loved him for it.
By degrees he resumed his wonted serenity, and
EDMUND D. GRIFFIN.
-391
became the almost constant inmate of their house.
A stranger might almost have doubted which was
the husband; so completely were the three united
in all their affections, habits, and pursuits. A little
6on and daughter came to strengthen the bond ; and
the affectionate uncle found his heart almost as much
cheered by them, as if they had been his own.
Ha iv aa agreeable young Friend would have will-
ingly superintended a household for David ; but
there was a natural refinement in his character,
which rendered it impossible to make a marriage of
convenience. He felt more deeply than was appa-
rent, that there was something wanting in his
earthly lot ; but he could not marry, unless he
found a woman whom he loved as dearly as he had
loved Deborah ; and such a one never again came
to him.
Their years flowed on with quiet regularity, dis-
turbed with few of the ills humanity is heir to. In
all the small daily affairs of life, each preferred the
other's good, and thus secure 1 the happiness of the
whole. Abroad, their benevolence fell with the
noiseless liberality of dew. The brothers both pros-
pered in business, and Jonathan inherited a large
portion .of his father-in-law's handsome property.
Never were a family so pillowed and cushioned on
the carriage-road to heaven. But they were so
Pimply and naturally virtuous, that the smooth path
was less dangerous to them than to others.
Reverses came at last in Jonathan's affairs. The
failure of others, less careful than himself, involved
him iu their disasters. But David was rich, and
the idea of a separate purse was unknown between
them, therefore the gentle Deborah knew no change
in her household comforts and elegancies, and felt
no necessity of diminishing their large liberality to
the poor.
At sixty-three years old, the younger brother de-
parted this life, in the arms of his constant friend.
The widow, who had herself counted sixty winters,
had been for so.ne time gradually declining iu
health. When the estate was settled, the property
wa? found insufficient to pay debts. But the kind
friend, with the same delicate disinterestedness
which had always characterized him, carefully con-
cealed this fact, lie settled a handsome fortune
upon the widow, which she always supposed to be
a portion of her husband's estate. Being executor,
he managed affairs as he liked. He borrowed his
own capital ; and everv quarter, he gravely paid
her interest on his own money. Iu the refinement
of his generosity, he wa» uov si;t.;fied to support her
in the abundance to which she had been accustomed;
he wished to have her totally unconscious of obliga-
tion, and perfectly free to dispose of the funds as
she pleased.
His goodness was not. limited to his own household.
If a poor seamstress was declining in health, for want
of exercise and variety of scene, David Trueman
was sure to invite her to Niagara, or the Springs, as
a particular favor to him, because he needed com-
pany. If there was a lone widow, peculiarly friend-
less, his carriage was always at her service. If
there was a maiden lady uncommonly homely, his
arm was always ready as au escort to public places.
Without talking at all upon the subject, he practi-
cally devuted himself to the mission of attending
upon the poor, the unattractive, and the neglected.
Thus the good old bachelor prevents his sym-
pathies from congealing, and his heart from rusting
out. The sunlight was taken away from his land-
scape of life ; but little birds sleep in their nests,
and sweet flowers breathe their fragrance lovingly
through the bright moonlight of his tranquil exist-
ence.
EDMUND D. GRIFFIN.
Edmund P. Griffis, the second son of George
Griffin, a leading member of the Now York bar,
and the author of a volume published in 1850,
entitled The Qospel its own Advocate, was born
at Wyoming, Pennsylvania, September 10, 1804.
He was a grandson, on the mother's side, of Co-
lonel Zebulon Butler, who defended the valley
against the Brtish attack w eh terminated in
the memo-able massacre of 1778. When two
years old Edmund Griffin removed with his fa-
mily to New York. He revisited Wyoming with
his father in his thirteenth year, and attending re-
ligious service on the Sunday after their arrival,
Mr. Griffin was requested in consequence of the
absence of the clergyman to read a sermon. Not
being very well he asked his son to read in his
place, a request with which the boy, accustomed
to obedience, after a moment's modest hesitation,
complied.
After passing through various schools young
Griffin was prepared for college by Mr. Nelson,*
the celebrated blind teacher of New York. He en-
tered Columbia in 1819, and maintained through-
out his course a position at the head of his class.
After a few months passed in a law office in 1823,
ho resolved to engage in the ministry of the Pro-
testant Episcopal Church, soon after commenced
his studies in the General Theological Seminary,
and was ordained deacon by BiJiop Hobart in
August, 1826. The two following years were
passed in the active discharge of professional duty
as assistant minister of St. James's church, Hamil-
ton Square, near New York, and of Christ church
in the city, when ho was compelled by a threat*
ened affection of the lungs to abandon the labora
of the church and the study. By this relaxation,
combined with the invigorating effects of a three
months' tour, his health was restored, but, by the
advice of his friends, instead of recommencing
preaching he sailed for Europe. After a tour
through England and the Continent he returned
to New York on the 17th of April, 1830. Within
a week afterwards he was called upon to complete
a course of lectures on the History of Literature,
commenced by Professor McVickar at Columbia
College, and necessarily abandoned at the time
from illness. He complied with the request, and
at once entered upon its execution, delivering
within the months of May and June a course on
Roman and Italian literature, with that of Eng-
land to the time of Charles the Second. These
lectures, though prepared almost contemporane-
ously with their delivery, were so acceptable by
their warm appreciation of the subject and scho-
lar's enthusiasm, not only to the students but also
the trustees of the college, that the plan of au in-
* Mr. Nelson became totally blind in his twentieth year,
when about completing his studies at college. He was poor,
and had no one to look to for his own support, or that of his
two sisters. With great resolution he determined to continue
his studios and tit himself for the duties of a teacher. Ho
taught, his sisters to pronounce Latin and Greek, and from their
reiterated repetition learnt by heart the text of the classics
usually read in schools. A gentleman, out of sympathy with
his endeavors, .and confidence in his abilities, intrusted him
with the education of his two sons. He succeeded so well with
these, that, in a few months, he announced himself as the
teacher of a New York school. He soon became widely known,
and so succcessful that he gathered a handsome income from
his exertions. He afterwards became a professor in ltutgors
College. '
392
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
dependent professorship of literature, for Mr. Grif-
fin, was proposed.
The early part of the ensuing college vacation
was spent in visits to his friends, and plans of
study and future usefulness in his sacred profes-
sion. After a Saturday morning passed at the
college with Professor Anthon in planning a course
of study of the German language, to which he
proposed to devote a portion of his remaining lei-
sure, he employed the afternoon in a walk with
his brother at Hoboken. He was taken ill on his
return home with an attack of inflammation, sank
rapidly, and died on the following Tuesday, Au-
gust 31, 1830.
The news of his decease reached Bishop Ho-
bart at Auburn, where he too was lying in a
sickness which was to prove, within a few days
afterwards, mortal. It is a fact of interest in the
history of that eminent prelate, as well as in the
present connexion, that the last letter written by
him was one of condolence with the father of Mr.
Griffin on their joint bereavement.
Mr. Griffin's Literary Remains were collected
by his brother, and published with a memoir,
written with characteristic feeling and taste, by
his friend Professor McVickar, in two large oc-
tavo volumes. They include his poems, several
of which are in the Latin language, and written
at an early age ; a tour through Italy and Swit-
zerland in 1829, with extracts from a journal of
a tour through France, England, and Scotland in
the years 1828, '29, and '30; extracts from lec-
tures on Roman, Italian, and English literature ;
and dissertations, written while the author was
a student at the Theological Seminary. These
were selected from manuscripts, which, if pub-
lished in full, would have filled six octavo volumes.
By far the greater portion of those printed, the
journals and lectures, were necessarily written in
great haste, and probably without any anticipa-
tion that they were to appear in print. The jour-
nals are the simple itinerary of a traveller, making
no pretensions to any further literary merit ; the
lectures are more elaborate performances and pos-
sess much merit ; the poems are few in number.
LINES ON LEAVING ITALY.
Deh 1 fossi tu men Delia, o almen piu forte. — Filicaia.
Would that thou wert more strong, at least less fair,
Land of the orange grove and myrtle bower!
To hail whose strand, to breathe whose genial air,
Is blis9 to all who feel of bliss the power.
To look upon whose mountains in the hour
When thy sun sinks in glory, and a veil
Of purple flows around them, would restore
The sense of beauty when all else might fail.
Would that thou wert more strong, at least less fair,
Parent of fruits, alas ! no more of men !
Where springs the olive e'en from mountains bare,
The yellow harvest loads the scarce tilled plain,
Spontaneous shoots the vine, in rich festoon
From tree to tree depending, and the flowers
Wreathe with their chaplets, sweet though fading
soon,
E'en fallen columns and decaying towers.
Would that thou wert more strong, at least less fair,
Home of the beautiful, but not the brave !
Where noble form, bold outline, princely air,
Distinguished e'en the peasant and the slave :
Where, like the goddess sprang from ocean's wave,
Her mortal sisters boast immortal grace,
Nor spoil those charms which partial nature gave,
By art's weak aids or fashion's vain grimace.
Would that thou wert more strong, at least less fair,
Thou nurse of every art, save one alone,
The art of self-defence : Thy fostering care
Brings out a nobler life from senseless stone,
And bids e'en canvass speak ; thy magic tone.
Infused in music, now constrains the soul
With tears the power of melody to own,
And now with passionate throbs that spurn con-
trol.
Would that thou wert less fair, at least more strong,
Grave of the mighty dead, the living mean !
Can nothing rouse ye both ? no tyrant's wrong,
No memory of the brave, of what has been ?
Yon broken arch once spoke of triumph, then
That mouldering wall too spoke of brave defence —
Shades of departed heroes, rise again !
Italians, rise, and thrust the oppressors hence I
Oh, Italy! my country, fare thee well!
For art thou not my country, at whose breast
Were nurtured those whose thoughts within mc
dwell,
The fathers of my mind ? whose fame imprest,
E'en on my infant fancy, bade it rest
With patriot fondness on thy hills and streams,
E'er yet thou didst receive me as a guest,
Lovelier than I had seen thee in my dreams?
Then fare thee well, my country, loved and lost:
Too early lost, alas ! when once so dear ;
I turn in sorrow from thy glorious coast,
And urge the feet forbid to linger here.
But must I rove by Arno's current clear,
And hear the rush of Tiber's yellow flood,
And wander on the mount, now waste and drear,
Where Csesar's palace in its glory stood,
And see again Parthenope's loved bay,
And Paestum's shrines, and Bniae's classic shore,
And mount the bark, and listen to the lay
That floats by night through Venice — never more?
Far off I seem to hear the Atlantic roar —
It washes not thy feet, that envious sea,
But waits, with outstretched arms, to waft me o'er
To other lands, far, far, alas! from thee.
Fare, fare thee well once more. I love thee not
As other things inanimate. Thou art
The cherished mistress of my youth ; forgot
Thou never canst be while I have a heart.
Lanched on those waters, wild with storm and wind,
I know not, ask not, what may be my lot ;
For, torn from thee, no fear can touch my mind,
Brooding in gloom on that, one bitter thought.
JOHN HENET HOPKINS.
JonN Henet Hopkins, the son of a merchant of
Dublin, was born in that city January 30, 1792.
He was brought by his parents to this country in
1800. After receiving a classical education at
school, he passed a twelvemonth in a counting-
house in Philadelphia; assisted Wilson, the orni-
thologist, in the preparation of the plates to the
first four volumes of his work ; and was afterwards
engaged for several years in the manufacture of
iron. Mr. Hopkins married in 1S16, and in 1817
was admitted to the bar at Pittsburg. He prac-
tised with great success until November, 1823,
when he abandoned the profession to enter the
ministry of the Protestant Episcopal Church.
After his ordination as deacon, in December,
WILLIAM CROSWELL.
393
1823, by Bishop White, by whom he was also
admitted to the priesthood in 1824, lie became
Rector of Trinity Church, Pittsburg, where he re-
mained until 1831, when he removed to Boston as
assistant minister of Trinity Church. In October,
1832, he was consecrated the first bishop of the
diocese of Vermont, and has since that time re-
sided at Burlington.
Bishop Hopkins is the author of several volumes
on the evidences of Christianity, the primitive
church, and the distinctive principles of Epis-
copacy,* all of which exhibit research, and are
written in a forcible and animated style. 'He has
also published a number of separate sermons and
pamphlets.f
* Christianity Vindicated, in seven Discourses on the Ex-
ternal Evidences of the New Testament, with a Dissertation.
Published by Ed. Smith, Burlington, Vt.. 1833.
The Primitive Creed Examined and Explained, the first part
containing sixteen discourses on the Apostles' Creed, for popu-
lar use — the second part containing a dissertation on tne testi-
mony of the early councils and the fathers, with observations
on certain theological errors of the present day. Published by
the same, 1S34.
The Primitive Church, compared with the Protestant Epis-
copal Church of the present day, being an examination of the
ordinary objections against the church in doctrine, worship,
and government, designed for popular use, with a dissertation
on sundry points of theology and practice. Published by V.
Harrington at Burlington, Vt, 1835. A second edition, revised
and improved, was printed the following year.
Essay on Gothic Architecture, with various plans and draw-
ings for churches, de-igned chiefly for the 'ise of the clergy.
Royal quarto. Published by Smith tic Harrington, Burlington,
1836.
The Church of Rome in her Primitive Purity, compared
with the Church of Rome at the present day, addressed to the
Roman Hierarchy. 12mo. Published by V. Harrington, Bur-
lington, 1837. Republished, with an introduction by Rev.
Henry Melvill, B.D., at London, in 1S39.
The Novelties which Disturb our Peace. 12mo. Published
by Herman Hooker, Philadelphia, 1S44.
Sixteen Lectures on the Causes, Principles, aud Results of
the British Reformation. Phila., 1S44.
The History of th^ Confessional. 12mo. Published by Har-
per &. Brothers, New York, 1850.
The End of Controversy, Controverted : a Refutation of
Milner's End of Controversy, in a series of letters addressed to
the Roman Archbi-hop of Baltimore. 2 vols. 12mo. Pub-
lished by Pudney & Russell, and Stanford & Swords, New
York, in 1854.
t Sermon, preached by request before the Howard Benevo-
lent Society, Boston, 1832.
Sermon, preached by request before the Church Scholarship
Society at Hartford, Conn., 1832.
Sermon, preached by request, at Burlington, on the doctrine
of Atonement, 1841.
Scripturj and Tradition, Sermon preached at the Ordination
of Deacons, New York, 1841.
Charge to the Clergy of Vermont, 1842.
Letter to the Right Rev. F. P. Kenrick, Roman Bishop of
Philadelphia, 1842.
Second Letter to the Same, 1843, of which there were two
editions.
Two Discourses on the Second Advent, of which there were
four editions.
Humble but Earnest Address to the Bishops, Clergy, and
Laity, on the Progress of Tractarianism. Published 1846. *
Pastoral Letter and Correspondence with liev. Wui. Henry
Hoit.
Sermon before the General Convention of 1847.
Sermon on Episcopal Government, preached at the conse-
cration of Bishop Potter, of Pennsylvania. 1845.
Letter to Rev. Dr. Seabury, on Tractarianism, 1847
Two Discourses, preached by request in the C;. helral of
Quebec, on the Religious Education of the Poor. Pujlished
1635.
Lecture on the Defect of the Principle of Religions Author-
ity in Modern Education, delivered by request b i re the
American Institute of Instruction, at Montpeiier, about the
year 1846 or 1847.
Discourse on Fraternal Unity, delivered by appointment
before the Missionary Board, at the General Convention of
1850, in Cincinnati.
Address, delivered by request of the Selectmen of St.
Alban's, on the death of General Taylor, President of the
United States, 1850.
Address, by request, before the Prot. Ep. Historical Society,
New York, 1851.
Lecture on Slavery— its religious sanction, its political dan-
WILLIAM CROSWELL.
William, the third child of the Rev. Harry Cros-
well,* was born at Hudson, New York, November
7, 1804, and graduated from Yale College in 1822.
<W\
The nest four years were passed in desultory read-
ing and study. His preference was early formed
for a clerical career, but from a distrust of his fit-
ness for the holy orhee, a distrust arising solely
cers, and the best method of doing it away, delivered before
the Young Men's Associations of Buffalo and Lockport. Pub-
li.hed by request, Phinney & Co., Buffalo, 1851.
Discourse, preached by request, in aid of the Fund for the
Widows and Orphans of Deceased Clergymen. Boston, 1851.
The Case of the Rev. Mr. Oorham against the Bishop of
Exeter considered, 1849.
Pastoral Letter on the Support of the Clergy, 1852.
Ditto, on the same subject, 1854.
Defence of the Constitution of the Diocese of Vermont,
1654.
Tract for the Church in Jerusalem. 1S54.
The True Principles of Re^toia*:ion to the Episcopal Office,
in relation to the case of Right Rev. Henry U. Onderdonk,
D.D., 1S54.
Address, delivered by request before the House of Convoca-
tion of Trinity College, Hartford, Conn., 1S54.
Discourse, oy request, on the Historical Evidence^ of Chris-
! tianity, at St. Andrew's Church, Philadelphia. Published
1 1854
* Harry Croswt-U was in the early part of his life a promi-
nent political editor of the Fedi-ral party. He commenced his
career in The Balance, a paper published at Hudson, New York,
wbich divided the honors with the Farmer's Museum at Wal-
pole, as one of the first literary journals of the country. Mr.
| Croswell was associated in this enterprise with Ezra Sampson,
a clergyman by education, who came to Hudson to officiate in
: the Presbyterian church of the village, but from lack of effect-
i ivenessasa public speaker retired from the pulpit. He subse-
i quently gained a wide popular reputation as the author of a
I series of essays, with the title of The Bri f Remarker, which
i were collected from the columns of the Hartford Courant, and
! printed in a volume. The collection was republished in 1855
! by D. Appleton & Co. The essays it contains are briefly writ-
ten compositions, and are in a vein of practical common sense.
Mr. Sampson was also the author of Tlte Beautiex of the Bible,
a selection of passages from the sacred volume, and of an His-
torical Dictionary.
Mr. Croswell wrote his editorials with vigor, and, in accord-
ance with the prevailing spirit of the press at that time, spoke
with great bitterness of his political opponents. An article
published in the Wasp, a journal also under his direction, on
Jefferson, led to a libel suit, and the celebrated trial in which
Hamilton, in defence of the editor, made his last forensic effort.
Mr. Croswell afterwards removed to Albany, where he esta-
blished a Federal paper. lie was here prosecuted for a libel
on Mr. Southwick,a leading democratic editor, who recovered
damages. Mr. Croswell called on his political friends toenable
him to meet the pecuniary requirements of their servico, and
• on their refusal to do so retired from editorial life, and a few-
months after entered the ministry of the Episcopal Church.
394
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
from the modesty which characterized him through
life, it was not until 1820 that he finally decided
to enter the ministry. He commenced his pre-
paratory studies at the General Theological Se-
minary in New York, where, owing to ill health,
he remained hut a short time. After passing a
brief period at New Haven he went to Hartford,
where he edited, with Mr. now Bishop Doane, a
religious newspaper, The Episcopal Watchman.
He commenced his poetical career in the columns
of this journal with a number of sonnets and short
poems, which were much admired and widely
copied. At the end of the second year of their
joint editorship Mr. Doane removed to Boston to
become the rector of Trinity church, and Mr.
Croswell retired to devote himself exclusively to
his studies.
In 1828 he was ordained deacon by Bishop
Brownell of Connecticut. He has described the
emotions of this solemn event in one of the most
beautiful of his compositions : —
THE ORDINAL.
Alas, for me, could I forget
The memory of that day
Which fills n.y waking thoughts, nor yet
E'en sleep can take away ;
In dreams 1 still renew the rites
"Whose stroi g but mystic chain
The spirit to its God unites,
And none can part again.
How oft the Bishop's form I see,
And hear that thrilling tone
Demanding, with authority,
The heart for God alone!
Again I kneel as then I knelt,
While he above me stands,
And seem to feel as then I felt
The pressure of his hands.
Ag.un the priests, in meek array,
As my weak spirit i'aiis,
Beside me bend them down to pray
Before the chancel rails ;
As then, the sacramental host
Of God's elect are by,
When many a voice its utterance lost,
And tears dimmed niany an eye.
As then they on my vision rose,
The vaulted aisles I see,
And desk and cushioned book repose
In solemn sanctity ;
The mitre o'er the marble niche,
The broken crook and kev.
That from a Bishop's tomb shone rich
With polished tracery ;
The hangii gs, the baptismal font, —
All, all, save me, unchanged, —
The holy table, as was wo..t,
With decency arrai ged ;
The linen cloth, the plate, the cup,
Beneath their eoverii g shine,
Ere priestly hands are lifted up
To bless the bread and wine.
The solemn ceremonial past,
And I am set apart
To serve the Lord, from first to last,
W"ith undivided heart.
And I have sworn, with pledges dire,
Which God and man have heard,
To speak the holy truth entire
, In action and in word.
0 Thou, who in Thy holy place
Hast set Thine orders three,
Grant me, Thy meanest servant, grace
To win a good degree ;
That so, replenished from above,
And in my office tried,
Thou mayst be honored, and in love
Thy Church be edified.
In 1829 Mr. Croswell was admitted to the
priesthood, and became rector of Christ church,
an ancient edifice in the vicinity of Copp's Hill
burial-ground, Boston. He continued his poeti-
cal contributions, which were almost exclusively
on topics connected with church ordinances, or
the duties and affections of Christian life. A
portion of these were collected and appended by
Bishop Doane to the first American edition of
Keble's Christian Year.
In 1840 Mr. Croswell resigned the rectorship
of Christ's, and accepted that of St. Peter's church,
Auburn. He remained in this parish for four
years, and during that period married, and be-
came the father of a daughter.
In 1844 he returned to Boston to take the rec-
torship of a new parish, -in process of formation
by a number of Episcopalians and distinguished
men of that city, among whom may be mentioned
Mr. Richard H. Dana and his son, on the prin-
ciple of a rigid adherence to the rubrics of the
prayer-book in its worship, an enlarged system of
parochial charity, and a provision by collections
and subscriptions in the place of pew rents for
the support of the rector, leaving the seats of the
chinch free to all comers. An upper room was
fitted up in an appropriate manner, and on the
first Sunday in Advent, 1844, the new rector com-
menced the services of the parish, which, from
this commencement, took the name of the Church
of the Advent. Morning and evening prayer was
henceforward continued every day of the year.
In condi. cting divine service, the rector, during
the mutual acts of prayer and praise turned in
the same direction with, instead of, as usual, fac-
ing the other worshippers, and preached in the
surplice instead of changing it for a black gown.
These practices gave great offence to the bishop
of the diocese, Dr. Eastburn, who at the close of
his first confirmation service in the church, ex-
pressed his disapprobation, coupled with a cen-
sure of a gilt cro^s placed over the communion
table. This was followed in a few days by an
official letter to the same effect addressed to the
diocese by the bishop. Dr. Croswell, believing
hhnself unjustly censured, responded in a letter,
citing authorities from the primitive and subse-
quent ages of the church in defence of his plan.
He also complained of the bishop for nncanonical
conduct in publicly censuring a presbyter with-
out giving the opportunity of defence by means
of a trial. Both parties believing themselves in
the right, no accommodation was made of the mat-
ter; the bishop refued to visit the church unless
the practices he objected to were discontinued,
and the parish held their course. In consequence
of this, candidates for confirmation were obliged,
accompanied by their rector, to resort to other
churches to receive the rite. In spite of this un-
happy difficulty the parish prospered. The rector
was indefatigable in the discharge of the duties
of charity, sallying forth at all hours and in all
WILLIAM CROSWELL.
395
weathers to relieve the poor and needy, visit and
comfort the sick and dying. During sea-ons of
pestilence he remained in the city, continuing his
church services as usual and redoubling his care
of the sick, with the energy and devotion required
by the crisis.
Such a career soon won its just meed of bound-
less honor and love from all who came within its
sphere. It was, however, destined to be as brief
as beautiful.
Seven years had thus passed from his arrival
at Boston to become rector of the Church of the
Advent, and the upper room had been exchanged
for an ediiiee purchased from a congregation of
another denomination, possessing no architectural
beauty, but spacious and commodious, when in
the delivery of a sermon to the children of the
congregation at the afternoon service of Sunday,
November 9, 1851, the rector's voice was ob-
served to falter. lie brought his discourse to an
abrupt close, and gave out the first stanza of the
hymn —
Soldiers of Christ, arise
And put }Tour armor on,
Strong in the strength which Christ supplies,
Through his eternal Sou.
This he announced instead of the lxxxviii., as the
clxxxviii., which contains the following stanza: —
Determined are the days that fly
Successive o'er thy head;
The numbered hour is on the wing
That lays thee with the dead.
The choir, however, following directions previ-
ously given, sang the former. At its conclusion
he knelt in his ordinary place at the chancel rail,
and said from memory, his book having dropped
from his hand, a collect. He then, still kneeling,
in place of as usual standing and facing the con-
gregation, delivered, in a faltering voice, the clos-
ing benediction. A portion of the auditory went
to his assistance, and bore him helpless to the
vestry-room and in a carriage to his home. He
was conscious, but unable to speak distinctly, and
uttered but a few words. Apprised by his phy-
sicians of his imminent danger he closed his eyes
as if in slumber. His friend, the Rev. Dr. Eaton, i
was soon by his bedside, and finding him unable
to speak, and apparently unconscious, took his
hand, and offered the " commendatory prayer for
a sick person at the point of departure," provided
by the Book of Common-Prayer. " As the word,
amen, was pronounced by the venerable priest,
the last breath was perceived to pass, gently,
quietly, and without a struggle/'
The beautiful harmony of the death with the
life of Dr. Cromwell, combined with the respect j
telt for his talents and example, called forth many i
expressions of sympathy with his bereaved family
and congregation. At his funeral his body was
carried from his house to the chnrch by eight of
his parishioners, and accompanied by a committee
of wardens and vestrymen to the cemetery at New
Haven, where it was buried, in conformity with
the wishes of the deceased, "deep in the ground."
The affecting scene of the ninth of November is
commemorated regularly on the annual recurrence
of the day by an appropriate sermon.
In 1853 a biography of Dr. Croswell, by his
father, was published in one octavo volume. It
contains, in addition to selections from his corre-
spondence, a collection of his poems, scattered
through the narrative in the order in which they
were written, and in connexion with the events by
which they were, in some cases, occasioned. These
poems were never collected by their author, and
have not appeared in a separate collective form
since his death. Notwithstanding that their re-
ligious as well as poetic beauty demand their issue
in a cheap, popular form, we should almost regret
their severance from the connexion in which a
wise and loving parental hand has placed them.
As we meet them in turning over the pages of
the biography they seem to us like the beautiful
carvings, the string-courses, corbels, pendants,
brackets, niches, and tabernacle work of a Chris-
tian cathedral, adorning and strengthening the
solid fabric, while placing the ornamental in due
subordination to the useful.
Although Dr. Croowell's poems were almost
exclusively on topics suggested by the memorial
seasons and observances of hallowed Christian
usage or devoted to friendship, he occasionally
wrote in a playful vein. His New Year's verses in
the Argus for 1842, "From the Desk of Poor
Richard, Jr.," are a clever reproduction with im-
provements of his own of that sage's maxims,
Poor Richard knows full well distress
Is real, and no dream ,
And yet life's bitterest ills have less
Of bitter than they seem.
Heet like a man thy coward pains,
And some, be sure, will flee ;
Nor doubt the worst of what remains
Will blessings prove to thee.
In 1848 he was called upon to deliver a Com-
mencement poem at Trinity College. The poem
may be said, in the language of his biographer,
" to be a metrical essay on the reverence due to
sacred places and holy things, and an exhortation
to the cultivation of such reverence, especially in
the church and its academical institutions." Ho
reverts to his Alma Mater, Yale, with this allu-
sion to its patron Berkeley.
There first we gazed on the serene expanse
Of Berkeley's bright and heavenly countenance.
And could not but contrast it, in our sport,
With thy pinched visage, prick-eared Davenport ;
Nor queried, as we turned to either face,
Which were the real genius of the place.
Taught, in a brother's words, to love in thee
"Earth's every virtue, wit in poesy,"
O Beikeley, as I read, with moistened eyes,
Of thy sublime but blasted enterprise,
Refusing, in thy pure, unselfish aim,
To sell to vulgar wealth a founder's fame,
But in thy fervor sacrificing all
To objects worthy of the name of Paul, —
What joy to see in our official line
A faith revived, identical with thine ;
Pledged to fulfil the spirit of thy scheme,
And prove thy college no ideal dream.
And when, on yonder walls, we now survey
The man " whose grace chalked his successor's way,"
And study, Samuel, thy majestic head,
By Berkeley's sou to heaven's anointing led,
And see the ways of Providence combine
The gentle bishop with the masculine,
We pray this noblest offspring of thy see
May lienor Berkeley, nor dishonor thee.
396
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
In his ideal picture of a university, he pays
tribute to several living authors.
Thus in the morning, far from Babel's dust,
These August days might yet be days august,
And words of power the place might glorify,
Which willingly the world would not let die.
There Dana might, in happiest mood, rehearse
Some last great effort of his deathless verse ;
Or Irving, like Arcadian, might beguile
The golden hours with his melodious style ;
Or he who takes no second living rank
Among the classics of the Church — Verplanck ;
Or he whose course " right onward" here begun,
Now sheds its brightness over Burlington,
(Where our young sons like noble saplings grow,
And daughters like the polished pillars show,)
And with the elder worthies, join the throng
Of young adventurers for the prize of song.
TO MY FATHEE.
My father, I recall the dream
Of childish joy and wonder,
When thou wast young as I now seem,
bay, thirty-three, or under ;
When on thy temples, as on mine,
Time just began to sprinkle
His first grey hairs, and traced the sign
Of many a coming wrinkle.
I recognise thy voice's tone
As to myself I'm talking ;
And this firm tread, how like thine own,
In thought, the study walking I
As, musing, to and fro I pass,
A glance across my shoulder
Would bring thine image in the glass,
Were it a trifle older.
My father, proud am I to bear
Thy face, thy form, thy stature,
But happier far might I but share
More of thy better nature ;
Thy patient progress after good,
All obstacles disdaining,
Thy courage, faith, and fortitude,
And spirit uncomplaining.
Then for the day that I was born
Well might I joy, and borrow
No longer of the coming morn
Its trouble or its sorrow;
Content I'd be to take my chance
In either world, possessing
For my complete inheritance
Thy virtues and thy blessing !
NATUEE AND EEVELATION.
I wandered by the burying-place,
And sorely there I wept,
To think how many of my friends
Within its mansions slept ;
And, wrung with bitter grief, I cried
Aloud in my despair,
" Where, dear companions, have ye fled ?
And Echo answered, " Where? "
While Nature's voice thus flouted me,
A voice from heaven replied,
" 0, weep not for the happy dead
Who in the Lord have died ;
Sweet is their rest who sleep in Christ,
Though lost a while to thee;
Tread in their steps, and sweeter still
Your meeting hour shall be! "
THIS ALSO SHALL PASS AWAY.
When morning sunbeams round me shed
Their light and influence blest,
When flowery paths before me spread,
And fife in smiles is drest ;
In darkling lines that dim each ray
I read, " This, too, shall pass away."
When murky clouds o'erhang the skv,
Far down the vale of years,
And vainly looks the tearful eye,
When not a hope appears,
Lo, characters of glory play
'Mid shades : " This, too, shall pass away."
Blest words, that temper pleasure's beam,
And lighten sorrow's gloom,
That early sadden youth's bright dream,
And cheer the old man's tomb.
Unto that world be ye my stay,
That world which shall not pass away.
PSALM CX5SVTI.
By the waters of Babel we sat down and wept,
As we called our dear Zion to mind ;
And our harps that in joy we so often had swept
Now 6ighed on the trees to the wind.
Then they that had carried us captive away,
In mockery challenged a song,
And ringing out mirth from our sadness, would say,
" Sing the strains that to Zion belong."
0, how shall we sing the ineffable song
In a godless and barbarous land ?
If the minstrels of Salem could do her such wrong,
Be palsied each cunning right hand.
Let my tongue to the roof of my mouth ever cling,
If aught else should its praises employ,
Or if Salem's high glories it choose not to sing,
Above all terrestrial joy.
Remember the children of Edom, 0 Lord,
How they cried, in Jerusalem's woe,
Her ramparts and battlements raze with the sword,
Her temples and towers overthrow.
0 daughter of Babel ! thy ruin makes haste ;
And blessed be he who devours
Thy children with famine and misery waste,
As thou, in thy rapine, served ours.
A SUNDAY-SCHOOL HYMN.
The sparrow finds a house,
The little bird a nest ;
Deep in thy dwelling, Lord, they come,
And fold their young to rest
And shall we be afraid
Our little ones to bring
Within thine ancient altar's shade,
And underneath thy wing ?
There guard them as thine eye,
There keep them without spot,
That when the spoiler passeth by
Destruction touch them not.
There nerve their souls with might,
There nurse them with thy love,
There plume them for their final flight
To blessedness above.
HYMN FOE ADVENT.
While the darkness yet hovers,
The harbinger star
Peeps through and discovers
The dawn from afar ;
To many an aching
And watch-wearied eye,
HORACE BUSHNELL.
391
The dayspring is breaking
Once more from on high.
With lamps trimmed and burning
The Church on her way
To meet thy returning,
O bright King of day !
Goes forth and rejoices, /
Exulting and free,
And sends from all voices
Hosannas to thee.
She casts off her sorrows,
To rise and to shine
With the lustre she borrows,
0 Saviour ! from thine. •, '
Look down, for thine honor, •*-
O Lord ! and increase
In thy mercy upon her
The blessing of peace.
Her children with trembling
Await, but not fear, . ,
Till the time of assembling V
Before thee draws near ;
When, freed from all sadness,
And sorrow, and pain,
They shall meet thee in gladness
And glory again.
DE PKOFUNDIS.
■ There may be a clourl without a rainhow, but there cannot
be a rainbow without a cloud."
My soul was dark
But for the golden light and rainbow hue,
That, sweeping heaven with their triumphal arc
Break on the view.
Enough to feel
That God indeed is good. Enough to know,
Without the gloomy cloud, he could reveal
No beauteous bow.
traveller's iiymn.
" In journeyings often.1'
Lord! go with us, and we go
Safely through the weariest length,
Travelling, if thou will'st it so,
In the greatness of thy strength ;
Through the day and through the dark,
O'er the land, and o'er the sea,
Speed the wheel, and steer the bark,
Bring us where we feign would be.
In the self-controlling ear,
'Mid the engine's iron din,
Waging elemental war,
Flood without, and flood within,
Through the day, and through the dark,
O'er the land, and o'er the sea,
Speed the wheel, and steer the bark,
Bring us where we fain would be.
HOEACE BUSHNELL.
Tms eminent thinker and divine is a native of
Connecticut, born about the year 1804, in New
Preston, in the town of Washington, Litchfield
county. He was, as a boy, employed in a fulling-
mill in his n-ai . e village. He became a graduate
of Yale in 1827. After this he was engaged for
a while as a literary editor of the Journal of Com-
merce, at New York. He was, from 1829 to
1831, a tutor in Yale College; and, at this time,
applied himself to the study of law, and after-
wards of theologv. In May, 1833. he was called
to his present post of ministerial duty, as pastor
of the North Congregational Church, in Hart-
ford. He early became a contributor to the
higher religious periodicals. In 1837, he deli-
vered the Phi Beta Kappa oration at New Haven,
On the Principles of National Greatness. His
series of theological publications commenced in
1847, with his volume, Views of Christian Nur-
ture, and of Suhjects adjacent thereto. In this
he presents his views of the spiritual economy of
revivals, in which he marks out the philosophical
limitations to a system which had been carried to
excess. The " Organic Unity of the Family" is
another chapter of this work, which shows the
author's happy method of surrounding and pene-
trating a subject. This was followed, in 1849,
by his book entitled God in Christ — Three Dis-
courses, delivered at Sfew Haven, Cambridge, and
Andocer, with a Preliminary Dissertation on
Language. The view of the doctrine of the
Trinity set forth in this book, met with discussion
on all sides, and much opposition from some of
the author's Congregational brethren, and was
the means of bringing him before the Ministerial
Association, with which he is connected. The
argument was a metaphysical one, and pursued
by Dr. Bushnell with his customary acumen.
The main points of defence were presented to
the public in 1851, in a new volume, Christ in
Theology ; being the Answer of the Author before
the Hartford Central Association of Ministers,
October, 1849, for the Doctrines of the Book
entitled God in Christ. As an indication of the
material with which Dr. Bushnell has to deal in
these discourses, the enumeration of the elements
of theological opinion may be cited from the
Preface to this volume. " To see brought up,"
he writes, " in distinct array before us the multi-
tudes of leaders and schools, and theologic wars
of only the century past, — the Supralapsarians
and Sublapsarians ; the Arminianizers and the
true Calvinists; the Pelagians and Augustinians;
the Tasters and the Exercisers ; Exercisers by
Divine Efficiency and by Human Self-Efficiency ;
the love-to-being-in-general virtue, the willing-
to-be-damned virtue, and the love-to-one's-
greatest-happiness virtue; no ability, all ability,
and moral and natural ability distinguished ;
disciples by the now-creating act of Omnipotence,
and by change of the governing purpose ; atone-
ment by punishment and by expression ; limited
and general ; by imputation and without imputa-
tion ; Trinitarians of a three-fold distinction, of
three psychologic persons, or of three sets of
attributes; under a unity of oneness, or of neces-
sary agreement, or of society and deliberative
council ; — nothing, I think, would more certainly
disenchant us of our confidence in systematic
orthodoxy and the possibility, in human language,
of an exact theologic science, than an exposition
so practical and serious, and withal so indis-
putably mournful, so mournfully indisputable."
The remaining theological writings of Dr. Bush-
398
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
nell are included in his contributions to the
Reviews.*
In another department of composition, that of
the philosophical essay, mingling subtle and
refined speculation with the affairs of every-day
life, he has achieved distinguished success, in a
manner peculiarly his own. With this class of his
writings may be included a review of Brigham's
Influence of Religion on Health in the Christian
Spectator (viii. 51); an article on Taste and
Fashion, in the New Englander, 1843; a Dis-
course before the Alumni of Yale College, 1843,
on The Moral Tendencies and Results of llama n
History ; an address before the Hartford County
Agricultural Society, 1846 ; Work and Flay, an
oration before the Phi Beta Kappa, at Cambridge,
1848 : and several special sermons, which have
been printed, entitled Unconscious Influence ; the
Day of Roads — tracing the progress of civilization
by the great national highways ; a similar dis-
course, The Northern Iron; Barbarism the
First Danger, in alluMon to emigration ; Reli-
gious Music ; and Politics under the Law of Qvd.
In 1840, Dr. Bnshnell pronounced an oration,
The Fathers of Kew England, before the New
England Society of New York ; and, in 1851,
Speech for Connecticut, being an Historical Esti-
mate of the State, delivered before, and printed
by, the Legislature.
.'LAY, A LIFE OF FUEnDO.M.t
Thus it is that work prepares the state of play.
Passii-g over now to this hitter, observe the intense
longing of the race for some such higher and freer
state of 'being. They call it by no name. Probably
most of thein have but dimly conceived what they
are after. The more evident will it be that they are
after this, when we find them covering over the
whole giound of life, and filling up the contents of
history, with their counterfeits or misconceived
attempts. If the hidden fire is seen bursting up on
every side, to vent itself in flame, we may certainly
know that the ground is full.
Let it not surprise you, if I name, as a first illus-
tration here, the general devotion of our race to
money. Tins passion for money is allowed to be a
sordid passion, — une that is rankest in the least
generous and most selfish of mankind ; and yet a
conviction lias always been felt, that it must have
its heat in the most central files and divinest affini-
ties of our nature. Thus, the poet calls it the auri
sacra fames, — sacra, as being a curse, and that in
the divine life of the race. Childhood being passed,
and the play-fund of motion so far spent that run-
ning on foot no longer appears to be the joy it was,
the older child, now called a man, fancies that, it
will make him happy to ride ! Or lie imagines,
which is much the same, some loftier state of lacing,
— call it rest, retirement, competence, independence,
— no matter by what name, only be it a condition
of use, ease, liberty, and pure enjoyment. And so
we find the whole race at work to get rid of work ;
drudging themselves to-day, in the hope of play to-
morrow. This is that sacra fames, which, miscon-
* Articles : Review of " The Errors of the Times," a
charge by the Et. Eev. T. C. Brownell, bishop of the Diocese
of Connecticut : New En^lander, vol. ii., Viii, Evangelical
Alliance: lb. v. 1S47. Christian Comprehensiveness : lb.
vi. 1S48. The Christian Trinity, a Practical Truth : lb. xii,
16S4.
In 1S47, Dr. Bushnell addressed a "Letter to the Pope,"
which was printed in London.
t From the Phi Ltcta Kappa Oration, 1S4S.
ceiving its own unutterable longings after spiritual
play, proposes to itself the dull felicity of cessation,
and drives the world to madness in pursuit of a
counterfeit, which it is work to obtain, work also to
keep, and yet harder work oftentimes to enjoy.
Here, too, is the secret of that profound passion
for the drama, which has been so conspicuous in the
cultivated nations. We love to see life in its feel-
ing and activity," separated fiom its labors and
historic results. Could we see all human changes
transpire poetically or creatively, that is, in play,
letting our soul play with them as they pass, then
it were only poetrv to live. Then to admire, love,
laugh, — then to abhor, pity, weep, — all were alike
grateful tons; for the view of suffering separated
from all reality, save what it has to feeling, only
yields a painful joy, which is the deeper joy because
of the pain. Hence the written drama, offeri: g to
view iu its impersonations a life one side of lite, a
life in which all the actings appear without the end3
and simply as in play, becomes to the cultivated
reader a spring of the intensest and most captivat-
ing spiritual incitement. He beholds the creative
genius of a man playing out impersonated groups
and societies of men, clothii g each with life, passion,
individuality, and character, by the fertile activity
of his own inspired feeling. Meantime the writer
himself is hidden, and cannot even suggest his
existence. Hence egotism, which also is a form of
work, the dullest, most insipid, least inspiring of all
human demonstrations, is nowhere allowed to ob-
trude itself. As a reader, too, he has no ends to
think of or to fear, — nothing to do, but to play the
characters into his f eling as creatures existing for
his sake. In this view, the drama, as a product of
genius, is, within a certain narrow limit, the realiza-
tion of play.
But far les9 effectively, or more faintly, when it is
acted. Iheu the counterfeit, as it i» more remote,
is more feeble. In the reading we invent our own
sceneries, clothe into form and expression each one
of the characters, and play out our own liberty in
them as freely, and sometimes as divinely, as they.
Whatever reader, therefore, has a soul of true life
and fire within him, finds all expectation balked,
when lie becomes an auditor a d spectator. The
scenery is tawdry and flat, the characters, defi-
nitely measured, have lost their infinity, so to
speak, a..d thus their freedom, and what before was
play descends to nothii g better or more inspired
than work. It is called goit g to the play, but it
should rather be called going to the work, that is,
to see a play worked, (yes, an opera ! that is it!) —
men and women inspired through their memory,
and acting their inspirations by rote, panting into
love, pumping at the iountains of grief, whipping,
out the passions into fury, and dying to fulfil the
contract of the evening, by a forced holdu g of the
breath. And yet this feeble counterfeit of play,
which some of us would call only "very tragical
mirth," has a power to the multitude. They are
moved, thrilled it may be, with a strange delight.
It is as if a something in their nature, higher than
they themselves know, were quickened into power,
— namely, that divine instinct of play, in which the
summit of our nature is most clearly revealed.
In like manner, the passion of our race for war,
and the eager admiration yielded to warlike ex-
ploits, are resolvable principally into the same
fundamental cause. Mere ends and uses do not
satisfy us. We must get above prudence and
economy, into something that partakes of inspira-
tion, lie the cost what it may. Hence war, another
and yet more magnificent counterfeit of play.
Thus there is a great and lofty virtue that we call
HORACE BU3HNELL,
399
courage (cour-ar/e), taking our name from the heart.
It is the greatness of a great heart, the repose ami
confidence of a man whose soul is rested in truth
and principle. Such a man lias no ends ulterior to
his duty, — duty itself is his end. He is in it there-
fore as in play, lives it as an inspiration. Lifted
thus out of mere prudence and contrivance, he is
also lifted above fear. Life to him is the outgoing
of his great heart (heart-age), action from the heart.
And because he now can die, without being shaken
or perturbed by any of the dastardly feelings that
belong to self-seeking aid work, because he partakes
of the impassibility of his principles, we call hiui a
hero, regarding him as a kind of god, a man who
has gone up into the sphere of the divine.
Then, since courage is a joy so high, a virtue of so
great majesty, what could happen but that many
will covet both the internal exaltation and the out-
ward repute of it? Thus comes bravery, which is
the counterfeit, or mock virtue. Courage is of the
heart, as we have sai 1 ; bravery is of the will. One
is the spontaneous joy and repose of a truly great
soul ; the other, bravery, is after an end ulterior to
itself, and, in that view, is but a form of work, —
about the hardest work, too, I fancy, that some men
undertake. What can be harder, in fa.'t, than to
act a great heart, when one has nothing but a will
wherewith to do it?
Thus you will see that courage is above danger,
bravery in it, doing battle on a level with it, Due
is secure and tranquil, the other suppresses agitation
or conceals it. A right mind fortifies one, shame
stimulates the other. Faith is the nerve of one, risk
the plague and tremor of the other. For if I may
tell yon just here a very importa.it secret, there be
many that are called heroes who are yet. without
courage. They brave danger by their will, when
their heart trembles. They make up in violence
what tiey want in tranquillity, and drown the
tumult of their fears in the rage of their passions.
Enter the heart and you shall find, too often, a das-
tard spirit lurking in your hero. Call him still a
brave man, if you will, only remember that he lacks
courage.
No, the true hero is the great, wise man of duly,
— he whose soul is armed by truth and supported
by the smile of God, — he who meets life's perils
with a cautious but tranquil spirit, gathers strength
by faci .g its storms, and dies, if he is called to die,
as a Christian victor at the post of duty. And if
we must have heroes, and wars wherein to make
them, there is no so ' brilliant war as a war with
wrong, no hero so fit to be sung us he who has
gained the bloodless victory of truth and mercy.
Bit if bravery be not the same as courage, still it
is a very imposing and plausible counterfeit The
man himself is told, after the oce tsion is past, how
heroically he bore himself, and when once his
nerves have become tranquillized, he begins even to
believe it. And since we cannot stay content in the
dull, uninspired world of economy and work, we
are as read3r to see a hero as he to be one. Kay, we
must have our heroes, as I just said, and we are
ready to harness ourselves, by the million, to any
man who will let us fight him out the name. Thus
we find out occasions for war, — wrongs to be re-
dressed, revenges to be taken, such as we may feign
inspiration and play the great heart under. We
collect armies, and dress up leaders in gold and
high colors, meaning, by the brave look, to inspire
so ne notion of a hero beforehand. Then we set the
men in phalanxes and squadrons, where the per-
sonality itself is taken away, and a vast impersonal
person called an army, a magnanimous and brave
monster, is all that remains. The masses of fierce
color, the glitter of steel, the dancing plumes, the
waving flags, the deep throb of the music lifting
every foot, — uuder these the living ae.res of men,
possessed by the one thought of playing brave to-
day, are rolled on to battle. Thunder, fire, dust,
blood, groans, — what of these ? — nobody thinks of
these, for nobody dares to think till the day is over,
and then the world rejoices to behold a new batch
of heroes I
And this is the devil's pla}r, that we call war.
We have had it going on ever since the old geologic
era was finished. We are sick enough of the matter
of it. We understand well enough that it is not
good economy. But we cannot live on work. We
must have courage, inspiration, greatness, play.
Even the moral of our nature, that which is to
weave us into social union with our kind before
God, is itself thiisti g after play ; and if we cannot
have it in good, why theu let us have it in as good
as we can. It is at least some comfort, that we do
not mean quite as badly in these wars as some men
say. We are not in love with murder, we are not
simple tigers in feeling, and some of us come out of
battle with kind and gentle qualities left. We only
must have our play.
Note also this, that, since the metaphysics of
fighting have been investigated, we have learned to
make much of what we call the moral of the army ;
by which we mean the feeling that wants to play
brave. Only it is a little sad to remember that this
same moral, as it is called, is the true, eternal, moral
nature of the man thus terribly perverted, — that
which was designed to link him to his God and his
kind, and ought to be the spring of his immortal
inspirations.
There lias been much of specula' ion among the
learned concerning the origin of chivalry ; nor has
it always been clear to what human elements this
singular institution is to be referred. But when we
look on man, not as a creature of mere u derstand-
ing and reason, but as a creature also of play, essen-
| tially a poet in that which constitutes his higher
life, we seem to nave a solution or the origin of
chivalry, which is sufficient, whether it be true or
not. In the forswearing of labor, in the brave ad-
ventures of a life in arms, in the intense ideal devo-
tion to woman a3 her protector and avenger, in the
self-renouncing and almost self-oblivious worship of
honor,— what do we see in these but the uioek
moral doings of a creature who is to escape self-love
and the service of ends in a free, spontaneous life of
goodness, — in whom courage, delicacy, honor, disin-
terested deeds, are themselves to be the inspiration,
as they are the end, of his being ?
I might also show, passing into the sphere of
religion, how legal obedience, which is work, always
descends into superstition, and thus that religion
must, in its very nature and life, be a form of play,
— a worship offered, a devotion paid, not for some
ulterior end, but as being its own end and joy. I
might also show, in the same manner, that ail the
enthusiastic, fanatical, and properly quietistic modes
of religion are as many distinct counterfeits, and, in
that manner, illustrations of my subject. But this
you will see at a glance, without illustration. Only
observe how vast a field our illustrations cover. In
the infatuated zeal of our race for the acquisition of
money, in the drama, in war, in chivalry, in per-
verted religion, — in all these forms, covering almost
the whole ground of humanity with counterfeits of
play, that are themselves the deepest movements of
the race. I show you the boundless sweep of this
divine instinct, and how surely we may know that
the perfected state of man is a state of beauty, truth,
and love, where life is its own end and joy.
400
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
GEOEGE DENISON PRENTICE,
The editor of the Louisville Journal, is a native
of Connecticut, born at Preston, New London
county, December 18, 1802. He was educated at
Brown University, studied law but did not engage
in the profession, preferring the pursuits of edi-
torial life. In 1828 he commenced the New Eng-
land Weekly Review at Hartford, a well conducted
and well supported journal of a literary character,
which he carried on for two years, when, resigning
its management to Mr. Wintrier, he removed to the
West,established himself in Kentucky at Louisville,
and shortly became editor of the "Journal," a
daily paper in that city, In his hands it has be-
come one of the most widely known and esteemed
newspapers in the country; distinguished by its
fidelity to Whig politics, and its earnest, able edi-
torials, no less than by the lighter skirmishing of
wit and satire. The " Prenticeiana" of the editor
are famous. If collected and published with ap-
propriate notes these mots would form an amus-
ing and instructive commentary on the manage-
ment of elections, newspaper literature, and po-
litical oratory, of permanent value as a memorial
of the times.
The Louisville Journal lias always been a sup-
porter of the cause of education and of the literary
interest in the West. It has hence become, in ac-
cordance with the known tastes of the editor, a
favorite avenue of young poets to the public.
Several of the most successful lady writers of the
West have first become known through their con-
tributions to the "Journal."
Mr. Prentice's own poetical writings are hume-
, rous. Many of them first appeared in the author's
"Review" at Hartford. A number have been
collected by Mr. Everest in the " Poets of Con-
necticut." They are in a serious vein, chiefly ex-
pressions of sentiment and the domestic affections.
Our specimen is taken from Mr. Gallagher's
" Selections from the Poetical Literature of the
West."
THE PLIGHT OF TEAE8.
Gone! gone for ever! — like a rushing wave
Another year has burst upon the shore
Of earthly being — and its last low tones,
Wandering in broken accents on the air.
Are dying to an echo.
The gny Spring,
With its young charms, has gone — gone with its
leaves —
Its atmosphere of roses — its white clouds
Slumbering like seraphs in the air — its birds
Telling their loves in music — and its streams
Leaping and shouting from the up-piled rocks
To make earth echo with the joy of waves.
And Summer, with its dews and showers, has gone —
Its rainbows glowing on the distant cloud
Like Spirits of the Storm — its peaceful lakes
Smiling in their sweet sleep, as if their dreams
Were of the opening flowers and budding trees
And overhanging sky — and its bright mists
Resting upon the mountain-tops, as crowns
Upon the heads of giants. Autumn too
Has gone, with all its deeper glories — gone
With its green hills like altars of the world
Lifting their rich fruit-offerings to their God —
Its cool winds straying 'mid the forest aisles
To wake their thousand wind-harps — its serene
And holy sunsets hanging o'er the West
Like banners from the battlements of Heaven —
And its still evenings, when the moonlit sea
Was ever throbbing, like the living heart
Of the great Universe. Ay — these are now
But sounds and visions of the past — their deep.
Wild beauty has departed from the Earth,
And they are gathered to the embrace of Death,
Their solemn herald to Eternity.
Nor have they gone alone. High human hearts
Of Passion have gone with them. The fresh dust
Is chill on many a breast, that burned erewhile
With fires that seemed immortal. Joys, that leaped
Like angels from the heart, and wandered free
In life's young morn to look upon the flowers.
The poetry of nature, and to list
The woven sounds of breeze, and bird, and stream,
Upon the night-air, have been stricken down
In silence to the dust. Exultant Hope,
That roved for ever on the buoyant winds
Like the bright, stariy bird of Paradise,
And chaunted to the ever-listening heart
In the wild music of a thousand tongues,
Or soared into the open sky, until
Right's burning gems seemed jewelled on her brow,
Has shut her drooping wing, and made her home
Within the voiceless sepulchre. And Love,
That knelt at Passion's holiest shrine, and gazed
On his heart's idol as on Bome sweet star,
Whose purity and distance make it dear,
And dreamed of ecstasies, until his soul
Seemed but a lyre, that wakened in the glance
Of the beloved one — he too has gone
To his eternal resting-place. And where
Is stern Ambition — he who madly grasped
At Glory's fleeting phantom — he who sought
His fame upon the battle-field, and longed
To make his throne a pyramid of bones
Amid a sea of blood ? He too has gone!
His stormy voice is mute — his mighty arm
Is nerveless on its clod — his very name
Is but a meteor of the night of years
Whose gleams flashed out a moment o'er the Earth,
And faded into nothingness. The dream
Of high devotion — beauty's bright array —
And life's deep idol memories — all have passed
Like the cloud-shadows on a starlight stream,
Or a soft strain of music, when the winds
Are slumbering on the billow.
Yet, why.muse
Upon the past with sorrow ? Though the year
Has gone to blend with the mysterious tide
Of old Eternity, and borne along
Upon its heaving breast a thousand wrecks
Of glory and of beauty — yet, why mourn
That such is destiny ? Another year
Succeedeth to the past — in their bright round
The seasons come and go — the same blue arch,
That hath hung o'er us, will hang o'er us yet —
The same pure stars that we have loved to watch,
Will blossom still at twilight's gentle hour
Like lilies on the tomb of Day — and still
Man will remain, to dream as he hath dreamed,
And mark the earth with passion. Love will spring
From the lone tomb of old Affections — Hope
And Joy and great Ambition, will rise up
As they have risen — and their deeds will be
Brighter than those engraven on the scroll
Of parted centuries. Even now the sea
Of coming years, beneath whose mighty waves
Life's great events are heaving into birth,
Is tossing to and fro, as if the winds
Of heaven were prisoned in its soundless depths
And struggling to be free.
CHARLES E. ARTHUR GAYAREE.
401
Weep not, that Time
Is passing on — it will eie long reveal
A brighter era to the nations. Hark 1
Along the vales a id mountains of the earth
There is a deep, portentous murmuring,
Like the swift rush of subterranean streams,
Or like the mingled sounds of earth and air,
AVhen the fierce Tempest, with sonorous wing.
Heaves his deep folds upon the rushing winds,
And hurries onward with his night of clouds
Against the eternal mountains. 'Tis the voice
Of infant Freedom — and her stirring call
Is heard and answered in a thousand tones
From every hill-top of her western home —
And lb — it breaks across old Ocean's flood —
And " Freedom ! Freedom ! is the answering shout
Of nations starting from the spell of years.
The day-spring ! — see — 'tis brightening in the hea-
vens!
The watchmen of the night have caught the sign —
From tower to tower the signal-fires flash free — ■
And the deep watch-word, like the rush of seas
That heralds the volcano's bursting flame,
Is pounding o'er the earth. Bright years of hope
And life are on the wing! — -Yon glorious bow
Of Freedom, bended by the hand of God,
Is spanning Time's dark surges. Its high Arch,
A type of Love and Mercy on the cloud,
Tells, that the many storms of human life
Will pass in silence, and the sinking waves,
Gathering the forms of glory and of peace,
Reflect the undimmed brightness of the Heavens.
CHAELE3 E. ARTHUB GAYAEEE.
Charles E. Abttice Gataree was bom in Loui-
siana on the 3d of January, 1805. He is of mixed
descent, Spanish and French. His father, Charles
Anastase Gayarre, and his mother, Marie Eliza-
beth Bore, were natives of Louisiana. His family
is one of the most ancient in the state, and his-
toric in all its branches and rjots. Some of his
ancestors were the contemporaries of Bienville
and Iberville, the founders of the colony.
The subject of this notice was educated in New
Orleans, at the colleg? of the same name, where
he pursued his studies with marked distinction.
In 1825, when Mr. Edward Livingston laid before
the Legislature of Louisiana the criminal codo
which he had prepared at the request of the state,
Mr. Gayarre, then quite a youth, published a pam-
phlet, in which he opposed some of Mr. Living-
ston's view-;, and particularly the abolition of
capital punishment, which Mr. Gayarre consi-
dered a premature innovation, and of dangerous
application to the State of Louisiana, for certain
reasons which he discussed" at length. The pam-
phlet produced great sensation at the time, and
the adoption of the code was indefinitely post-
poned by the legislature. In 182G Mr. Gayarre
went to Philadelphia, and studied law in the office
of William Rawle. In 1829 he was admitted to
the bar of that city; and in 1830 returned home,
and published in French An Historical Essay on
Louisiana, which obtained great success. That
same year, only a few months after his return, he
was elected, almost by a unanimous vote, one of
the representatives of the city of New Orleans in
the legislature, and was chosen by that body to
write the " Address," which it sent to France, to
compliment the French Chambers on the revo-
lution of 1830. In 1S31 he was appointed as-
sistant or deputy attorney-general, in 1833 pre-
VOL. II. — 2j
siding judge of the city court of New Orleans ;
and in 1835, when he had just attained the con-
stitutional age, was elected to the Senate of the
United States for a term of sis years. Ill health
prevented Mr. Gayarre from taking his seat, and
compelled him to go to Europe, where he re-
mained until October, 1843. In 18-W-, shortly
after his retnrn, Mr. Gayarre was elected by the
city of New Orleans to the legislature of the state,
where he advocated and carried several important
measures, among which wa3 a bill to provide for
the liabilities of the state, and which in a short
time effected a reduction of two millions and a
half of dollars. In 18i6 he was re-elected at the
expiration of his term ; but on the very day the
legislature met he was appointed secretary of stale
by Governor Johnson. That office was then one
of the most important and laborious in the state,
the secretary being at that time, besides his ordi-
nary functions as such, superintendent of public
education, and constituting with the treasurer the
"Board of Currency," whose province it is to
exercise supreme control and supervision over all
the banks of the state. Mr. Gayarre discharged
his multifarious duties in a manner which will
long be remembered, particularly in connexion
with the healthy condition in which he maintained
the banks. At the expiration of his four years'
term of office, he was re-appointed secretary of
state by Governor Walker in 1 850. Mr. Gayarre,
during the seven years he was secretary of state,
found time to publish in French a History of Loui-
siana, in two volumes, containing very curious do-
cuments, which he had collected from the archives
of France. He also published in English, in one
volume, the Romance of the History of Louisiana,
and in English subsequently the History of Loui-
siana, in two volumes. This continuous work is
not a translation of the one he wrote in French.
It is cast in a different mould, and contains much
matter riot to be found in the French work.
The Romance of the History of Louisiana is ap-
pended to it as an introduction. Mr. Ecdfield, of
New York, has published Mr. Gayarre's history
of the Spanish, Domination in Louisiana, com-
ing down to the 20th of December, 1803, when
the United States took possession of the colony,
in which work he makes some remarkable disclo-
sures in relation to the Spanish intrigues in the
West carried on with the co-operation of General
Wilkinson and others, from 1786 to 1792, to dis-
member the Union, and gives a full account of the
negotiations which led to the cession.
As secretary of state, Mr. Gayarre made so
judicious a use of the sum of seven thousand
dollars, which he had at his disposal for the pur-
chase of books, that he may be said to be the
father of the state library; and with the very
limited sum of two thousand dollars, which, at
his pressing request, was voted by the legislature
for the purchase of historical documents, he suc-
ceeded, by dint of perseverance and after two
years' negotiations, in obtaining very important
documents from the archives of Spain, the sub-
stance of which he has embodied in his history
of the Spanish Domination in Louisiana.
Mr. Gayarre has lately given to the public two
lectures on The Influence of the Mechanic A rts, and
a dramatic novel, called the School for Politics.
a humorous and satirical exhibition of the party
4:02
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
: ! If ,
frauds and relaxed political sentiment of the day,
which may be presumed to have grown out of the
writer's experiences, some of which are detailed,
in a more matter of fact form, in an Address to the
People of the State, which he published on the
" late frauds perpetrated at the election held on
the 7th of November, 1853, in the city of New
Orleans." Mr. Gayarre was on that occasion an
independent candidate for Congress, refusing to
be controlled by the party organization, and was
defeated, though he polled a large and influential
vote. His undisguised sentiments, in regard to
the political manoeuvres of the times, are freely
expressed at the close of his pamphlet.
Ho has since taken part in the " Know-Nothing"
organization of his native state ; and was one of
the delegates excluded from the general council
of the party at Philadelphia in June, 1855, on
the ground of their position as Roman Catholics.
This drew from him a privately printed address,
in which, with animation and vigor, he handles
the question of religious proscription.
As a writer, the prose of Mr. Gayarre is marked
by the French and Southern characteristics. It
is warm, full, rhetorical, and constantly finds ex-
pression in poetical imagery. In his comedy,
where the style is restrained by the conversational
directness, there are many passages of firm, manly
English. As an historian, though his narratives
are highly colored, in a certain vein of poetical
enthusiasm, they are based on the diligent study
of origins ' authorities, and are to be consulted with
confidence ; the subjects of his early volumes are
in themselves romantic, and the story is always of
the highest interest. His last volume brings him
to the discnssion of a most important era in our
political history.
FATITCr. PAGOBEr.T.*
The conflict which had sprung up between the
Jesuits and Capuchins, in 1755, as to the exercise of
spiritual jurisdiction in Louisiana, may not have been
* From the History of the Spanish Domination in Louisiana.
forgotten. The Bishop of Quebec had appointed a
Jesuit lus Vicar-General in New Orleans, but the
Capuchins pretended that they had, according to a
contract passed with the India company, obtained
exclusive jurisdiction in Lower Louisiana, and there-
fore had opposed therein the exercise of any pastoral
functions by the Jesuits. The question remained
undecided by the Superior Council, which felt con-
siderable reluctance to settle the controversy by some
final action, from fear perhaps of turning against it-
self the hostility of botli parties, although it leaned
in favor of the Capuchins. From sheer lassitude
there had ensued a sort of tacit truce, when father
Ililaire de Geneveaux, the Superior of the Capuchins,
who, for one of a religious order proverbially famed
for its ignorance, was a man of no mean scholarship
and of singular activity, quickened by a haughty and
ambitious temper, went to visit Europe, without in-
timating what lie was about, and returned with the
title of Apostolic Prothonotary, under which he
claimed, it seems, the power to lord it over the Je-
suit who was the Vicar-General of the Bishop of
Quebec. Hence an increase of wrath on the part of
the Jesuits and a renewal of the old quarrel, which
ceased only when the Jesuits were expelled from all
the French dominions. But the triumph of father
Geneveaux was not of long duration ; for, in 1766,
the Superior Council, finding that he was opposed
to their scheme of insurrection, had expelled him as
a perturber of the public peace, and father Dagobert
had become Superior of the Capuchins. They lived
altogether in a very fine house of their own, and
there never had been a more harmonious commu-
nity than this one was, under the rule of good father
Dagobert.
He had come very young in the colony, where he
had christened and married almost everybody, so
that he was looked upon as a sort of spiritual father
and tutor to all. He was emphatically a man of
peace, and if there was anything which father Da-
gobert hated in this world, if he could hate at all, it
was trouble — trouble of any kind — but particularly
of that, sort which arises from intermeddling and
contradiction. How could, indeed, father Dagobert
not be popular witli old and young, with both sexes,
and with every class ? Who could have complained
of one whose breast harbored no ill feeling towards
anybody, and whose lips never uttered a harsh word
in reprimand or blame, of one who was satisfied with
himself and the rest of mankind, provided he was
allowed to look, on with his arms folded, leaving
angels and devils to follow the bent of their nature
in their respective departments? Did not his ghostly
subordinates do pretty much as they pleased ? And
if they erred at times — why — even holy men were
known to be frail ! And why should not their pec-
cadilloes be overlooked or forgiven for the sake of
the good they did? It was much better (we may
fairly suppose him so to have thought, from the
knowledge we have of his acts and character), for
heaven and for the world, to let things run smooth
and easy, than to make any noise. AVas there not
enough of unavoidable turmoil ia this valley of tri-
bulations and miseries ? Besides, he knew that God
was merciful, ami that all would turn right in the
end. Why should he not have been an indulgent
shepherd for his flock, and have smiled on the pro-
digal son after repentance, and even before, in order
not to frighten him away ? If the extravagance of
the sinning spendthrift could not be checked, why
should not he, father Dagobert, be permitted, by
sitting at the hospitable board, to give at least some
dignify to the feast, and to exorcise away the ever
lurking spirit of evil 8 Did not Jesus sit at meal
with publicans and sinners ? Why then should not
GEORGE W. BETHUXE.
403
father Dagobert, when lie went-but to christen, or
to marry at some private dwelling, participate in
convivialities, taste the juice of the grape, take a
hand in some innocent game, regale his nostrils with
a luxurious pinch of snuff, and look with approba-
tion at the merry feats of the dancers ? Where was
the harm? Could not a father sanctify by his pre-
sence t!ie rejoicings of his children ? Such were per-
haps some of the secret reasonings of the reverend
capuchin.
By some pedantic minds father Dagobert might
have been taxed with being illiterate, and with
knowing very little beyond the litanies of the church.
But is not ignorance bliss? Was it not to the want
of knowledge, that was to be attributed the simpli-
city of heart, which was so e lifying in one of his
sacred mission, and that humility to which he was
sworn? Is it not written; "Blessed are the poor
in spirit; for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
Why should he understand Latin, or so many other
musty inexplicable things? Was not the fruit of the
tree of knowledge the cause of the perdition of mjin ?
Besides, who ever heard of a learned capuchin?
Would it not have been a portentous anomaly ? If
his way of fasting, of keeping the holydays, of say-
ing miss, of celebrating marriages, of christening, of
singing prayers for the dead, and of hearing confes-
sions, of inflicting penance, and of performing all his
other sacerdotal functions, was contrary to the ritual
and to the canons of the church — why — he knew no
better. What soul had been thereby endangered?
His parishioners were used to his ways? Was he,
after fifty years of labor in the vineyard of the Lord,
to change his manner of working, to admit that he
had blundered all the time, to dig up what he had
planted, and to undertake, when almost an octoge-
narian, the reform of himself and others? Thus, at
least, argued many of his friends.
They were sure that none could deny, that all the
duties of religion were strictly performed by his pa-
rishioners. Were not the women in the daily habit
of confessing their sins ? And if he was so very mild
in his admonitions, anl so very sparing in the inflic-
tion of harsh penance on them, why not suppose that
it was because the Saviour himself had been very
lenient towards the guiltiest of their se- " It was
the belief of father Dagobert, that the faults of wo-
men proceeded from the head and not from the
heart, because that was always kind. Why then
hurl thunderbolts at beings so exquisitely delicate
and so beautifully fragile — the porcelain work of
the creator — when they could be reclaimed by the
mere scratch of a rose's thorn, and brought back into
the bosom of righteousness by the mere pulling of
a silken string ? As to the men, it is true that they
never haunted the confessional ; but perhaps they
had no sins to confess, and if they had, and did not
choose to acknowledge them, what could he do?
Would it have been sound policy to have nnnoyed
them with fruitless exhortations, and threatened
them with excommunication, when they would have
laughed at the brutwn fidmeni Was it not better
to humor them a little, so as to make good grow out
of evil? Was not their aversion to confession re-
deemed by manly virtues, by their charity to the
poor and their generosity to the church ? Was not
his course of action subservient to the interest both
of church and state, within the borders of which it
was calculated to maintain order and tranquillity,
by avoiding to produce discontents, and those dis-
turbances which are their natural results? Had he
not a right, in his turn, to expect that his repose
should never be interrupted, when he was so sedu-
lously attentive to that of others, and so cheerfully
complying with the exigencies of every flitting hour ?
I When the colonists had thought proper to go into
an insurrection, he, good easy soul, did not see why
he should not make them happy, by chiming in with
their mood at the time. Bid they not, in all sin-
' cerity, think themselves oppressed, and were they
! not contending for what they believed to be their
birthrights? On the other hand, when the Spaniards
crushed the revolution, he was nothing loth, as vicar
general, to present himself at the portal of the cathe-
| oral, to receive O'Reilly with the honors due to
the representative of royalty, and to bless the Spa-
; lush flag. How could he do otherwise? Was it
not said by the Master : " render unto Caesar the
things which are Caesar's?" Why should the new
lords of the land be irritated by a factious and boot-
less opposition ? Why not mollify them, so as to
obtain as much from them as possible, in favor of
his church and of his dearly beloved flock ? Why
should he not be partial to the Spaniards? Had
they not the reputation of being the strictest catho-
j lies in the world.
Such was the character of father Dagobert even
in his youth. It had developed itself in more vigor-
ous and co-ordinate proportions, as his experience
extended, and it had suggested to him all his rules
of action through life. With the same harmonious
1 consistency in all its parts it had continued to grow,
until more than threescore years had passed over
father Dagobert's head. It was natural, therefore,
notwithstanding what a few detractors might say,
that he should be at a loss to discover the reasons
why he should be blamed, for having logically come
to the conclusions which made him an almost uni-
versal favorite, and which permitted him to enjoy
" his case in his own inn," whilst authorizing him to
hope for his continuing in this happy state of exist-
ence, until he should be summoned to the " bourne
whence no traveller returns." Certain it is that,
whatever judgment a rigid moralist might, on a close
analysis, pass on the character of father Dagobert, it
can hardly be denied, that to much favor would be
'< entitled the man, who, were he put to trial, could
with confidence, like this poor priest, turn round to
i his subordinates and fellow-beings, and say unto
I them : " I have lived among you for better than
half a century : which of you have I ever injured ?"
1 Therefore, father Dagobert thought himself \ ossessed
of an unquestionable right to what he loved so much:
his ease, both in his convent and out of it, and his
sweet uninterrupted dozing in his comfortable arm
chair.
GEOEGE W. BETTinNT..
Dr. Betitune, the popular divine, poet, and wit,
was born March, 1805, in the city of New York.
After receiving a liberal education, he was or-
dained in 1826 a Presbyterian minister, but in
the following year joined the Dutch Reformed
communion. His clerical career was commenced
at Rhinebeck on the Hudson, from whence ho
removed to Utica ; and in 1831, to Philadelphia.
In 1849, he again removed to Brooklyn, where he
still remains, at the head of a large and influen-
tial congregation.
Dr. Bethnne is the author of The Fruit of the
Spirit, Early Lost, Early Saved, Tlie History
of a Penitent; all popular works of a devotional
character. In 1848, he published La ys of Loco
and Faith, ami other Poem*; and in 1850, a
volume of Orations, and Occasional Discourse?.
He has also collected and published a portion of
his Sermons.
In 1847, he edited the first American edition
40i
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
of "Walton's Angler, a work which he performed
in a careful and agreeable manner, befitting his
own reputation as an enthusiastic and highly
celebrated follower of the u contemplative man's
recreation," and as a literary scholar.
6.
,o
Dr. Bethune traces his famity descent from the
Huguenots, and has frequently spoken on the
claims of that devout, industrious, and enterpris-
ing class of the early settlers of our country, to
the national gratitude and reverence. His efforts
as an after-dinner and oil-hand extempore speak-
er, are marked by genial humor and appreciation
of the subject before him. At the convivial meet-
ings of the National Academy of Design, and of
the St. Nicholas Society, he is always called out ;
and his response is usually among the most notice-
able features of the evening.
The volume of Dr. Bethune's orations com-
prises funeral discourses on the death of Stephen
Van Rensselaer, the patroon, President Harrison
and General Jackson ; lectures and College ad-
dresses upon Genius, Leisure, its Uses and Abuses,
the Age of Pericles, the Prospects of Art in the
United States, the Eloquence of the Pulpit, the
Duties of Educated Men, a Plea for Study, and
the Claims of our Country upon its Literary Men.
- BONG.
She's fresh as breath of summer morn,
She's fair as flowers in spring,
And her voice it has the warbling gush
Of a bird upon the wing ;
For joy like dew shines in her eye,
Her heart is kind and free;
"Tis gladness but to look upon
The face of Alice Lee.
She knows not of her loveliness.
And little thinks the while,
How the very air grows beautiful
In the beauty of her smile ;
As sings within the fragrant rose
The honey-gath'ring bee,
So murmureth laughter on the lips
Of gentle Alice Lee.
How welcome is the rustling breeze
When sultry day is o'er !
More welcome far the graceful step,
That brings her to the door;
"Tis sweet to gather violets:
But 0 ! how blest is he,
Who wins a glance of modest love,
From lovely Alice Lee !
THE FOURTH OF JULY.
Maine, from her farthest border, gives the first ex-
ulting shout,
And from New Hampshire's granite heights, the
echoing peal rings out;
The mountain farms of staunch Vermont prolong
the thundering call ;
Ma&sachusetts answers : " Bunker Hill !" a watch-
word for us all.
Rhoi>e Island shakes her sea-wet locks, acclaiming
with the free,
And staid Connecticut breaks forth in sacred har-
mony.
The giant joy of proud New York, loud as an earth-
quake's roar,
Is heard from Hudson's crowded banks .to Erie's
crowded, shore,
New Jersey, hallowed by their blood, who erst in
battle fell,
At Monmouth's, Princeton's, Trenton's fight, joins in
the rapturous swell.
Wide Pennsylvania, strong as wide, and true as she
is strong,
From every hill to valley, pours the torrent tide
along.
Stand up, stout little Delaware, and bid thy volleys
roll,
Though least among the old Thirteen, we judge thee
by thy soul !
Hark to the voice of Maryland! over the broad
Chesapeake
ner sons, as valiant as their sires, in cannonadings
speak.
Virginia, nurse of Washington, and guardian of his
grave,
Now to thine ancient glories turn the faithful and
the brave ;
We need not hear the bursting cheer this holy day
inspires,
To know that, in Columbia's cause, " Virginia never
tires."
Fresh as the evergreen that waves above her sunny
soil,
North Carolina shares the bliss, as oft the patriot's
toil;
And the land of Sumter, Marion, of Moultrie, Finck-
ney, must
Respond the cry, or it will rise e'en from their sleep-
ing dust.
And Georgia, by the dead who lie along Savannah's
bluff,
Full well we love thee, but we ne'er can love thee
well enough ;
From thy wild northern boundary, to thy green isles
of the sea,
Where beat on enrth more gallant hearts than now
throb high in thee?
On, on, 'cross Alabama's plains, the ever-flowery
glades,
To where the Mississippi's flood the turbid Gulf
invades ;
There, borne from many a mighty stream upon her
mightier tide,
Come down the swelling long huzzas from all that
valley wide,
As wood-crowned Alleghany's call, from all her sum-
mits high,
Reverberates among the rocks that pierce the sunset
sky,
While on the shores and through the swales 'round
the vast inland seas,
The stars and stripes, 'midst freemen's songs, are
flashing to the breeze.
The woodsman, from the mother, takes his boy upon
his knee,
To tell him how their fathers fought and bled for
liberty ;
The lonely hunter sits him down the forest spring
beside,
I To think upon his country's worth, and feel his coun-
try's pride ;
While many a foreign accent, which our God can
understand,
Is blessing Him fjr home and bread in this free, fer-
tile land.
Yes ! when upon the eastern coast we sink to happy
rest,
The Day of Independence rolls still onward to the
west,
Till dies on the Pacific shore the shout of jubilee.
GEORGE W. BETHUNE.
-105
That woke the morning with its voice along the
Atlantic sea.
— 0 God ! look down upon the land winch thou hast
loved so well,
And grant that in unbroken truth her children still
may dwell ;
Nor, while the grass grows on the hill and streams
flow through the vale,
May they forget their fathers' faith, or in their cove-
nant fail !
God keep the fairest, noblest land that lies beneath
the sun ;
" Our country, our whole country, and our country
ever one !"
NATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS.*
We are emphatically one people. The constant
and expanding flood of emigrants from less favored
lands gives in some sections a temporary, superficial
diversity of customs, and even of language Yet, as
they come, moved by an admiring wish to share our
privileges, and a grateful respect for the nation
which has made itself so prosperous, while it sets
open its gates so hospitably wide, they readily adopt
our usages, and soon become homogeneous with the
mass through which they are distributed. Until
they or their children are educated in free citizen-
ship, they follow; but rarely, and then never suc-
cessfully, attempt to lead. As the Anglo-Saxon
tongue is the speech of the nation, so it is the Anglo-
Saxon mind that miles. The sons of those who
triumphed in the war of Independence have sub-
dued the distant forest, making the wilderness to
rejoice with the arts and virtues of their fathers.
The patronymics borne by the most influential
among them are most frequently such as are fami-
liar and honorable among us. Summon together
the dwellers in any town of our older, particularly
ol our more northern states, and you will find that
there is scarcely a state of the Union where they
have not relatives. The representative in Congress
from the farthest west laughs over their school boy
frolics with the representative of the farthest east, j
The woodsman on the Aroostook talks of his brother I
on the Rio Grande; the tradesman in the seaport, j
of his son, a judge, in Missouri. The true-hearted j
girl, who has left her mountain birth-place to
earn her modest paraphernalia amidst the pon- i
derails din of a factory near the Atlantic coast,
dreams sweetly on her toil-blest pillow of him who, j
for her dear sake, is clearing a home in the wilds of
Iowa, or sifting the sands of some Californian Pac- :
tolus. We all claim a common history, and, what-
ever be our immediate parentage, are proud to own
ourselves the grateful children of the mighty men :
who declared our country's independence, framed
the bond of our Union, and bought with their
sacred blood the liberties we enjoy. Nor is it an
insincere compliment to assert, that, go where you \
will. New England is represented by the shrewdest,
the most enlightened, the most successful, and the
most religious of our young population. Nearly all
our teachers, with the authors of our school-books,
and a very large proportion of our preachers, lis
well as of our editors (the classes which have the
greatest control over the growing character of our ;
youth), come from or receive their education in
New England. Wherever the New Englander goes,
he carries New England with him. New England
is his boast, his standard of perfection, and " So
they do in New England !" his confident answer to
* From the Harvard Address, " Claims of our Countrv on
its Literary Men."
all objectors. Great as is our reverence for those
venerable men, he rather wearies us with his inex-
haustible eulogy on the Pilgrim Fathers, who. he
seems to think, have begotten the whole United
States. Nay, enlarging upon the somewhat com-
placent notion of his ancestors, that God designed
for them, " his chosen people," this Canaan of the
aboriginal heathen, he looks upon the continent as
Ins rightful heritage, and upon the rest of us as
Hittites, Jebusites, or people of a like termination,
whom he is commissioned to root out, acquiring our
money, squatting on our wild lands, monopolizing
our votes, and marrying our heiresses. Whence, or
how justly, he derived his popular sobriquet, passes
the guess of an antiquary; but certain it is, that if
he meets with a David, the son of Jesse has often to
take up the lament in a different sense from the ori-
ginal,— " I am distressed for thee, my Brother Jona-
than!" Better still, his sisters, nieces, female cousins,
flock on various honorable pretexts to visit him
amidst his new possessions, where they own with no
Sabine reluctance the constraining ardor of our un-
sophisticated chivalry ; and happy is the household
over which a New England wife presides! blessed
the child whose cradle is rooked by the hand, whose
slumber is hallowed by the prayers of a New Eng-
land mother! The order of the Roman policy is
reversed. He conquered, and then inhabited; the
New Englander inhabits, then gains the mastery, not
by force of arms, but by mother-wit, steadiness, and
thrift. That there should be, among us of the other
races, a little occasional petulance, is not to be won-
dered at; but it is only superficial. The New Eng-
lander goes forth not as a spy or an enemy, and the
gifts which he carries excite gratitude, not fear.
He soon becomes identified with his neighbors, their
interests are soon his, and the benefits of his enter-
prising cleverness swell the advantage of the com-
munity where he has planted himself, thus tending
to produce a moral homogeneousness throughout the
confederacy. Yet let it be remembered that this
New England influence, diffusing itself, like noiseless
but transforming leaven, through the recent and
future states, while it makes them precious as allies,
would also make them formidable as rivals, terrible
as enemies. - The New Englander loses little of his
main characteristics by migration. He is as shrewd,
though not necessarily as economical, a calculator in
the valley of the Mississippi, as his brethren in the
east, and as brave as his fathers were at Lexington
or Charlestown. It were the height of suicidal
folly for the people of the maritime states to attempt
holding as subjects or tributaries, directly or indi-
rectly, the people between the Alleghanies and the
Rocky Mountains; but those who have not travelled
among our prairie and forest settlements can have
only a faint idea of the filial reverence, the deferen-
tial respect, the yearning love, with which they
turn to the land where their fathers sleep, and to
you who guard their sepulchres. The soul knows
nothing of distance , and, in their twilight musings,
they can scarcely tell which is dearer to their hearts
— the home of the kindred they have left, behind
them, or the home they have won for their off-
spring. Be it your anxious care, intelligent gentle-
men of New England, that so strong a bond is never
strained to rupture!
********
To your Pilgrim Fathers the highest place may
well be accorded; but forget not, that, about the
time of their landing on the Rock, there came to
the mouth of the Hudson men of kindred faith and
descent — men equally loving freedom — men from
the sea-washed cradle of modern constitutional free-
dom, whose union of free- burgher-cities taught us
406
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
the lesson of confederate independent sovereignties,
"whose sires were as free, long centuries before
Magna Charia, as the English are now, and from
whose line of republican princes Britain received the
boon of religious toleration, a privilege the states-
general had recognised as a primary article of their
government when first established ; men of that
stock, which, when offered their choice of favors
from a grateful monarch, ashed a University ; men
whose martyr-sires had baptized their land with their
blood; men who had flooded it with ocean-waves
rather than yield it to a bigot-tyrant ; men, whose
virtues were as sober as prose, but sublime as
poetry ; — the men of Holland ! Mingled with these,
and still further on, were heroic Huguenots, their
fortunes broken, but their spirit unbending to pre-
late or prelate-ridden king. There were others (and
a dash of cavalier blood told well in battle-field and
council) ; — but those were the spirits whom God
made the moral substratum of our national charac-
ter. Here, like Israel in the wilderness, and thou-
sands of miles off from the land of bondage, they
"were educated for their high calling, until, in the
fulness of times, our confederacy with its Constitu-
tion was founded. Already there had been a salu-
tary mixture of blood, but not enough to impair the
Anglo-Saxon ascendency. The nation grew morally
strong from its original elements. The great work
was delayed only by a just preparation. Now God
is bringing hither the most vigorous scions from all
the European stocks, to " make of them all one new
man !" not the Saxon, not the German, not the Gaul,
not the Helvetian, but the Asiekican. Here they
will unite as one brotherhood, will have one law,
will share one interest. Spread over the vast region
from the frigid to the torrid, from Eastern to West-
ern ocean, every variety of climate giving them
choice of pursuit and modification of temperament,
the ballot-box fusing together all rivalries, they shall
have one national will. What is wanting in one
race will be supplied by the characteristic energies
of the others ; and what is excessive in either,
cheeked by the counter-action of the rest. Kay,
though for a time the newly come may retain their
foreign vernacular, our toi gue, so rich in ennobling
literature, will be the tongue of the nation, the lan-
guage of its laws, and the accent of its majesty.
Eternal Goo! who seest the end with the begin-
ning, thou alone canst tell the ultimate grandeur of
this people !
EDWARD SANFOED,
A poet, essayist, and political writer, is the son of
the late Nathan Sanford, Chancellor of the State,
and was born in the city of New York in 1805.
He was educated at Union College, where he was
graduated in 1824. He then engaged in the
study of the law in the office of Mr. Benjamin F.
Butler, but his tastes were opposed to the profes-
sion, and he did not pursue it.
He began an editorial career as editor of a
newspaper in Brooklyn; was next associated with
the New York Standard ; and when that paper was
compelled to yield to the commercial embarrass-
ments of the day, he became one of the editors of
the New York Times. The difficulties in politics
which occurred after the second year of the esta-
blishment of that paper led him to undertake an
engagement at Washington with Mr. Blair as as-
sociate editor of the Globe newspaper, then the
organ of the Van Buren administration. In this
relation his pen was emploj'ed in the advocacy
and development of the sub-treasury system, then
under discussion previous to its establishment as
an integral portion of the financial policy of the
country.
The illne=s of his father now withdrew him
from Washington to the family residence at Flush-
ing, Long Island. At this time he held the office,
at New York, of Secretary to the Commission
to return the duties on goods destroyed by the
great fire of 1835. He was subsequently Assis-
tant Naval Officer.
In 1843, he was elected to the Senate of the
state of New York, and while there was an ac-
tive and efficient, though quiet political manager
and leader.
An anecdote of the Capitol exhibits his poetic
talent. One day in the senate room he received
a note from a correspondent on business; it was
at the close of the session, and the whole house
in the hurry and confusion which attend its last
moments. He had a score or more measures to
hurry through, and numerous others to aid in
their passage, and thus pre-sed, answered the let-
ter handed to him. A few days after he was sur-
prised to learn that he had written this hasty re-
ply in excellent verse.
Of the literary productions of Mr. Sanford, a
few only have appeared with his name. Mr.Bry-
ant included the quaint and poetical Address to
Black Hawk in his collection of American poems,
and Mr. Hoffman presented this and the author's
Address to a Hosqvito, written in a similar vein,
in the " New York Book of Poetry."
To the New York Mirror, the Knickerbocker
Magazine, and the Spirit of the Times, Mr. San-
ford has been a frequent and genial contributor.
His poem, The Lores of tlie Shell Fishes, has been
justly admired for its fancy and sentiment, in
delicate flowing verse, as he sings —
Not in the land where beauty loves to dwell,
And bards to sing that beauty dwelleth there :
Not in the land where rules th' enchanter's spell
And fashion's beings beautiful and rare ;
Not iii such land are laid the scenes I tell.
No odors float upon its sunn3T air ;
No ruddy vintage, and no tinted flowers
Gladden its fields or bloom within its bowers.
Mine is a lowlier lay — the unquiet deep —
The world of waters; where man's puny skill
Has but along its surface dared to creep :
The quaking vassal of its wayward will,
Exultant only when its calm waves sleep,
And its rough voice is noiseless all and still,
And trembling when its crested hosts arise,
Roused from their slumbers by the wind's wild crieB.
None but the dead have visited its eaves ;
None but the dead pressed its untrampled floor.
Eyes, but all sightless, glare beneath its waves,
And forms earth's worshippers might well adore.
Lie in their low and ever freshened graves,
All cold and loveless far beneath its. roar.
The bright-eyed maiden and the fair-haired bride,
And sire and son there slumber side by side. .
********
Smile not ye wise ones at my lowly lay,
Nor deem it strange that underneath a shell
High thoughts exert their ever ruling sway
And soft affections scorn not there to dwell.
That in an oyster's breast the living ray
Of mind beams forth; or that its young thoughts
swell
EDWARD SANFORD.
407
Less varmlingly in pride of place or birth
Than aught that breathes upon our upper earth.
Of blighted hopes and confidence betrayed—
Of princely dames and wights of low degree —
The story of a high-born oyster maid
And her calm lover, of low family:
And how they met beneath their oft sought shade,
The spreading branches of a coral tree,
Attended by a periwinkle page,
Selected chiefly for his tender age,
Sing scaljT music.
The best of Mr. Sanford's poetical effusions are.
of this airy, delicate mood, facile and elegant.
His occasional political squibs were quite in the
Croaker vein, as in this parody at the expense of
the Whigs in the Harrison log-cabin campaign.
A IIAF.D--CIDER MELODY,
Air — Tis the last rose of summer,
"lis the last of Whig loafers
Left singing alone,
All his pot-house companions
Are fuddled and gone.
No flower of his kindred,
No rum-blossom nigh,
With a song on his lips
And a drop in his eye.
I'll not leave thee, thou rose-bud,
To pine on the stem,
Since the others are snoring,
Go snore thou with them.
Thus kindly I lay
A soft plank 'neath thy hend,
Where thy mates of the cabin
Lie, hard-eider dead.
So soon may I follow.
When the Whigs all decay,
And no cider is left us
To moisten our clay.
When the Whigs are all withered,
And hard-cider gone.
Oh! who would inhabit
This sad world alone ?
As an essayist, Mr. Sanford holds a very hap-
py pen. His articles of this class, in the newspa-
pers of the day, touch lightlv and pleasantly on
cheerful topics. A humorous description of a city
celebrity, A Charcoal Sketch of Pot Pie Pal-
mer, first published in the. old Mirror, is a highly
felicitous specimen of his powers in this line, and
is quite as worthy in its way as a satire as the
celebrated Memoir of P. P., Clerk of the Parish.
ADDRESS TO HI.ACKIIAWK.
There's beauty on thy brow, old chief! the high
And manly beauty of the Roman mould,
And the keen flashing of thy full dark eye
Speaks of a heart that years have not made cold ,
Of passions scathed not by the blight of time,
Ambition, that survives the battle rout.
The man within thee scorns to play the mime
To gaping crowds that compass thee about.
Thou walkest, with thy warriors by thy side,
Wrapped iu fierce hate, and high uneouquered pride.
Chief of a hundred warriors! dost thou yet
Vanquished and captive — dost thou "deem that
here—
The glowing day-star of thy glory set —
Dull night has closed upon thy bright career!
Old forest lion, caught and caged at last,
Dost pant to roam again thy native wild
To gloat upon the life-blood flowing fast
Of thy crushed victims ; and to slay the child,
To dabble in the gore of wives and mothers,
And kill, old Turk! thy harmless pale-faced bro-
thers.
For it was cruel, Black Hawk, thus to flutter
The dove-cotes of the peaceful pioneers,
To let thy pride commit such fierce and utter
Slaughter among the folks of the frontiers.
Though thine be old, hereditary hate,
Begot in wrongs, and nursed in blood, until
It had become a madness, 'tis too late
To crush the hordes who have the power, and will,
To rob thee of thy hunting grounds and fountains,
And drive thee back to the Rocky Mountains.
Spite of thy looks of cold indifference,
There's much thou'st seen that must excite thy
wonder,
Wakes not upon thy quick and startled sense
The cannon's harsh and pealing voice of thunder!
Our big canoes, with white and wide-spread wings,
That sweep the waters, as birds sweep the sky ; —
Our steamboats, with their iron lungs, like things
Of breathing life, that dash and hurry by?
Or if thou scorn'st the wonders of the ocean.
What think'st thou of our railroad locomotion?
Thou'st seen our Museums, beheld the dummies
That grin in darkness in their coffin cases;
What think'st thou of the art of making mummies,
So that the worms shrink from their dry embraces !
Thou'st seen the mimic tyrants of the stage
Strutting, in paint and feathers, for an hour;
Thou'st heard the bellowing of their tragic rage,
Seen their eyes glisten and their dark brows
lower.
Anon, thou'st seen them, when their wrath cooled
down,
Pass in a moment from a king — to clown.
Thou seest these things unmoved, say'st so, old fel-
low?
Then tell us, have the white man's glowing daugh-
ters
Set thy cold blood in motion ? Hast been mellow
By a sly cup or so, of our fire waters ?
They are thy people's deadliest, poison. They
First make them cowards, and then white men's
slaves.
And sloth, and penury, and passion's prey,
And lives of misery, and early graves.
For by their power, believe me, not a day goes,
But kills some Foxes, Sacs, and Wiunebagoes.
Say, does thy wandering heart stray far away?
To the deep bosom of thy forest home,
The hillside, where thy young papooses play,
And ask, amid their sports, wdien wilt thou come?
Come not the wailings of thy gentle squaws,
For their lost warrior, loud upon thine ear,
Piercing athwart the thunder of huzzas,
That, yelled at every corner, meet thee here?
The wife that made that shell-decked wampum belt.
Thy rugged heart must think of her, and melt.
Chafes not thy heart, as chafes the panting breast
Of the caged bird against his prison bars,
That, thou the crowned warrior of the west,
The victor of a hundred forest wars,
Should'st in thy :ige become a raree-show
Led like a walking bear about the town,
A new caught monster, who is all the go,
And stared at gratis, by the gaping clown ?
Boils not thy blood, while thus thou'rt led about,
The sport and mockery of the rabble rout ?
408
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATUE.
Whence came thy cold philosophy? whence came,
Thou tearless, stern, and uncomplaining one,
The power that taught thee thus to veil the flame
Of thy fierce passions ? Thou despisest fun,
And thy proud spirit scorns the white men's glee,
Save thy fierce sport when at the funeral pile,
Of a bound warrior in his agony,
Who meets thy horrid laugh with dying smile,
Thy face, ia length reminds one of a Quaker's,
Thy dances, too, are solemn as a Shaker's.
Proud Bcion of a noble stem ! thy tree
Is blanched, and bare, and seared, and leafless
now.
I'll not insult its fallen majesty,
Nor drive with careless hand the ruthless plough
Over its roots. Torn from its parent mould,
Rich, warm, and deep, its fresh, free, balmy air,
No second verdure quickens in our cold,
New, barren earth ; no life sustains it there.
But even though prostrate, 'tis a noble thing,
Though crownless, powerless, " every inch a king."
Oive us thy hand, old nobleman of nature,
Proud ruler of the forest aristocracy ;
The best of blood glows in thy every feature.
And thy curled lip speaks scorn for our democracy,
Thou wear'st thy titles on that godlike brow ;
Let him who doubts them, meet thine eagle eye,
He'll quail beneath its glance, and disavow
All questions of thy noble family ;
For thou may'st here become, with strict propriety,
(V leader in our city good society.
TO A MOSQUITO.
His voice was very soft, pentle, and low. — King Lear.
Thou of the sof l low voiee. — J//'*. Ilemans.
Thou sweet musician that around my bed,
Dost nightly come and wind thy little horn,
By what unseen and secret influence led,
Feed'st thou my ear witli music till 'tis morn ?
The wind-harp's tones are not more soft than thine,
The hum of falling waters not more sweet,
I own, indeed I own thy song divine,
And when next year's warm summer night we
meet,
(Till then farewell !) I promise thee to be
A patient listener to thy minstrelsy.
Thou tiny minstrel, who bid thee discourse
Such eloquent music? was't thy tuneful sire?
Some old musician ? or did'st take a course
Of lessons from some master of the lyre ?
Who bid thee twang so sweetly thy small trump ?
Did Norton form thy notes so clear and full ?
Art a phrenologist, and is thy bump
Of song developed on thy little skull ?
At Niblo's hast thou been when crowds stood mute,
Drinking the bird-like tones of Cuddy's flute?
Tell me the burden of thy ceaseless song —
Is it thy evening hymn of grateful prayer?
Or lay of love, thou pipest through the long
Still night ? With song dost drive awaj- dull care ?
Art thou a vieux garcon, a gay deceiver,
A wandering blade, roaming in search of sweets,
Pledging thy faith to every fond believer
Who thy advance with half-way shyness meets ?
Or art o' the softer sex, and sing'st in glee
" In maiden meditation, fancy free."
Thou little Siren, when the nymphs of yore
Charmed with their songs till folks forgot to dine
And starved, though music fed, upon their shore,
Their voices breathed no softer lays than thine ;
They sang but to entice, and thou dost sing
As if to lull our senses to repose,
That thou may'st use unharmed thy little sting
The very moment we begin to doze:
Thou worse than Syren, thirsty, fierce blood-sipper,
Thou living Vampire and thou Gallinipper.
Nature is full of music, sweetly sings-
The bard (and thou sing'st sweetly too)i
Through the wide circuit of created things,
Thou art the living proof the bard sings true.
Nature is full of thee : On every shore,
'Neath the hot sky of Congo's dusky child,
From warm Peru to icy Labrador,
The world's free citizen thou roamest wild.
Wherever " mountains rise or oceans roll,"
Thy voice is heard, from " Indus to the pole."
The incarnation of Queen Mab art thou,
And " Fancy's midwife," — thou dost nightly sip
With amorous proboscis bending low,
The honey-dew from many a lady's lip —
(Though that they " straight on kisses dream" I
doubt.)
On smiling faces and on eyes that weep,
Thou lightest, and oft with " sympathetic snout"
" Ticklest men's noses as they lie asleep ;"
And sometimes dwellest, if I rightly scan,
" On the forefinger of an alderman."
Yet thou canst glorv in a noble birth,
As rose the sea-born Venus from the wave,
So didst thou rise to life ; the teeming earth,
The living water, and the fresh air gave
A portion of their elements to create
Thy little form, though beauty dwells not there.
So lean and gaunt that economic fate
Meant thee to feed on music or on air.
Our veins' pure juices were not made for thee,
Thou living, singing, stinging atomy.
The hues of dying sunset are most fair,
And twilight's tints just fading into night,
Most dusky soft ; and so thy soft robes are
By far the sweetest when thou tak'st thy flight,
The swan's last note is sweetest, so is thine ;
Sweet are the wind harp's tones at distance heard ;
'Tis sweet in distance at the day's decline.
To hear the opening song of evenirg's biid.
But notes of harp or bird at distance float
Less sweetly on the ear than thy last note.
The autumn winds are wailing: 'tis tin- dirge;
Its leaves are sear, prophetic of thy doom.
Soon the cold rain will whelm thee, as the surge
Whelms the tost mariner in its watery tomb.
Then soar and sing thy little life away ;
Albeit thy voice is somewhat husky now.
'Tis well to end in music life's last day,
Of one so gleeful and so blithe as thou.
For thou wilt soon live through its joyous horn's,
And pass away with autumn's dying flowers.
60NG IMITATED FF.0M TOE FRENCH.
If Jove, when he made this beautiful world,
Had only consulted me.
An ocean of wine should flow in the place
Of the brackish and bitter sea.
Red wine should pour from the fruitful clouds
In place of the tasteless rain,
And the fountains should bubble in ruby rills
To brim the sparkling main.
No fruit should grow but the round, full grape,
No bowers but the shady vine,
And of all earth's flowers, the queenly rose
Should alone in her beauty Bhine;
I'd have a few lakes for the choicest juice,
Where it might grow mellow and old,
And my lips should serve as a sluice to drain
Those seas of liquid gold.
EDWARD SArTFORD.
409
CnARCOAL SKETCH OP POT PIE PALMER.
The poets have told us that it is of little use to be
a great man, without possessing also a chronicler of
one's greatness. Brave and wise men — perhaps the
bravest and wisest that ever lived — have died and
been forgotten, and all for the want of a poet or an
historian to immortalize their valor or their wisdom.
Immortality is not to be gained by the might of one
man alone. Though its claimant be strong and ter-
rible as an army with banners, he can never succeed
without a trumpeter. He may embody a thousand
minds ; he may have the strength of a thousand
arms — his enemies may quail before him as the de-
generate Italians quailed before the ruthless sabaoth
of the north ; but without a chronicler of his deeds,
he will pass by, like the rush of a whirlwind, with
none to tell whence he conjeth, or whither he goeth.
A great man should always keep a literary friend in
pay, for he may be assured that his greatness will
never be so firmly established as to sustain itself
without a prop. Achilles had his poet; and the an-
ger of the nereid-born and Styx-dipped hero is as
savage and bitter at this late day, as if he had just
poured forth the vials of his wrath. The favorite
son of the queen of love, albeit a pious and exempla-
ry man, and free from most of the weaknesses of his
erring but charming mother, might have travelled
more than the wandering Jew, and, without the aid
of a poet, the course of his voyage would now be as
little known as the journal of a modern tourist, six
months from the day of its publication. The fates
decreed him a bard, and the world is not only inti-
mate with every step of his wayfaring, but for hun-
dreds of years it has been puzzling itself to discover
his starting-place. There has lived but one man
who has disdained the assistance of his fellow-mor-
tals, and finished with his pen what he began with
his sword. We refer to the author of Caesar's Com-
mentaries, the most accomplished gentleman, take
him for all in all, that the world ever saw. Let us
descend for a step or two in the scale of greatness,
and see whence the lesser lights of immortality have
derived their lustre. The Cretan Icarus took upon
himself the office of a fowl, and was drowned for all
his wings, yet floats in the flights of song, while the
names of a thousand wiser and better men of his day
passed away before their bodies had scarcely rotted.
A poorer devil than the late Samuel Patch never
cumbered this fair earth ; but he is already embalmed
in verse, and by one whose name cannot soon die.
A cunning pen has engrossed the record of his deeds,
and perfected his judgment roll of fame. He is a co-
heir in glory with the boy of Crete — the one flew,
and the other leaped, into immortality.
There is one name connected with the annals of
our city, which should be snatched from oblivion.
Would that a strong hand could be found to grasp
it, for it is a feeble clutch that now seeks to drag it
by the locks from the deep forgetfulness in which it
is fast sinking. Scarcely ten years have passed,
since the last bell of the last of the bellmen was rung,
since the last joke of the joke-master general of our
goodly metropolis was uttered, since the last song of
our greatest street-minstrel was sung, and the last
laugh of the very soul of laughter was pealed forth.
Scarcely ten years have passed, and the public
recollection of the man who made more noise in the
world than any other of his time, is already dim and
shadowy and unsubstantial. A brief notice of this
extraordinary man has found admittance into the
ephemeral columns of a newspaper. We will en-
deavor to enter his immortality of record in a place
where future ages will be more likely to find it. As
Dr. Johnson would have said, " of Pot Pie Palmer,
let us indulge the pleasing reminiscence."
The character of Pot Pie Palmer was a kindly min-
gling of the elements of good-nature, gentleness of
spirit, quickness and delicacy of perception, an in-
tuitive knowledge of mankind, and an ambition,
strange and peculiar in its aspirations, but boundless.
There were sundry odd veins and streaks which ran
through and wrinkled this goodly compound, in the
shape of quips and quirks and quiddities, which
crossed each other at such strange angles, and turn-
ed round such short corners, that few were able to
analyse the moral anatomy of the man. It is not
strange then, that his character should have been
generally misunderstood. He was a jester by pro-
fession, but he was no mime. Unlike a clown at a
country fair, who grins for half-pence, he asked no
compensation for his services in the cause of public
mirth. He was a volunteer in the business of mak-
ing men merry, for it was no part of his calling to
put the world in good humor, ami it has never been
hinted that he received a shilling from the corpora-
tion for his extra services in the cause of happiness
and contentment. He might have been as serious as
his own cart-horse, without the slightest risk of losing
his place. If he had preserved a becoming gravity,
he might have aspired to a higher office than that of
the chief of the corporation scavengers; for along
face has ever been a passport to preferment. But
he disdained to leave his humble calling as long as
he was sure he could remain at its head. He knew
full well that there were few who could chime with
him, and he would play second to no man's music.
He was mirthful, partly from a spirit of philanthro-
py, and partly because he was so filled with gleeful
and fantastic associations, that they overflowed in
spite of him. He was not merely a passive instru-
ment that required the cunning touch of a master to
awaken its music, or like a wind-harp that is voice-
less till the wind sweeps over it. He was apiece of
mechanism that played of its own accord, ami was
never mute, and his notes were as varied as those of
a mock-bird. If there were those around him who
could enjoy a joke, he offered them a fair share of it,
and bade them partake of it and be thankful to the
giver : and if there was no one at hand with whom
to divide it, he swallowed it himself — and with an
appetite that would make a dyspeptic forget that he
had a stomach.
He was the incarnation of a jest. His face was a
broad piece of laughter, done in flesh and blood.
His nose had a whimsical twist, as the nose of a hu-
morist should have. His mouth had become elon-
gated by frequent cachinnatious ; for his laugh was
of most extraordinary dimensions, and required a
wide portal to admit it into the free air, and his eyes
twinkled and danced about in his head as if they
were determined to have a full share in the fun that
was going on. Time had seamed his brow, but had
also endued it with a soft and mellow beauty ; for
the spirit of mirth was at his side when he roughen-
ed the old man's visage, and had planted a smile in
every furrow.
Pot Pie Palmer, like many other great men, was
indifferent to the duties of the toilet ; but it was not
for want of a well appointed wardrobe, for he seldom
made his appearance twice in the same dress ; and
it is not an insignificant circumstance in his biogra-
phy, that he was the last distinguished personage
that appeared in public in a cocked hat. In dress,
manners, and appearance, he stuck to the old school,
and there was nothing new about him but his jokes.
He would sometimes, in a moment of odd fancy, ex-
hibit himself in a crownless hat and bootless feet,
probably in honor of his ancestors, the Palmers of
yore, who wore their sandal shoou and scallop shell.
It may be well to remark, while on the subject of
410
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
his -wardrobe, that there is not the slightest founda-
tion for the rumor that Mr. Palmer wore red flannel
next to his person. This mistake has probably
arisen from the fact that he was seen dressed in
scarlet at a fourth of July celebration. We are able
to state, from the very best authority, that cotton
and not wool was the raw material from which his
dress on that occasion was fabricated, his outer gar-
ment having been a superb specimen of domestic
calico; and that he assumed it for three especial
reasons — firstly, in honor of the day — seeondlyT, to
encourage our infant manufactures, in the cause of
which his exertions had always been active — and
thirdly, because he had received a special invitation
to dine with the common council.
Pot Pie Palmer was an autocrat within his own
realms of humor. He had no peer in the joyous art.
His whim-whams were his own, and he was the only
professed wit that ever lived who was not addicted
to plagiarism. He was a knight-errant in the cause
of jollity. His worshipped ladye-love was an intel-
lectual abstraction, the disembodied spirit of fun,
and wo to the challenger who was bold enough' to
call her good qualities in question. It was rough
tilting with the old but gallant knight. We have
1 been witness to more than one tournament in which
an esseneed carpet knight cried craven, and left the
ancient warrior in full possession of the field. But
gentleness was the ordinary wont, as it was the na-
ture of Pot Pie Palmer. lie knew that to be the
sad burden of his merry song, was a nine days' me-
lancholy immortality even to the humblest, and it
went to his heart to 'see a man laugh on the wrong
side of his mouth. His humors were all in the spirit
of kindness. He " carried no heart-stain away on
his blade;" or if he incautiously inflicted a wound,
he was ever ready to pour into it the oil and wine of
a merry whim, so that its smart was scarcely felt
before it was healed.
Pot Pie was a poet ; for where humor is, poetry
cannot be far off They are akin to each other ;
and if their relationship be not sisterly, it is only so
far removed as to make their union more thrillingly
delightful. No one could tell where his songs came
from, and it was a fair presumption that they were
his own. He has been considered by many the only
perfect specimen of an improvisatore that this coun-
try has ever produced. His lays were alwaj's an
echo to the passing scenes around him. Like the
last minstrel, he had songs for all ears. The sooty
chimney-sweep who walked by, chanting his cheery
song, was answered in notes that spoke gladness to
his heart, and the poor fuliginous blackamoor passed
on, piping away more merrily than ever. The ano-
malous biped who drove a clam-cart, would needs
stop a moment for a word of kindness from Pot Pie
and he would be sure to get it, for the Palmer was
not a proud man. In the expansive character of his
humor, lie knew no distinctions. Even in his jokes
with his brother bellmen, there was no assumption
of superiority. He disdained to triumph over their
dulness, and he rather sought to instil into their bo-
soms a portion of his own fire.
It was a part, nay the very essence of his calling,
to receive from the tenants of the underground
apartments of the houses where he had the honor
to call, those superfluous vegetable particles which
are discarded — especially in warm weather — from
the alimentary preparations of well-regulated fami-
lies. There was a smile resting on his cheek — a
smile of benevolence — as the dusky lady of the lower
cabinet transferred her odorous stores into his capa-
cious cart; a graceful touch of his time-worn and
dilapidated ram-beaver, and a loud compliment was
roared forth in tones that made the passers-by prick
up their ears, and the dingy female would rush in
evident confusion down the cellar-steps, seemingly
abashed at the warmth of his flattery, while at the
next moment there would peal up from the depths,
a ringing laugh that told how the joyous spirit of
the negress had been gladdened, and that the bell-
man had uttered the very sentiment that was near-
est her heart. He had his delicate allusions when
the buxom grisette or simpering chambermaid pre-
sented herself at the door, half coy and half longing
for a word of kindness, or perchance of flattery, and
they were sure never to go away unsatisfied. For
though there were tossing j of pretty heads, and pert
flings of well-rounded to ms, and blushes which
seemed to speak more of shame than of pleasure, you
would be sure if you gave a glance the moment after
at the upper casements, to see faces peering forth,
glowing with laughter and delight.
Palmer's genius resembled that of Rabelais, for
his humor was equally broad and equally uncontrol-
lable. We have said that he was a poet, a street-
minstrel of the very first rank. He threw a grace,
beyond the reach of art, over the unwashed beauties
of a scavenger's cart. It was to him a triumphal
chariot, a car of bom >r : he needed no heralds to pre-
cede its march, no followers to swell its train ; for he
made music enough to trumpet the cooling of a score
of conquerors, and the boys followed him m crowds
as closely as if they had been slaves chained to his
chariot. He was to the lean and solemn beast that
drew him on with the measured pace of an animal
in authority, like the merry Saneho to his dappled
ass. There never was a more practical antithesis
than the horse and his master; and it must have
been a dull beast that would not have caught a por-
tion of the whim and spirit of such a companion.
Unfortunately, the pedigree of Palmer's steed has
been lost; and it will continue to be an unsettled
point whether he came honestly by his dulness, or
whether nature had made him dull in one of her
pranksome moods. It is still more uncertain whe-
ther Palmer selected him out of compassion, or for
the sake of making the stupidity of the animal a foil
to his own merry humors.
Palmer carried us back to the latter part of the
middle ages, when ladye love and minstrel rhyme
were the ambition and the ruling passion of the bard-
warriors of the time. The love of song was part of
his nature ; and he was enough of a modern to know
that a sorg was worth little without a fittn g accom-
paniment. With a boldness and originality that,
marked the character of the man, he selected an in-
strument devoted to any other purpose than that of
music ; and so great did his skill become, aided by
an excellent ear and a perfect command of hand,
that, had he possessed the advantages of admission
into fashionable society, there is every reason to be-
lieve that the humble bell would soon have rivalled
the ambitious violin. He was the Paganini of bell-
men, the Apollo of street-music. He modulated the
harmony of voice and hand with such peculiar skill,
that the separate sounds flowed into each other as if
they had been poured forth together from the same
melodious fount. No harsh discord jarred upon the
ear — no false note could be detected. His voice was
naturally deficient in softness, and ill-adapted to ex-
press the tender emotions; but he had cultivated it
so admirably, and managed its powers with such
peculiar skill, that none could tell what might have
been its original defects. He preferred the old and
simple ballad style to the scientific quavering of
more modern times. In his day, we had no Italian
opera, and he was without a rival.
Palmer was a public man, and it is in his public
character we speak of him. Little is known of his
EDWARD SANFORD.
411
private life, or the secret motives and hidden springs
which moved him to aspire to notoriety. There is
a flying rumor that in his early years he was visited
by a fortune-teller, who prophesied that he would
make a noise in the world, and that the sybil's pre-
diction was the cause of his aspiring to the office of
corporation bellman. Our authority upon this point
is apocryphal, and it must be strong evidence to con-
vince us that superstition was a weakness that found
admittance into Pot Pie's bosom. He was probably
an obscure man previous to his taking upon himself
the cares of public office ; for we are assured by a
highly respectable citizen, that it required the influ-
ence of strong political friends to secure him his
situation. It is equally probable that he was not in
affluent circumstances, as it is known that, on being
inducted into office, he had not two shillings about
him to pay the necessary fees: and that he made a
compromise with the mayor, on that occasion, by
advancing a number of first-rate jokes, which his
honor was kind enough to receive as collateral secu-
rity for the payment of his official demand. On tak-
ing possession of his office, he found that he was en-
gaged in a calling which was in bad odor. Its
ordinary duties were mechanical. He was brought
in contact, in the transaction of his business, chiefly
with the lower classes. His brothers in office were
little better than patient drudge?, who had no soul
beyond receiving their stipulated salaries. Finding
that his office could give him little reputation, he
determined to give reputation to his office. He
courted popularity, not by the arts of a demagogue,
but by kindness and courtesy to all around him. He
would occasionally throw a joke by the way-side ;
and, if it took root and produced good fruit, he would
sow another in the same soil; and he thus continued
his husbandry, until a blooming harvest of ripe hu-
mors and full-grown conceits had sprung up wher-
ever he had passed. It is not improbable that Pal-
mer's figure was in the mind's eye of our Bryant
when he spoke of " a living blossom of the aii'." It
is not strange that his popularity should soon have
become general, but it is not a little singular that it
should have experienced no ebb and flow. The
fickle breath of popular f ivor was to him a breeze
that always blew from the same point of the coin-
pass. During his long public career, tliere was uo
interval of diminished reputation, no brief period of
questioned authority. He swayed the sceptre of his
wit firmly to the last ; and when it departed from
his hind, there was none bold enough to claim it.
To form a correct estimate of the powers of one
who, in one of the humbl :>st pursuits of life — a pur-
suit calculated to beget and keep alive narrow and
sordid views, to check all noble aspirations, all am-
bition for fame in the eyes of the world, and to les-
sen a man in his own eyes, had the spirit to soar
above the common duties of his calling, to create
himself a name, and to make himself the lion of his
day, the wonder of his time, outrivalling all cotem-
porary lions and all imported wonders, and who had
the ability to effect all this, we must place the bell-
man and his calling alongside of other men whose
situations in life, in point of conventional respecta-
bility, are on a par with his. The collectors of an-
thracite coal-dust are as ambitious as he was to make
a noise in the world, and they blow their trumpets
as loudly as if they aspired to imitate the example
of the conqueror of Jericho, and to make the walls
of our city to crumble before their blast. But, like
ranting actors, they only split the ears of the ground-
lings. Tliere is nothing poetical in the shrill blast
of their horns ; and we have never seen one of them
whom our imagination could body forth into any
other shape than that of an everyday matter of
fact, vulgar dustman,
clown —
"We are like the unpoetical
A cowslipby the river's brim
A yellow cowslip was to him,
But it was nothing more.
So in our eyes, a collector of ashes is simply a col-
lector of ashes, and that is all we know or care about
him. No Napoleon of his order has arisen among
this class. No man of his time has sprung, phenix-
like, from the ashes. Had the noisy tin-trumpet,
instead of the clanging bell, been the emblem of
Palmer's office, how would its base and common
notes have been softened and melted into melody,
till they spoke such eloquent music as even, in these
latter days, visits not the ears of common mortals.
Even the fame of poor Willis might have been dim-
med; and the Kent-bugle, which he charmed, into
the utterance of such melting melody, might have
been pronounced an inferior instrument to the mel-
low horn, when breathing the airs and variations of
Pot Pie Palmer. The dull man of ashes, though pos-
sessing, as the emblem of his calling, a musical in-
strument, the very mention of which awakens a
hundred stirring associations, has so far neglected
the advantages of his situation, as to make himself
the most unpoetical and unendurable of street-bores.
Is there a milkman in the land who is distinguished
for any thing beyond a peculiar art in mixing liquors,
and for combining, with a greater or less degree of
skill, lacteal and aqueous fluids? We have never
seen the man. Descend in the scale. The sooty
sweep, though he has a special license from the cor-
poration to sing when ami where he pleases, though
the only street minstrel acknowledged and protected
i by our laws, is still regarded by the public eye as
the poorest and humblest of all God's creatures ; and
there is no instance on record of his having, even in
his most climbing ambition, aspired to any other ele-
vation than the chimney-top. In brief, there is no
humble public employment, no low dignity of office,
with the single exception of that of the corporation
bellmen, that can furnish an instance of its possessor
having arrayed it in poetry and beauty ; and to Pot
Pie Palmer belongs the undivided and undisputed
honor
Green be the laurels on the Palmer's brow.
But, says some cynical critic, " where arc the jests
of your Yoriek, where is the recorded or remembered
proof of his wit, his music, or his poetry ? Let us
have some single specimen of those powers which
you are applauding to the echo, or at least furnish
us with some traits from which we can picture to
ourselves the moral physiognomy of the man ?" To
this we have several answers. The fame of Pot Pie
Palmer, to be secure, must rest chiefly on tradition.
A dim legendary immortality will outlast all other
kinds of fame, for no one can call its title in question.
Its very dimness invests it with a soft poetic halo
that lingers over and brightens it, giving it the en-
chantment of distance, and arraying it with mystic
I beauty. We abhor a downright matter of fact, pal-
pable reputation, for sure as it is tangible, it is equal-
ly sure to be meddled with, and perhaps pulled to
pieces. We wish to preserve, if possible, the fabric
of Palmer's fame, from the touch of hands that would
but discompose its delicate and fairy handiwork.
Besides, we are fearful of marring a good joke by
repeating it awkwardly. The spirit and soul of the
; Palmer are necessary to him who would repeat the
Palmer's jokes. His was unwritten humor. We
have sought diligently, but without success, forsome
account of his private life, but we have completely
, failed in our search. We are enabled to state, how-
i ever, on the very best authority, that the Pot Pie
412
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
papers, which have been preserved 'with religious
care by his famil}', "will in due time either be given
to the publie, or made use of as the basis of an arti-
cle in the next edition of American Biography ; and
we think that Palmer's chance for fame is at least on
a par with nine out of ten of those who figure in
that department of the Dictionary of Universal
Knowledge.
Poor old Pot Pie ! The memory of the kind-
hearted and joyous old man is sweet and savory.
We think of him as one of those who were pleasant
in their lives ; while in his death he and his jests
were not divided. They went down to the tomb to-
gether. Time, the beautifier, has already shed its
soft lustre over the recollection of his humble cart
and its odoriferous contents; and we think of it as
sending forth to the pure air a perfume like the
aroma breathed from a field of spices. We look in
vain for a successor to fill the place left vacant by
his departure ; for a voice as blithe and cheery as
his; for so cunning a hand; for a visage that beam-
ed forth more mirth than Joe Miller ever wrote ;
for taste in vestimental architecture so arabesque
and grotesque, and yet in such admirable unison
with the humor of the man ; for that intuitive per-
ception of the character of human clay as never to
throw away a jest upon a fruitless soil; and for so
plentiful a garner of the seeds of mirth as to scatter
them in daily profusion, while, bke the oil of the
widow's cruse, they never wasted. We do not think
of him as of a hoary Silenus, mirthful from the effect
of bacchanalian orgies, or as the Momus of this nether
world, most witty when most ill-natured, or as of
George Buchanan, or any other king's fool, for there
is degradation connected with these jesters — but as
the admirable Crichton of his time, the glass of
fashion and the mould of form to the corporation
scavengers, " the rose of the fair state," as one whose
combination and whose form were such that, of all
his class, we can select him alone and say, " here was
a bellman." Glorious old Pot Pie !
His name is now a portion in the batch
Of the heroic dough which baking Time
Kneads for consuming ages — and the chime
Of Fame's oid bells, long as they truly ring,
Shall tell of him.
THEODORE S. FAY.
Tiieodoke S. Fat was born in the city of New
York. After receiving a liberal education he stu-
died law, and at an early age commenced a lite-
rary career as a contributor to the New York
Mirror, of which he subsequently became one of
the editors. In 1832 he published Dreams and
Reveries of a Quiet Man, a collection in two vo-
lumes of his articles in the Mirror, including a
series of papers on New York society entitled the
Little Genius. The remaining portion is occupied
with tales, essays, and editorial comments on the
passing events of city life.
Mr. Fay sailed for Europe in 1S33, and passed
the three following years in travel. During his
absence he wrote a record of his wanderings with
the title of The Minute Bool; and in 1835 pub-
lished his first novel, Norman Leslie. The inci-
dents of the plot are derived from those of a mur-
der which occurred in New York at the com-
mencement of the century, the publie interest in
which was greatly increased by the array of
legal talent enlisted in the trial of the case;
Burr, Hamilton, and Edward Livingston appearing
for the prisoner, and Cadwallader D. Oolden, the
District Attorney, for the state. The novel is
well managed and interesting. It met with a
rapid sale, and a dramatized version by Miss
Louisa H. Medina was played for several nights
at the Bowerv theatre.
In 1837 Mr. Fay received the appointment of
Secretary of Legation at Berlin, a post he retained,
to the great gratification of all American travel-
lers who visited that city, until 1853, when he
was promoted to the post of Minister Resident at
Berne, where he still remains. In 1840 he pub-
lished a second novel, The Countess Ida, the scenes
of which are laid in Europe. The plot involves
the discouragement of the practice of duelling by
exhibiting a hero who, possessed of undisputed per-
sonal bravery, displays a higher degree of courage
in refusing to accept, or be led into offering a
challenge. This was followed in 1843 by a novel
of similar length and similar purpose, entitled Ho-
boien, a Romance of New York. The selection of
this locality, which has obtained a celebrity in
national annals as well as the records of the society
of the adjoining city, in connexion with this mi-
serable remnant of the barbarous uses of rude
and lawless times, shows his earnestness in the
denunciation of the evil.
Mr. Fay has since published Robert Rueful an&
Sidney Clifton, two short tales, and in 1851 a
poetical romance entitled Ulric, or The Voices,
the design of which is to show that the temptings
of the evil one, the " voices" of the poem, may be
driven back by resolute endeavor and Christian
faith. The scene is laid in the early days of the
Reformation, but has little to do with the historic
events of the period. Ulric is a young noble of
Germany, and the action of the poem occurs
among the beautiful scenes and picturesque cas-
tles of the Rhine, advantages of which the author
avails himself in many passages of effective de-
scription.
THE EniNE — FEOM TTLEIC.
Oh come, gentle pilgrim,
From far distant strand,
THEODORE S. FAY.
413-
Come, gaze on the pride
Of the old German land.
On that wonder of nature,
That vision divine
Of the past and the present,
The exquisite Rhine.
As soft as a smile,
And as sweet as a song,
Its famous old billows
Roll murm'ring along.
From its source on the mount
Whence it flies in the sea,
It flashes with beauty
As bright as can be.
With the azure of heaven,
Its first waters flow,
And it leaps like an arrow
Escaped from a bow ;
While reflecting the glories
Its hill-sides that crown,
It then sweeps in grandeur
By castle and town.
And when, from the red
Gleaming tow'rs of Mayenee
Enchanted thou'rt borne
In bewildering trance,
By death-breathing ruin,
By life-giving wine — -
By thy dark -frowning turrets,
Old Ehrenbreitsteiu !
To where the half magic
Cathedral looks down
On the crowds at its base,
Of the ancient Cologne,
While in rapture thy dazzled
And wondering eyes
Scarce follow the pictures,
As bright, as they rise,
As the dreams of thy youth,
Which thou vainly wouldst stay,
But they float, from thy longings,
Like shadows away.
Thou wilt find on the banks
Of the wonderful stream,
Full many a spot
That an Eden doth seem.
And thy bosom will ache
With a secret despair,
That thou canst not inhabit
A landscape so fair,
And fain thou wouldst linger
Eternity there.
AS OTTTUNE SKETCH.
The young Lord D. yawned. Why did the young
lord yawn ? He had recently come into ten thou-
sand a year. His home was a palace. His sisters
were angels. His cousin was — in love with him.
He, himself, was an Apollo. His horses might have
drawn the chariot of Phoebus, but in their journey
around the globe, would never have crossed above
grounds more Eden-like than his. Around him were
streams, lawns, groves, and fountaius. He could
hunt, fish, ride, read, flirt, sleep, swim, drink, muse,
write, or lounge. All the appliances of affluence
were at his command. The young Lord D. was the
admiration and envy of all the country. The young
Lord D,'s step sent a palpitating flutter through
many a lovely bosom. His smile awakened many a
dream of bliss and wealth. The Lady S., — that
queenly woman, with her majestic bearing, and her
train of dying adorers, grew lovelier and livelier be-
neath the spell of his smile ; and even Ellen B., — the
modest, beautiful creature, with her large, timid,
tender blue eyes, and hor pouting red lips — that rose-
bud— sighed audibly, only the day before, when he
left the room — and yet — and yet — the young Lord
D. yawned.
It was a rich still hour. The nfternoon sunlight,
overspread all nature. Earth, sky, lake, and air
were full of its dying glory, as it streamed into the
apartment where they were sitting, through the fo-
liage of a magnificent oak, and the caressing tendrils
of a profuse vine, that half buried the verandah be-
neath its heavy masses of foliage.
" I am tired to death," said the sleepy lord.
His cousin Rosalie sighed.
" The package of papers from London is full of
news, and " murmured her sweet voice timidly.
" 1 hate news."
" The poetry in the New Monthly is "
" You set my teeth on edge. I have had a surfeit
of poetry."
" Ellen B. is to spend the day with us to-morrow."
Rosalie lifted her hazel eyes full upon his face.
" Ellen B. ?" drawled the youth. " she is a child, a
pretty child. I shall ride over to Lord A.'s."
Rosalie's face betrayed that a mountain was off
her heart.
" Lord A. starts for Italy in a few weeks," said
Rosalie.
" Happy dog!"
" He will be delighted with Rome an 1 Naples."
"Rome and Naples," echoed D., in a musing
voice.
"Italy is a delightful, heavenly spot," continued
his cousin, anxious to lead him into conversation.
" So I'm told," said Lord D., abstractedly.
" It is the garden of the world," rejoined Rosalie.
Lord D. opened his eyes. He evidently was just
struck with an idea. Young lords with ten thou-
sand a year are not often troubled with ideas. He
sprang from his seat. He paced the apartment
twice. His countenance glowed. His eyes spar-
kled.
" Rose—"
" Cousin — "
What a beautiful break. Rose trembled to the
heart. Could it be possible that he was .
He took her hand. He kissed it, eagerly, ear-
nestly, and enthusiastically.
She blushed and turned away her face in graceful
confusion.
" Rose!"
" Dear, dear cousin '" —
" I have made up my mind."
" Charles ! — "
" To-morrow i"
" Heavens!"
" I will start for Italy."
Ocean ! Superb — endless — sublime, rolling, tum-
bling, dashing, heaving, foaming — cmlum uiidiquc et
undiqur pontus. Lord D. gazed around. The white
cliffs of Dover were fading in the distance, Fare-
well, England. It is a sweet melancholy, this bid-
ding adieu to a mass — a speck in the horizon — a
mere cloud, yet which contains in its airy and dim
outline all that you ever knew of existence.
" Noble England !" ejaculated LordD., " and dear
mother — Ellen B. — pretty fawn — Rose too — sweet
pretty dear Rose — what could mean those glittering
drops that hung upon her lashes when I said adieu?
Can it be that? — pshaw — I am a coxcomb. What!
Rose? the little sunshiny Rose — the cheerful phi-
losopher— the logical — the studious — the — the —
the—!"
Alas! alas! What are logic, study, cheerfulness,
philosophy, sunshine, to a warm-hearted girl of
twenty — in love ?
414
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Lord D. went below.
Italy in a paradise. Surely Adam looted on BUch
skies, such rivers, such woods, such mountains, such
fields. How lavish, how bright, how rich is every
thing around. Lord D. guided his horse up a moun-
tain near Rome. The sun had just set ; the warm
heavens stretched above him perfectly unclouded ;
what a time to muse I what a place I The young
nobleman fell into a reverie, which, the next mo-
ment, was broken by a shout of terror — the clashing
of arms — a pistol shot, and a groan. He flew to the
spot. A youth of twenty lay at the root of a tall
tree, weltering in his blood. The assassin, terrified
at the sight of a stranger, fled.
" I die," murmured the youth, with ashy lips.
"Can I aid you?" asked Lord D., thrilling with
horror and compassion.
"Take this box. It contains jewels, and a secret,
which I would not have revealed for the world.
Carry it to England, to the Duke of K — . Open it
not, v.o matter what happens. Swear never to re-
veal to any human being that you possess it —
swear."
Lord D. hesitated.
" My life-blood ebbs away apace. Speak, oh
speak, and bless a dying man — swear."
" I swear."
" Enough. I thank you— hide it in your bosom.
God bless you — my — England— never see — home —
again — never, nev — ."
The full round moon, beautifully bright, went so-
lemnly up the azure track of sky.
Lord D. dashed a tear from his eye, as he gazed on
the pallid features of the youth, who stretched him-
self out in the last shuddering agony and convulsion
of death. lie placed his hand upon the stranger's
bosom. The heart had ceased to beat. No longer
the crimson gore flowed from the wound. The light
foam stood oa his pale lips.
" And he has a mother," said the chilled nobleman
— " and a once happy home. For their sake, as well
as his, his wishes shall be obeyed."
The tread of horses' feet came to his ear, and
shouts and confused voices.
Lord D. thought the fugitive ruffian was returning
with more of the gang.
" Shall I fly like a coward ?" was his first thought ;
but again, he said, "why should I waste my life
upon a set of banditti ?"
He sprang to his saddle, in his hurry leaving be-
hind him a kerchief — dashed the rowels into the
flanks of the snorting steed, and was presently lost
in the winding paths of the forest.
The midnight moon was shining silently into the
apartment, as Lord D.'s eyes closed in sleep, after
having lain for some time lost in thought upon his
couch. His senses gradually melted into dreams.
" Ah Rosalie. Dear Rosalie."
The maiden suddenly grasped his throat with the
ferocity of a fiend, when — hal no Rosalie — but the
iron gripe of a muscular arm dragged him from the
bed, and shook his idle dreams to air.
" Bind the villain!" said a hoarse voice.
"Away, away to the duke's!"
Bewildered, indignant, alarmed, the astonished lord
found himself bound, and borne to a carriage— the
beautiful and soft fragments of Italian scenery flew
by the coach windows.
If you would freeze the heart of an Englishman,
and yet suffocate him with anger, thrust, him into a
dungeon. Lord D. never was so unceremoniously
assisted to a change of location. A black-browed,
dark-complexioned, mustachio-lipped soldier hurled
him down a flight of broken steps, and threw after
him a bundle of clothes.
" By St. George, my friend, if I had you on the
side of a green English bill, I would make your
brains and bones acquainted with an oaken cudgel.
The uncivilized knave."
He lay for hours on a little straw. By-and-by
some one came in with a lamp.
" Pi ay, friend, where am I ?"
The stranger loosened his cord, and motioned him
to put on his clothes. He did so — unable to repress
the occasional explosion of an honest, heartfelt exe-
cration. When his toilet was completed, his guide
took him by the arm, and led him through a long
corridor, till, lo! a blaze of sunshiny daylight daz-
zled his eyes.
" You are accused of murder," said the duke, in
French.
". Merciful Providence !" ejaculated D.
"Your victim was found weltering in his blood at
your feet. You left this kerchief on his body. It
bears your name. By your hand he fell. You have
been traced to your lodgings. You must die."
A witness rushed forward to bear testimony in
favor of the prisoner. Lord D. could not be the per-
petrator of such a crime. He was a nobleman of
honor and wealth.
" Where are his letters?"
He had brought none.
" What is the result of the search which I ordered
to be made at his lodgings?"
" This box, my lord duke, and — "
The box was opened. It contained a set of superb
jewels, the miniature of the murdered youth, and of
a fair creature, probably his mistress.
Lord D. started.
"By heavens, it is Rosalie! I am thunder-
struck."
" Enough," said the duke, " guilt is written in
every feature. Wretch, murderer! To the block
with him. To-morrow at daybreak let his doom be
executed. Kay, sir, lower that high bearing, those
fiery and flashing eyes, that haughty and com-
manding frown. Not thus should you meet your
Creator."
Night, deep night. How silent! How sublime !
The fated lord lay watching the sky, through the
iron grating of his cell.
"All, flash on, myriads of overhanging wrorhls —
ye suns, whose blaze is quenched by immeasurable
distance. To-morrow just so with your calm, blight,
everlasting faces, ye will look down upon my grave.
Jupiter, brilliant orb! How lustrous i How won-
derful ! Ha ! the north star — ever constant . Axis
on which revolves this stupendous, heavenly globe.
How often at home I have watched thy beams, with
Rosalie on my arm. Rosalie, dear Rosalie — "
" I come to save you," said a soft, sweet, voice.
"What! Boy — who art thou? Why dost— "
The young stranger took off his cap.
" No — yes ! That forehead — those eyes — enchant-
ing girl — angel — "
"Hush!" said Rosalie, laying her finger upon
her lip.
Ocean — again — the deep, magnificent ocean — and
life and freedom.
" Blow, grateful breeze — on, on, over the washing
billows, light-winked bark. Ha! land ahead! Eng-
land ! Rosalie, my girl, see — "
Again on her lashes tears stood glittering.
WILLIAM COX.
415,
now different from those that —
Onward, like the wind, revolve the rattling
wheels. The setting sun reveals the tall groves,
the great oak, the lawns, the meadows, the foun-
tains.
"My mother!"
" My son !"
" Friends !"
A package from the duke.
"The murderer of is discovered, and lias
paid the forfeit of his crimes. Will Lord D. again
visit Italy ?"
" Ay, with my wife — with Rosalie."
"And with letters and a good character" said Ro-
salie, archly.
TVILLIAJI COX,
Tite author of two volumes, entitled Crayon
Sketches, by an Amateur, published in New York i
in 1833, with a preface 'by Mr. Theodore S. Fay, I
was an Englishman by birth, who came to Ame- :
rica early in life to practise his calling of a prin-
ter. He found employment in the Mirror, con- j
ducted by General Morris, and made a literary i
reputation by contributing a series of sketches to i
its columns. These were in a happy vein of '<
humor and criticism, in a style of ease and sim-
plicity, satirizing the literary infirmities of the
times, hitting off popular actors — the writer
being a genuine member of the old Park Pit — ■
and discussing various pleasantries of the author's
own. The essays pleased men of taste and
good sense. One of them, in particular, a sketch
of the" old city constable Jacob Hays, " written
during an awful prevalence of biograpkies," gained
great celebrity at the time. Mr. Cox having
reviewed the Miscellanies of Sands in the Mirror,
Mr. Chilian C. Verplanck, in his life of that author,
thus acknowledged the compliment: — "This was
William Co-;, who shortly after became a regular
contributor to American periodical literature,; nd
has since gained an enviable literary reputation
by his Crayon Sketches, a series of essays full of
originality, pleasantry, and wit, alternately re-
minding the reader of the poetical eloquence of
Hazlitt, and the quaint humor and eccentric tastes
of Charles Lamb."
Mr. Cox, after writing for a number of years
fjr the Mirror, returned to England. His cir-
cumstances, wo believe, were prosperous. He
occasionally sent a genial letter in his old style to
his friend Morris's Home Journal, where his
acquaintances one day, we think in 1S51, were
pained to read his obituary.
BIOGRAPHY OF JACOB nATS.
He is a man, take him for all in all
"We shall not look upon his like again.
SnAKr.srr.AnE.
Laiies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to your ac-
quaintance, Baron Nabem, a person who has a very taking
way with him. — Tom and Jerry.
Perhaps there is no species of composition so ge-
nerally interesting and truly delightful as minute
and indiscriminate biography, and it is pleasant to
perceive how this taste is gradually increasing.
The time is apparently not far distant when every
man will be found busy writing the life of his
neighbor, and expect to have his own written in
return, interspersed with original anecdotes, extracts
from epistolary correspondence, the exact hours at
which he was in the habit of going to bed at night
and getting up in the morning, and other miscella-
neous and useful information carefully selected and
judiciously arranged. Indeed, it is whispered that
the editorsof this paper* intend to take Longworth's
Directory for the groundwork, and give the private
history of all the city alphabetically, without " fear
or favor — love or affection." In Europe there exists
an absolute biographical mania, and they are manu-
facturing lives of poets, painters, play-actors, peers,
pugilists, pick-pockets, horse jockeys, and their
horses, together with a great many people that are
scarcely known to have existed at all. And the
fashion now is not only to shadow forth the grand
and striking outlines of a great man's character, and
hold to view those qualities which elevated him
above his species, but to go into the minutia; of his
private life, and note down all the trivial expres-
sions and every-day occurrences in which, of course,
he merely spoke and acted like tiny ordinary man.
This not only affords employment for the exercise
of the small curiosity and meddling propensities of
his officious biographer, but is also highly gratifying
to the general reader, inasmuch as it elevates him
mightily in his own opinion to see it put on record
that great men ate, drank, slept, walked, and some-
times talked just as he does. In giving tile bio-
graphy of the high constable of this city, I shall by
all means avoid descending to Undignified particu-
lars; though I deem it important to state, before
proceeding fn-rrier, that there is not the slightest
foundation for the report afloat that Mr. Hays has
left off eating buckwheat cakes in a morning, in
consequence of their lying too heavily on his sto-
mach.
Where the subject of the present memoir was
born, can be but of little consequence ; who were
his father and mother, of still less; and how he was
bred and educated, of none at all. I shall therefore
pass over this division of his existence in eloquent
silence, and come at once to the period when he
attained the acme of eoristabulatory power and
dignity by being created high constable of this city
and its suburbs ; and it may be remarked, in pass-
ing, that the honorable the corporation, during their
long and unsatisfactory career, never made an ap-
pointment more creditable to themselves, more bene-
ficial to the city, more honorable to the country at
large, more imposing in the eye of foreign nations,
more disagreeable to all rogues, nor more gratifying
to honest men, than that of the gentleman whom we
are biographizing, to the high office he now holds.
His acuteness and vigilance have become proverbial ;
and there is not a misdeed committed by any mem-
ber of this community, but he is speedily admo-
nished that he will " have old Hays [as he is affec-
tionately and familiarly termed! after him." Indeed,
it is supposed by many that he is gifted with super-
natural attributes, and can see things that, are hid
from mortal ken ; or how, it is contended, is it pos-
sible that he should, as he does,
Bring forth the secrefst man of blood?
That he can discover " undivulged crime" — that
when a store has been robbed, he, without step or
hesitation, can march directly to the house where
the goods are concealed, ami say, " these are they"
— or, when a gentleman's pocket has been picked,
that, from a crowd of unsavory miscreants he can,
with unerring judgment, lay his hand upon one
ami exclaim " you're wanted I" — or, how is it that
he is gifted with that strange principle of ubiquity
that makes him " here, and there, ami everywhere"
* The New York Mirror.
41 G
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
at the same moment? No matter how, so long as
the public reap the benefit; and well may that pub-
lic apostrophize bam in the words of the poet: —
Lend mav ho live ! our city's pride !
Where lives the rogue, but ilies before himl
"With trusty crabstick by his side,
And start' of office waving o'er him.
But it is principally as a literary man that we
would speak of Mr. Hays. True, his poetry is
"unwritten," as is also his prose; and he has inva-
riably expressed a decided contempt for philosophy,
music, rhetoric, the belles Icttres, the fine arts, and
in fact all species of composition excepting bailiffs'
warrants and bills of indictment — but what of that?
The constitution of his mind is, even unknown to
himself, decidedly poetical. And here I may be
allowed to avail myself of another peculiarity of
modern biography, namely, that of describing a
man by what he is not. Mr. Hays has not the
graphic power or antiquarian lore of Sir "Walter
Scott — nor the glittering imagery or voluptuous
tenderness of Moore — nor tiie delicacy and polish
of Rogers — nor the spirit of Campbell — nor the sen-
timeirtalism of Miss Landon — nor the depth and
purity of thought and intimate acquaintance with
nature of Bryant — nor the brilliant style and play-
ful humor of Halleck — no, lie is more in the petit
larceny manner of Crabbe, with a slight touch of
Byrome power and gloom. He is familiarly ac-
quainted witli all those interesting scenes of vice
and poverty so fondly dwelt upon by that reverend
chronicler of little villany, and if ever he can be
prevailed upon to publish, there will doubtless be
found a remarkable similarity in their works. His
height is about five feet seven inches, but who makes
his clothes we have as yet been unable to ascertain.
His countenance is strongly marked, and forcibly
brings to mind the lines of Byron when describing
his Corsair: —
There was a laughing 3evil in his sneer fc
That raised emotions both of hate and fear;
And where his glance of "apprehension11 fell,
Hope withering fled, and mercy sighed, farewell!
Yet with all his great qunlities, it is to be doubted
whether he is much to be envied. His situation
certainly has its disadvantages. Pure and blame-
less as his life is, his society is not courted — no man
boasts of his friendship, and few indeed like even
to own him for an intimate acquaintance. Wher-
ever he goes his slightest action is watched and cri-
ticized ; and if he happen carelessly to lay his hand
upon a gentleman's shoulder and whisper something
in his ear, even that man, as if there were contami-
nation in his touch, is seldom or never seen after-
wards in decent society. Such things cannot fail to
prey upon his feelings. But when did ever great-
ness exist without some penalty attached to it?
The first time that ever Hays was pointed out to
me, was one summer afternoon, when acting in his
official capacity in the city hall. The room was
crowded m every part, and as he entered with a
luckless wretch in his gripe, a low suppressed mur-
mur ran through the hall, as if some superior being
had alighted in the midst of them. He placed the
prisoner at the bar — a poor coatless individual, with
scarcely any edging and no roof to his hat — to
stand Ids trial for bigamy, and then, in a loud,
authoritative tone, called out for " silence," and
there was silence. Again he spoke — " hats off
there!" and the multitude became uncovered; after
which he took his handkerchief out of his left-hand
coat pocket, wiped his face, put it back again,
looked sternly around, and then sat down. The
scene was awful and impressive ; but the odor was
disagreeable in consequence of the heat acting upon
a large quantity of animal matter congregated to-
gether. My olfactory organs were always lament-
ably acute : I was obliged to retire, and from that
time to this, I have seen notion;;, though I havc
heard much of the subject of this brief and imperfect,
but, I trust, honest and impartial memoir.
Health and happiness be with thee, thou prince
of constables — thou guardian of innocence — thou
terror of evil-doers and little boys ! May thy years
be many and thy sorrows few — may thy life be
like a long and cloudless summer's day, and may
thy salary be increased ! And when at last the
summons comes from which there is no escaping —
when the warrant arrives upon which no bail can
be put in — when thou thyself, that hast "wanted"
so many, art in turn " wanted and must go,"
Mayst thou fall
Into the grave as softly as the leaves
Of the sweet roses on an autumn eve,
Beneath the small sighs of the western wind,
Drop to the earth !
JOHN INMAN.
JonN Inman, for many years a prominent mem-
ber of the New York press, as one of the editors
of the Commercial Advertiser, was born at Utiea,
New York, in 1805. He was a brother of Henry
Imnan, the celebrated portrait painter.
Mr. Inman's progress in life was mainly due to
his own exertions, his early advantages of educa-
tion or influence having been slight. In 1823 he
removed to North Carolina, where he remained
for two years in charge of a school. The following
twelve months were more agreeably occupied by
a tour in Europe, earned by his previous toil.
On his return he applied himself to the practice
of the law, but in 1828 relinquished the profession
and became an editor of the Standard, a New
York newspaper. In 1830 he left this journal to
connect himself with the Mirror.
In 1833 Mr. Imnan married Miss Fisher, a
sister of Miss Clara Fisher, Mrs. Vernon, and
Mr. John Fisher, three of the best comedians of
the " Old Park" stock company. In the same
year he became an assistant to Colonel Stone in
the editorship of the Commercial Advertiser.
On the death of Colonel Stone in 1844, he-suc-
ceeded to the chief charge of the journal, a
position which he retained until incapacitated by
his last illness from performing its duties.
Mr. Inman was also the editor for some years
of the Columbian Magazine and of several
volumes of selections, and a contributor to the
New York Review, the Spirit of the Times, and
several of the popular magazines, where his tales,
and sketches, and occasional poems, were received
with favor. His versatility as a writer may be
estimated from the fact, that on one occasion he
wrote an entire number of the Columbian Maga-
zine when under his charge. He died on the 30th
of March, 1850.
THOUGHTS AT TITE GRAVE OF A DEPARTED FRIEND.
Loved, lost one, fare thee well — too harsh the doom
That called thee thus in opening life away ;
Tears fall for thee ; and at thy early tomb,
I come at each return of tins blest day,
When evening hovers near, with solemn gloom,
The pious debt of sorrowing thought to pay,
For thee, blest spirit, whose loved form alone
Here mouldering sleeps, beneatli this simple stone.
HORATIO GKEENOUGH.
417
Cut memory claims thee still ; and slumber brings
Thy form before me as in life it came ;
Affection conquers death, and fondly clings
Unto the past, and thee, and thy loved name ;
And hours glide swiftly by on noiseless wings,
While sad discourses of thy loss I frame,
With her the friend of thy most tranquil years,
"Who mourns for thee witli grief too deep for tears.
Sunday Evening.
HORATIO GREENOUGII.
Horatio Greexough, the first of the eminent
sculptors of the country, and a refined and vigor-
ous prose writer, was born at Boston, September
6, 1805. Like most artists, he early manifested a
taste for Ins future calling.
" Having," says his biographer, Mr. Tuelcerman,
" a decided sense of form, a love of imitating it, and
a mechanical aptitude which kept his knife, pencil,
and scissors continually active, he employed hours in
carving, drawing, and moulding toys, faces, and
weapons, by way of amusing himself and his com-
rades. I have seen a head evidently taken from an
old Roman coin, executed upon a bit of compact
plaster about the size of a penny, admirably cut by
Greenough with a penknife and common nail, while a
schoolboy, seated upon the door-step of one of his
neighbors. The lady who observed this achieve-
ment, preserved the little medal with religious care ;
and was the first to give the young sculptor a com-
mission. It was for her that he executed the beauti-
ful ileal bust of the Genius of Love. This pro-
pensity soon took a higher range. It was encouraged
by the mechanics and professional men around him,
whose good-will his agreeable manners and obvious
genius propitiated. One kind artisan taught him
the use of fine tools ; a stone-cutter, of more than
ordinary taste, instructed him to wield a chisel; be-
nevolent librarians allowed him the use of plates,
casts, and manuals ; a physician gave him access to
anatomical designs and illustrations; and Binon, a
French artist, known by his bust of John Adams in
Faneuil Hall, Boston, encouraged him to model at
his side. Thus, as a mere schoolboy, did Green'ough
glean the rudiments of an artistic education with-
out formal initiation. With eclectic wisdom he
, sought and found the aid he required, while explor-
ing the streets of his native town ; one day he
might be seen poring over a folio, or contemplating
a plaster copy of a famous statue; and, on another,
exercising his mechanical ingenuity at the office of
Solomon Willard, whose family name yet stamps,
with traditional value, many an old dial-plate in
New England; now he eagerly watches Alpheus
Carv as he puts the finishing touch to a cherub's
head on a tombstone; and, again, he stands a re-
spectful devotee before Shaw or Coggswcll, waiting
for some treasured volume on the process or the re-
sults of his favorite art, from the shelves of Harvard
ami the Athenasum. Some of his juvenile triumphs
are still remembered by his playmates — especially a
pistol ornamented with relievo flowers in lead, a
series of carriages moulded in bee's-wax, scores of
wooden daggers tastefully carved, a lion couchaut,
modelled with a spoon from a pound of butter, to
astonish his mother's guests at tea, elaborate card-
paper plans for estates, and, as a climax to these
childish yet graceful experiments, a little figure of
Peun cut in chalk from an engraving of his statue in
the Port-Folio.''
At the age of sixteen he entered Harvard Col-
lege. During his course at this institution he
enjoyed the society of Washington Allston, an as-
vol. ii. — 27
sociation from which lie derived advantages which
he always acknowledged with enthusiasm. Years
after, when his reputation had been long esta-
blished, he replied to an application for biographi-
cal information respecting his career, " A note to
Allston's life might tell all of me that is essential."
Towards the close of his senior year Greenough
sailed for Marseilles, and from thence to Rome,
where he devoted himself so unremittingly to the
prosecution of his art that he became, under the
influence of malaria, so prostrated as to be forced
to return home. The sea voyage restored him to
health, and after a few months he returned to
Italy, and established himself in Florence. Here
he remained for some time without obtaining any
adequate recognition of his powers, until he re-
ceived from the novelist Cooper an order for the
" Chaunting Cherubs," a work suggested by a
portion of a painting by Raphael. " Fenimore
Cooper," the artist remarked several years after,
" saved me from despair after my return to Italy.
lie employed me as I wished to be employed;
and up to this moment has been as a father to
me."
It was in part owing to Cooper's, exertions that
Greenough obtained the order from Congress for
his colossal Washington. On the completion of
this work he returned home to superintend its
erection.
In 1851 he again returned to the United States
on a similar errand connected with his group of
the Rescue, a work commemorative of the period
of conflict with the Indian tribes in our history,
and executed by order of Congress. Disgust with
the change wrought in Florence by the reaction
from the liberal triumphs of 18-18, consigning the
city to the despotism of military rule, and a
desire to pursue his profession in his own country,
furnished additional motives for the change. The
transition from the quiet of an Italian studio to
the activity of an American resident, desirous of
taking his full share in the discussion of the
agitated topics of the day, was one which excited
as well as pleased him. He established himself at
Newport, where he proposed to devote himself to
his art ; but this and other anticipations of useful-
ness and happiness were suddenly interrupted by
an attack of brain fever, during the progress of
which the patient was removed to the neighbor-
hood of Boston, but without beneficial effect, his
disease arriving at a speedy and fatal termination
on the 18th of December, 1852.
A Memorial of Horatio Greenough, published
in 1853, contains the only collection which has
been made of his writings. These comprise a
series of papers on the public works of the capitol
city with the title of JEsthetics at Washington,
essays on Social Theories, American Art and
Architecture, on Beauty, a plan for the proposed
Cooper monument, a scheme in which the writer
took a deep interest, a defence of Trumbull's Decla-
ration of Independence from the famous slur of
Randolph, and a number of fragmentary remarks
on various topics suggested by the study of nature
418
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
and art. lie also planned a course of lectures on
Art, two of which were completed and delivered.
THE DESECRATION OF TOE FLAG.
An American citizen, standing here upon the
pavement of the principal avenue of the Metropolis,
Bees five ensigns of the United States flying within
sight of each other. Two of these flags float over
the halls of Congress, and announce a session of both
branches of the legislature ; a third adorns the roof
of an omnibus as a gala decoration ; a fourth appears
on the roof-tree of a new hotel as a sign, or perhaps
puff extraordinary; a fifth marks the site of an
engine-house. I cannot but think that several of
these flags are misplaced. Their use at the Capitol
has always struck my eye as appropriate and beau-
tiful. The other instances of their appearance which
I have mentioned seem an abuse, a desecratiou of the
national symbol of Union.
There is always a tendency in every community to
seize upon and make use of that which is public, or
of general influence and widely recognised signifi-
cance. The same holy symbol which surmounts the
cupola of all Roman Catholic cathedrals, is made in
Italy to answer the end which in England is effected
by a bit of board, bearing the words " commit no
nuisance." "When the position which it is desired
to protect is particularly exposed, the cross is re-
peated ten, twenty, fifty times, and is even reinforced
by verses in honor of saints, martyrs, and the Holy
Virgin. A foreigner is much shocked by such a
practice. The natives smile at his squeamishness — -
they are used to it; yet they all quote "nee Bcus
intcrsit, etc." readily enough upon other occasions.
It is very clear that the national flag, however
some persons may smile at the assertion, has a deep
and noble significance, one which we should hold
sacred and do nothing to impair. Were it a mere
" bit of bunting," as the British Foreign Secretary
thoughtlessly or art fully styled it, why should we
see it universally paraded ?
I believe no one will deny that the colors of the Union
hoisted at the dockyards and arsenals assert the na-
tional possession — that they proclaim the nationality
of our merchant ships in foreign parts, and sanction
the display of our naval power. These and the like
occasions call for them, and their appearance has a
value and expression of a peculiar kind. Is it
doubtful that the dragging them through the streets
by whosoever chooses so to do, the parading them
upon taverns, and raree-shows, and other like trivial
occasions, tends to degrade and weaken their special
meaning and value? I may be told that the abuse,
if such it be, is rather within the region of taste than
f legal observance. I regret that it is so, because
-he whole matter has assumed its present aspect, be-
cause it is "nobody's business" to interfere. It is
merely as a question of taste that I speak of it, and
as such, I believe that a little reflection will show,
that accustomed as we arc to see the flag hung out
" a-propos dc bottes" and sometimes hanging down-
wards too, so as almost to touch the heads of the
horses as they pass, our indifference to the desecra-
tion i3 merely a measure of use and wont, and
analogous, though not equal, to the obtuseness of the
Catholic, who uses the cross of the Redeemer in lieu
of a by-law or police regulation.
I have heard the right of each citizen to use the
national flag stoutly maintained. I cannot see why
the consular seal, or the gardens of the White House,
are not equally at his mercy. There is another
argument which may be called the argiwicntum od
Buncombe, and which might easily be resorted to to
defend this and the like abuses, viz., That it is
peculiarly American and democratic. The English
long asserted a right to be coarse and uncourteous as
a proof of sincerity and frankness. John Bull, they
contended, was too honest to be civil. There is
much nonsense of this sort in the old books. Exces-
sive beer-diinking and other gluttonies were upheld
as having some mysterious virtue in them. Sailors
used to swear and blaspheme in a similar way. It
was expected of them, and required no apology.
When such notions yielded, as they must, to reflection
and cultivation, it was seen at onee that they had
been only abuses or barbarisms ingeniously hitched
on to other qualities, and identified with self-love.
JOHN E. BARTLETT.
Joitn R. Bap.tlett was born at Providence, R. I.,
October 23, 1805, of an old Massachusetts family:
He was educated at schools in Kingston and Mon-
treal, in Canada, and at Lowville academy in the
state of New York. On leaving school he was
sent to Pro\idence, his native place, and engaged
as clerk in a mercantile house. Soon after coming
of age he entered the banking house of the late
Cyrus Butler at that place, as book-keeper, and,
after being three years with him, was appointed
cashier of the Globe Bank in Providence, which
situation he held for six years. He took a liberal
interest in the promotion of knowledge, being one
of the original projectors of the Providence Athe-
naeum, now one of the best public libraries, in pro-
portion to the number of its volumes, in the coun-
try. He was also an active member of the Franklin
Society of Rhode Island, an association for the
cultivation of science, before which he occasion-
ally lectured. The close confinement of the bank,
and the occupation of several hours a day in
study, wore upon his health, and he withdrew
with his family to New York in 1837, to enter a
large commission house in the city, engaged in
the sale of American manufactures. The business,
in the commercial difficulties of the times, was
unsuccessful, and Mr. Bartlett turned to another
pursuit adapted to his literary inclinations. He
left Pine street for Broadway, where, in conjunc-
tion with Mr. Charles Welford, he established a
book store for the importation and sale of choice
English and foreign works. It soon became the
daily resort of literary men of the city, and of
scholars, on their visits to town, from all parts of
the country. On all topics of research in Ameri-
can history, or the wide field of ethnology, or
English classic literature, Mr. Bartlett, and his
accomplished, well read partner, were unfailing
authorities. Before the days of the Astor library,
there was no better resort for literary informa-
tion in the city than the well furnished book-
store at No. 7 Astor House.
The literary associations of Mr. Bartlett at
this time were much extended and enhanced by
his active participation in the management of the
New York Historical Society, of which he was
for several years the corresponding secretary.
He was also the projector, with Mr. Gallatiu, of
the American Ethnological Society, the first
meeting of which was held at his house. Among
its original members were the Rev. Drs. Hawks
and Robinson, Mr. Catherwood, Mr. Schoolcraft,
and the late John L. Stephens. The meetings of
the society for several years were held at his re-
sidence, and at that of Mr. Gallatin. The doors
were widely opened at Mr. Bartlett's, after the
JOHN LLOYD STEPHENS.
419
business of the evening had been disposed of, and
his rooms saw a frequent gathering of the intelli-
gence of the city, and of its numerous cultivated
strangers and travellers from abroad. In 1848
Mr. Bartlett read before the New York Historical
Society a series of Reminiscences of Albert Gal-
latin, with anecdotes of his conversations, which
were published in the society's Proceedings for
that year.
In 1819 he retired from the book business to
Providence, and the next year was appointed by
President Taylor commissioner to run the boun-
dary lin3 between the United States and Mexico,
under the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. The com-
mission, winch was the largest and most impor-
tant ever sent out by the government for a similar
purpose, was organized by him, and six weeks
after his appointment he sailed from New York
for the coast of Texas to enter upon his duties.
He remained in the field until January, 1853,
during which time he crossed the continent to
California, and after various journeys there, re-
crossed by another route, making extensive sur-
veys and explorations by the way. The whole
of the extensive line of boundary was nearly com-
pleted by him when he wiw compelled to suspend
operation's and return to Washington. Certain
gross errors existing in the map, which he was
compelled by the treaty as well as his instructions
to follow, led to the fixing of a boundary which
gave dissatisfaction to the opponents of Mr.
Fillmore's administration. Being in the majority
in Congress, they appended a proviso to the ap-
propriation for carrying on the survey, to the
effect, that if the boundary was not fixed in a
certain place, which in their opinion was the cor-
rect one, the money appropriated should not be
used. Cut off from the means to cany on and
complete the small portion which remained to be
surveyed, Mr. Bartlett wa< driven to the neces-
sity of suspending all operations when at Ring-
gold Barracks, near Camargo, on the Rio Grande,
and of returning home. He was sustained by his
old Whig friends, and removed by President
Pierce.
The various surveys performed by his orders,
while in the field, were not less than twenty-five
hundred miles in extent ; all of which were ac-
companied by elaborate astronomical, magnetic,
and meteorological observations, executed by the
officers of the expedition.
In 1851 Mr. Bartlett published bis Personal
Nirraiioe of Explorations and Incidents in
Texas, New Mexico, California, Soruira, and
Chihuahua, connected with the United States
and Mexican Boundary Commission during the
years 185i -53. It is written with care and
exactness, and derives its interest both from the
simple, full, and accurate method of the narrator,
and the novelty of the scenes which came under
his view. In addition to these inherent qualities,
the book appeared in a dress of unusual typo-
graphical excellence. The lithographic and wood-
cut illustrations from original designs by Mr.
Henry C. Pratt, an artist who accompanied Mr.
Bartlett, are numerous and well presented.*
* We may refer for further papers of Mr. Bartlett on the
subject, to the "Official Despatches and Correspondence con-
nected willi the United Status and Mexican Boundary Corn-
In 1847 Mr. Bartlett published a small work on
The Progress of Ethnology, and the next year
in an octavo volume, A Dictionary of Ameri-
canisms ; A Glossary <f Words and Phrases usu-
ally regarded as peculiar to the United Sta'es.
This work is now out of print, and Mr. Bartktt
is preparing a new enlarged and revised edition.
He has also the materials for a proposed work on
The Ethnology of the Indian Tribes in the States
contiguous to the Mexican Boundary.
JOHN LLOTD STEPHENS,
The original explorer of the Antiquities of Central
America, was born at Shrewsbury, Monmouth
County, New Jersey, Nov. 28, 1805. His fattier
and mother were both natives of New Jersey.
He was educated in New York, being prepared
for Columbia College, which he entered at thirteen,
by the celebrated blind teacher, Mr. Nelson. On
the completion of his course he studied law with
Daniel Lord, and subsequently entered the law
school of Judge Gould at Litchfield, finally com-
pleting his studies with George W. Strong in New
York. He early made a tour to a relative residing
at Arkan-as, then a journey of some adventure,
and on his return descended the Mississippi to
New Orleans in a fiat-boat. He practised law for
eight years, and became the associate of the
literary men and politicians of the day, frequently
speaking in defence of Democratic measures in
Tammany. An affection of the throat led to a
European tour for his recovery. In 1834 he em-
barked for Havre, landed on the coast of England,
made his way to France, thence to Italy, Greece,
Turkey, and Russia, returning by the way of
Poland and Germany. From France he again set
forth, through Marseilles to Egypt, and made the
tour of the Nile as far as Thebes. He returned homo
in 1830. While abroad several of his letters from
the Mediterranean had been published in his
friend Hoffman's American Monthly Magazine.
The success of these in their full, interesting per-
sonal narrative, encouraged the publication of his
first book in 1837, the Incidcntsof Travel in Egypt,
Arabia Petrcea, and the Holy Land, followed the
next year by Incidents of Travel in Greece,
Turkey, Russia, and Poland. The success of
these works, published by the Harpers, was re-
markable. They were universally read and ad-
mired, and continue to be published in England
and at home. The style was popular, rapid, easy,
and energetic, communicating the zest and spirit
of enjoyment of the traveller.
In 1839 a strong effort was made for his ap-
pointment, as agent of his state, New York, to
Holland, for the Collection of the Colonial Re-
cords, but Whig opposition defeated his claims ;
when President Van Buren appointed him Special
Ambassador to Central America to negotiate a
treaty with that country. The story of his ad-
ventures was published on his return, in 1841, in
his Incidents of Travel in Central America,
Chiapas, and Yucatan. Like his other works, it
was at once successful. It contained an account
of the distracted polities of the country, and above
mission" (Senate Doe. No. 119. 32d Cnnsre«s, 1st Session),
and " A Letter to the Hon. Alexander II. II. Stuart. Secretary
of the Interior, in Defence of the Mexican Boundary Lino"
(Senate Doc. No. 6, Special Session, 1S54).
420
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
v^^-v^— p
all a revelation of the rich field of investigation In
the antiquities of the region. In this work he
was a pioneer, achieving his brilliant results of
discovery by his accustomed personal energy. A
second visit to Yucatan in 1842, chiefly to com-
plete his antiquarian researches, resulted in the
publication, in 1843, of his Incidents of Travels in
Yucatan.
The exact, spirited delineations of the antiquities
which appeared in the engravings of these volumes
were from the pencil of Sir. Francis Catherwood,
a fellow-traveller with Mr. Stephens, who subse-
quently prepared a costly folio work of plates of
the same subject, which secured a deservedly high
reputation. He was a man of science and an able
railway surveyor, as well as an accomplished
artist. His death with the passengers of the
ill-fated steamer Arctic, in the autumn of 1854,
was an event greatly regretted by those ac-
quainted with liis- personal worth and scientific
ability.
In 1846 he was a delegate, being on both party
tickets to the State Convention of New York, to
revise, the Constitution, in which he took an
active part.
In 1847 he engaged resolutely in the affairs of
the Ocean Steam Navigation Company to connect
New York and Bremen. The steam navigation
of the Atlantic was then in its infancy, and the
establishment of the company, with the building
of the vessels, called forth all his resources. He
sailed in the Washington on her first trip to
Bremen. An account of his visit to Humboldt at
the time was published in the Literary World in
New York.
In 1849 he became an associate in the great
enterprise to connect the two oceans of the
Panama Railroad, and was elected Vice-Presi-
dent of the Company. lie subsequently became
President. He travelled over the Isthmus in-
specting the route and making arrangements with
the Government of New Granada for the work.
On his mule-back journey to the capital he was
thrown and injured in the spine ; and in those
circumstances of pain and distress carried on his
communications with the government at Bogota.
When the work was undertaken he visited the
Isthmus to urge its prosecution, in the winters of
1850-1 and 1851-2. On his return, in the spring
of 1852, he was attacked by a disease of the liver,
which terminated his life October 12th of that
year.
Stephens was a happy instance of the peculiar
energies of the active American citizen. Prompt,
acute, enterprising, he always sought advance
posts of labor. The demand for activity of his
nature required new fields of toil and exertion,
hazardous and apparently romantic, though never
separated from a practical design. The Panama
Railroad is identified with his name, and its sum-
mit lias been properly chosen as the site of a
monument to his memory. Tims, too, his efforts
in ocean steam navigation, and his zealous pursuit
of American antiquities, not as a study in the
closet, but as a practical achievement tasking
powers of courage, resolution, and bodily prowess
in new countries. His personal enthusiasm was
the charm of his writings on the better known
countries of the old world — where, to Americans
at least, as at Petra and in Russia, he was some-
thing of an original adventurer.
THE BASTINADO AT CAIRO — FROM INCIDENTS OF TEAYEL IN
EGYPT.
Having finished my purchases in the bazaars, I
returned to my hotel ready to set out, and found the
dromedaries, camels, and guides; and expected to
find the letter for the governor of Akaba, which', at
the suggestion of Mr. Linant, I had requested Mr.
Gliddon to procure for me. I now learned, how-
ever, from that gentleman, that to avoid delay it
would be better to go myself, first sending my
caravan outside the gate, and representing to-tke
minister that I was actually waiting for the letter, in
which case he would probably give it to me imme-
diately. I accordingly sent Paul with my little
caravan to wait for me at the tombs of the califs,
and, attended by the consul's janizary, rode up to the
citadel, and stopped at the door of the governor's
palace. The reader may remember that on my first
visit to his excellency I saw a man whipped — this
time I saw one bastinadoed. I had heard much of
this, a punishment existing, I believe, only in the
East, but I had never seen it inflicted before, and
hope I never shall see it again. As on the former
occasion, I found the little governor standing at one
end of the large hall of entrance, munching, and try-
ing causes. A crowd was gathered around, and be-
fore him was a poor Arab, pleading and beseeching
most piteously, while the big tears were rolling
down his cheeks ; near him was a man whose reso-
lute and somewhat angry expression marked him as
the accuser, seeking vengeance rather than justice.
Suddenly the governor made a gentle movement with,
his hand ; all noise ceased ; all stretched their necks
and turned their eager eyes towards him ; the ac-
cused cut short his crying, and stood with his mouth
wdde open, and his <?yes fixed upon the governor.
The latter spoke a few words in a very low voice, to
me of course unintelligible, and, indeed, scarcely
audible, but they seemed to fall upon the quick
ears of the culprit like bolts of thunder ; the
agony of suspense was over, and, without a word or
a look, he laid himself down on his face at the feet of
the governor. A space was immediately cleared
around ; a man on each side took liim by the hand,
and stretching out his arms, kneeled upon and held
FREDERIC HENRY HEDGE.
421
them down, while another seated himself across his
neek and shoulders. Thus nailed to the ground, the
poor fellow, knowing that there was no chance of
escape, threw up his feet from the knee-joint, so as to
present the soles in a horizontal position. Two men
Carrie forward with a pair of long stout bars of wood,
attached together by a cord, between which they
placed the feet, drawing them together with the
cord so as to fix thon in their horizontal position,
and leave the whole Hat surface exposed to the full
force of the blow. In the meantime two strong
Turks were standing ready, one at each side, armed
with long whips much resembling our common cow-
skin, but longer and thicker, and made of the tough
hide of the hippopotamus. While the occupation of
the judge was suspended by these preparations, the
janizary had presented the consul's letter. My
sensibilities are not particularly acute, but they
yielded in this instance. I had watched all the pre-
liminary arrangements, nerving myself for what was
to come, but when I heard the scourge whizzing
through the air, and, when the first blow fell upon
the naked feet, saw the convulsive movements of the
body, and heard the first loud, piercing shriek, I
eouid stand it no longer ; I broke through the crowd,
forgetting the governor and everything else, except
the agonizing sounds from which I was escaping;
but the janizary followed close at my heels, and, lay-
ing his hand upon my arm, hauled me back to the
governor. If I had consulted merely the impulse of
feeling, I should have consigned him, and the gover-
nor, and the whole nation of Turks, to the lower
regions; but it was all important not to offend this
summary dispenser of justice, and I never made a
greater sacrifice of feeling to expediency, than when
I re-entered his presence. The shrieks of the un-
happy criminal were ringing through the chamber,
but the governor received me with as calm a smile
as if he had been sitting on his own divan, listening
only to the strains of some pleasant music, while I
stood with my teeth clenched, and felt the hot
breath of the victim, and heard the whizzing of the
accursed whip, as it fell again and again upon his
bleeding feet. I have heard men cry out in agony
when the sea was raging, and the drowning man,
rising for the last time upon the mountain waves,
turned his imploring arms towards us, and with his
dying breath called in vain for help ; but I never
heard such heart-rending sounds as those from the
poor bastinadoed wretch before me. I thought the
governor would never make an end of reading the
letter, when the scribe handed it to him for his sig-
nature, although it contained but half a dozen lines;
he fumbled in his pocket for his seal, and dipped it in
the ink ; the impression did not suit him, and he
made another, and after a delay that seemed to me
eternal, employed in folding it, handed it to me with
a most gracious smile. I am sure I grinned horribly
in return, aud almost snatching the letter, just as the
last blow fell, I turned to hasten from the scene.
The poor scourged wretch was silent; he had found
relief' in happy insensibility ; I cast one look upon
the senseless body, and saw the feet laid open in
gashes, and the blood streaming down the legs. At
that moment the bars were taken away, and the
mangled feet fell like lead upon the floor. I had to
work my way through the crowd, and before I could
escape I saw the poor fellow revive, and by the first
natural impulse rise upon his feet, but fall again as
if he had stepped upon red-hot irons. He crawled
upon Iris hands and knees to the door of the hall,
and here I rejoiced to see that, miserable, and poor,
and degraded as he was, he had yet friends whose
hearts yearned towards him ; they took him in their
arms and carried him away.
FREDERIC HENRY HEDGE.
Fkedeeio II. Hedge was born at Cambridge,
Mass., December 12, 1805. His father, Levi
Hedge, was from 1810 to 1827 Professor of Logic
and Metaphysics in Harvard University, and in
1818 published a System of Logic, which has
been much used as a text- book in colleges, has
passed through several editions, and been trans-
lated into German. lie was the son of a clergy-
man, aud was born in Warwick, Mass., in 1707.
Ho died in Cambridge the last day of 1843. He
was a laborious student, and distinguished for his
painstaking fidelity as an instructor.
/ /&? £Z&sS
His sou Frederic was educated in Germany,
where in 1818 he was sent under the care of the
historian, George Bancroft. He was a pupil of a
celebrated teacher, David Ilgen, at the Gymna-
sium of Selmlpforte, where Klopstoek, Ficlite,
and Ranke, were instructed in their youth. He
returned to America in 1823, entered Harvard,
and was graduated in 1825. He studied theology ;
was chosen pastor of a Church in Cambridge in
1829; afterwards, in 1S35, removed to Bangor in
Maine, where he had charge of a congregation,
and in 1850 became pastor of the Westminster
Church in Providence, It. I. His literary pro-
ductions have been mostly in the department of
speculative and spiritual philosophy. In this pro-
vince he has been eminent, as an interpreter of
the German mind. He lias published orations,
lectures, discourses, reviews of theology, philoso-
phy, and literature.*
His poetical effusions are scattered through
various periodicals and annuals. They are mostly
translations from the German, of which he pub-
lished several in the volume with Dr. Furness's
version of the Song of the Bell at Philadelphia.
One of these, which we print from a corrected
copy, is
THE ANGELS' SONG- — FROM GOETHE'S " FAUST."
Raphael.
The sun is still for ever sounding
With brother spheres a rival song,
And on his destined journey bounding,
With thunder-step he speeds along.
The sight gives angels strength, though greater
Than angel's utmost thought sublime;
And all thy wondrous works, Creator,
Are grand as in creation's prime.
* Of the public discourses we may mention a Fourth of
July oration delivered to the citiz.-ns of Bangor ; an Address
at the opening of the Bangor Lyceum ; Conservatism and lie-
form, a Phi Beta Kappa oration before the Societies of Harvard
and Bowdoin.
Among Dr. Hedge's numerous articles to the Christian Ex-
aminer, we may refer to a review of Coleridge in March, 1833,
noticeable as one of the earliest essays from an American pen
on the transcendental philosophy of Germany ; an Essav on
Swedenborg, November, 1633 ; an Essay on Schiller, July, 1834;
an Essay on Phrenology, November, 1884, which excited much
attention, and called forth numerous replies; aa Essay on the
Genius aud Writings of R. W. Emerson. January. 1845 ; aa
Essay on Natural Religion. January, 1852; an Ecclesiastical
Christendom, July, 1851 ; Romanism in its worship, January,
1854.
The published sermons of Dr. Hedge include, with numerous
others, a Discourse before the Ancient and Honorable Artillery
Company, Boston, June, 1S34; a Discourse on the Death of
President Harrison, Bangor. 1841; on the Death of William
Ellery Channing, Bangor, 1^42 ; a Discourse before the Gra-
duating Class of the Cambridge Divinity School, 1S49.
422
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAS LITERATURE.
Gabriel.
And fleetly, thought surpassing, fleetly
The earth's green pomp is spinning round.
And Paradise alternates sweetly
"With night terrific and profound.
There foams the sea, its broad wave beating
Against the tall cliff's rocky base,
And rock and sea away are fleeting
In everlasting spheral chase.
Michael:
And storms with rival fury heaving,
From land to sea from sea to hind,
Still as they rave, a chain are weaving
Of deepest efficacy grand.
There burning Desolation blazes,
Precursor of the Thunder's way;
But, Lord, thy servants own with praiojo
The milder movement of thy day.
77ie Three.
The sight gives 'angels strength, though greater
Than angel's utmost thought sublime,
And all thy wondrous works, Creator,
Are glorious as in Eden's prime.
His other translations from the German are
chiefly included in the volume from Ins pen pub-
lished by Carey and Hart in 1848, The Prose
Writers of Germany, which contains biographi-
cal notices of the chief authors, with selections
from their writings. In the winter of 1 853-4
Dr. Hedge delivered a course of Lectures on
Mediaeval History, before the Lowell Institute at
Boston.
CONSERVATISM AND F.EFORM.S
Authority is not only a guide to the blind, but a
law to the seeing. It is not only a safe-conduct to
those (and they constitute the laiger portion of man-
kind) whose dormant sense has no intuitions of its
own, but we have also to consider it, as affording the
awakened but inconstant mind, a security against it-
self,— a centre of reference in the multitude of its own
visions, — in the conflict of its own volitions, a centre
of rest. Unbounded license is equally an evil, and
equally incompatible with true liberty, in thought as
in action. In the one as in the other, liberty must
bound and bind itself for its own preservation and
best effect. It must legalize and determine itself by
self-imposed laws. Law and liberty are not adverse,
but different sides of one fact. The deeper the law
the greater the liberty: .as organic life is at once
more determinate and more free than unorganized
matter, a plant than a stone, a bird than a plant,
the intellectual life, like the physical, must bind it-
self, in order that it may become effective and free.
It must organize itself by means of fixed principles
which shall protect it equally, against encroachment
without, and anarchy within. * * * The indi-
vidual is the product of the Past. However he may
renounce the connexion, he is always the child of
his time. He can never entirely shake off that re-
lation. All the efforts made to outstrip time, to an-
ticipate the natural growth of man by a violent
disruption of old ties and total separation from the
Past, have hitherto proved useless, or useful, if at
all, in the way of caution, rather than of fruit. The
experiment has often been tried. Jlen of ardent
temper and lively imagination, impatient of existing
evils, from which no period is exempt, have re-
nounced society, broke loose from all their moorings
in the actual, and sought in the boundless sea of dis-
* From a Tbi Beta Kappa OratioD, 1S43.
sent the promised land of Reform. They found
what they carried; they carried what they were;
they were what we all are — the offspring of their
time.
The aeronaut, who spurns the earth in his puffed
balloon, is still indebted to it for his impetus and his
wings : and still, with his utmost efforts, he cannot
escape the sure attiaction of the parent sphere.
His floating island is a part of her main. He re-
volves with her orbit, he is sped by her wings. We
who stand below and watch his motions, know that
he is one of us. He may dally with the clouds
awhile, but his home is not theie. Earth he is, and
to earth he must return.
The most air-blown reformer eannot overcome the
moral gravitation which connects him with his
time. He owes to existing institutions the whole
philosophy of his dissent, and draws, from Church
and State, the very ideas by which he would fight
against them, or rise above them. The individual
may withdraw from society, he may spurn at all the
uses of civilized life, dash the golden cup of tradi-
tion from his lips, and flee to the wilderness " where
the wild asses quench their thirst." He may find
others who will accompany him in his flight ; but
let him not fancy that the couise of reform will fol-
low him there, — that any permanent organization
can be based on dissent, — that society will relinquish
the hard conquests of so many years and return
again to original nature, wipe out the old civiliza-
tion, and — with rasa tabula — begin the world anew.
* * * There is no stand-point out of society,
from which society can be reformed. " Give me
where to stand," was the ancient postulate. " Find
where to stand," says modern Dissent. "Stand
where you are," says Goethe, " and move the world."
* * * The scholar must not coquet, in imagina-
tion, with the dowered and titled institutions of the
old world, and feci it a mischance which has matched
him with a portionless Republic. Let him, rather,
esteem it a privilege to be so connected, and glory in
the popular character of his own government, as a
genuine fruit of human progress, and the nearest
approximation yet madeto that divine right which all
governments claim. Let him not think it a shame
i to be with and of the people, in every genuine im-
pulse of the popular mind : not suffering the scholar
to extinguish the citizen, but remembering that the
citizen is before the scholar — the elder and higher
category of the two. He shall find himself to have
gained intellectually, as well as socially, by free and
frequent intercourse with the people, whose in-
stincts, in many things, anticipate his reflective wis-
dom, and in whose unconscious movements a fact ia
often forefelt before it is seen by reason ; as the
physical changes of our globe are felt by the lower
animals before they appear to man. * * * .No-
thing is more natural, than that men, who have con-
tributed something in their day to illustrate or ex-
tend the path of discovery in any direction, should
cling with avidity to those conclusions which they
have established for themselves, and which represent
the natural boundaries of their own mind — ' the
butt and sea-mark of its utmost sail,"— rothii g more
natural than that they, for their part, should feel a
disinclination to farther inquiry. But it ill becomes
them to deny the possibility of farther discovery —
to maintain that they have found tire bottom of the
well where truth lies hid, because they have reached
the limits of their own specific gravity. One sees at
once, that in some branches of inquiry this position
is not only untenable, but the very enunciation of it
absurd. It would require something more than the
authority of Ilersehel to make us believe that crea-
tion stops with the limits of his forty feet reflector.
MATTHEW F. MAURY.
423
Nor would the assertion of Sir Humphrey Davy be
sufficient to convince us that all the properties of
matter have been catalogued in his report. By
what statute of limitations are we forbidden to in-
dulge the same hope of indefinite progress in every
other direction, which remains to us in these ?
MATTHEW F. MAURY.
Mattiiew Fontaine Maury, a descendant of the
Rev. James Fontaine, an eminent Huguenot
preacher (the founder of a large and influential
American family, and author of an autobiography
which has recently for the second time been re-
published in connexion with a highly interesting
sketch of the worthy and his descendants, by one
of their number, Miss Ann Maury of New York),
was born in Spottsylvania county, Virginia, Janu-
ary 14, 1806. His parents removed to Tennessee
in his fourth year. One of a family of nine chil-
dren, in a newly settled country, he would have
received few of the advantages of education had
it not been for the care of the bishop of the dio-
cese, the Rev. James H. Otey, who, forming a
high opinion of his intellectual promise, did much
to lit him for a life of future usefulness. In 1824
he obtained a midshipman's commission, was
placed on board the Brandywine, and sailed witli
General Lafayette to France. On his return he
accompanied the frigate to the Pacific, was trans-
ferred to the Vincennes, and in that vessel com-
pleted the circumnavigation of the globe. He
again sailed, as passed-midshiprnan, to the Pacific,
where he was transferred as lieutenant to the Po-
tomac. While at sea he devoted his leisure time
to the study of mathematics, a branch of know-
ledge in which he at first found himself unequal
to the requirements of his profession. For the
purpose of extending at the same time his know-
ledge of modern languages he made use of Spa-
nish mathematical works. As he pursued his in-
vestigations he became greatly inconvenienced by
the necessity of referring to a number of different
volumes, and with a view to save others a like dif-
culty prepared, amid the annoyances and interrup-
tions of life at sea, a work on navigation. It was
commenced in the steerage of the Vincennes, con-
cluded in the Potomac, and published about the
year 1835, when it met with general acceptance.
In the. same year he was appointed astronomer to
the South Sea Exploring Expedition, but, on the
withdrawal of Commodore Jones from the chief
command, declined the appointment.
In 1839 he contributed an article to the South-
ern Literary Messenger, entitled A Scheme for re-
building Southern Commerce, containing observa-
tions on the Gulf Stream and Great Circle Sailing,
which were afterwards more fully developed.
A few months later, in October, 1839, while on
his way from Tennessee to join a surveying ves-
sel in the harbor of New York, the stage-coach
in which he was passing through Ohio was over-
turned, and the traveller broke a leg, dislocated a
knee, and suffered other injuries, which, after
several mouths' weary confinement, resulted in a
permanent lameness, which disabled him for the
active pursuit of his profession. He amused him-
self by writing, during the long period of impri-
sonment in a wretched wayside tavern to which
his bandaged limb subjected him, a series of arti-
cles on various abuses in the Navy, which were
^p^l^Z, C^ S/^TZ-
&—e~*^1s--r
published in the Southern Literary Messenger,
under the pleasant title of Scraps from the Lucky
Bag, by Harry Bluff.
On his retirement from the Exploring Expedi-
tion, Lieutenant Maury was placed in charge of
the collection of books and charts belonging to the
government, which has since expanded into the
National Observatory and Hydrographical office,
now known as the Naval Observatory, the change
of title having been made in 1855. Lieutenant
Maury is at the head of both of these institutions,
which owe their extent and efficiency mainly to
his efforts. In 1842 he first proposed the plan for
a system of uniform observations of winds and
currents, which form the basis of his celebrated
and valuable charts and sailing-directions.
In 1853 he attended a convention of maritime
nations at Brussels to carry out his suggestions
for a conference to determine upon a uniform sys-
tem of observations at sea. Plans were adopted
by which ships, under all the great flags of Chris-
tendom, are engaged in adding to the. resources of
science, mapping out roads on the ocean with the
precision of engineers on terra firma, and striving
to obtain with equal exactness the laws of the
clouds above and the depths below.
In 1855 he published The Physical Geography
of the Sea* a work in which he has embodied the
results of his varied investigations in a narrative
of remarkable clearness and interest. His de-
scriptions of natural phenomena, and of the voy-
ages of rival vessels, sailing at the same dates to
the same ports, along his sea lines, possess dra-
matic interest. A pleasant vein of humor shows
itself now and then as he speaks of the rummaging
of garrets and sea chests for old log-books which
his investigations, naturally exciting the enthu-
siasm of others as well as himself, called forth.
This quality of humor finds a wider scope in the
magazine papers of the writer, and is a pleasant
characteristic of his correspondence and conver-
sation.
* 8vo. pp. 2T4. A second edition, revised and enlarged, im-
mediately appeared.
424
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
In addition to this volume and the letter-press
accompanying his various charts, Lieutenant Mau-
ry is the author of several addresses delivered in
various parts of the country, among which we
may mention those before the Geological and
Mineralogical Society of Fredericksburg, May,
1830; before the Southern Scientific Convention
at Memphis in 1849 on the Pacific railway, and
at most of the other meetings of the same body ;
and at the first anniversary of the American Geo-
graphical and Statistical Society in the city of
New York, 1854.
LAW OF COMPENSATION IN THE ATMOSPHERE*
Whenever I turn to contemplate the works of na-
ture, I am struck with the admirable system of com-
pensation, witli- the beauty and nicety with which
every department is poised by the others ; tilings
and principles are meted out in directions the most
opposite, but in proportions so exactly balanced and
nicely adjusted, that results the most harmonious
are produced.
It is by the action of opposite and compensating
forces that the earth is kept in its orbit, and the stars
are held suspended in the azure vault of heaven ;
and these forces are so exquisitely a . .listed, that, at
the end of a thousand years, the earth, the sun, and
moon, and every star in the firmament, is found to
come to its proper place at the proper moment.
Nay, philosophy teaches us, when the little snow-
drop, winch in our garden walks we see raising its
beautiful head to remind us that spring is at hand,
was created, that the whole mass of the earth, from
pole to pole, and from circumference to centre, must
have been taken into account and weighed, in order
that the proper degree of strength might be given to
the fibres of even this little plant.
Botanists tell us that the constitution of tins plant
is such as to require that, at a certain stage of its
growth, the stalk should bend, and the flower should
bow its head, that an operation may take place which
is necessary in order that the herb should produce
seed after its kind ; and that, after this, its vegetable
health requires that it should lift its head again and
stand erect. Now, if the mass of the earth had been
greater or less, the force of gravity would have been
different; in that case, the strength of fibre in the
snow-drop, as it is, would have been too much or
too little ; the plant could not bow or raise its head
at the right time, fecundation could not take place,
and its family would have become extinct with the
first individual that was planted, because its " seed"
would not have been in " itself," and therefore it
could not reproduce itself.
Now, if we see such perfect adaptation, such ex-
quisite adjustment, in the ease of one of the smallest
flowers of the field, how much more may we not
expect " compensation" in the atmosphere and the
ocean, upon the right adjustment and due perform-
ance of which depends not only the life of that plant,
but the well-being of every individual that is found
in the entire vegetable and animal kingdoms of the
World?
When the east winds blow along the Atlantic coast
for a little while, they bring us air saturated with
moisture from the Gulf Stream, and we complain of
the sultry, oppressive, heavy atmosphere ; the inva-
lid grows worse, and the well man feels ill, because,
when he takes this atmosphere into his lungs, it is
already so charged with moisture that it cannot take
up and carry off that which encumbers his lungs,
* From the Physical Geography of tho Sea.
and which nature has caused his blood to bring and
leave there, that respiration may take up and carry
off. At other times the air is dry and hot; he feels
that it is conveying off matter from the lungs too
fast; he realizes the idea that it is consuming him,
and he calls the sensation parching.
Therefore, in considering the general laws which
govern the physical agents of the universe, and re-
gulate them in the due performance of their offices,
I have felt myself constrained to set out with the
assumption that, if the atmosphere had had a
greater or less capacity for moisture, or if the pro-
portion of land and water had been different — if the
earth, air, and water had not been in exact counter-
poise— the whole arrangement of the animal and
vegetable kingdoms would have varied from their
present state. But God chose to make those king-
doms what they are; for this purpose it was neces-
sary, in his judgment, to establish the proportions
between the laud ami water, and the desert, just as
they are, and to make the capacity of the air to cir-
culate heat and moisture just what it is, and to have
it do all its work in obedience to law and in subser-
vience to order. If it were not so, why was power
given to the winds to lift up and transport moisture,
or the property given to the sea by which its waters
may become first vapor, and then fruitful showers or
gentle dews? If the proportions and properties of
land, sea, and air were not adjusted according to the
reciprocal capacities of all to perform the functions
required by each, why should we be told that he
" measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, and
comprehended the dust in a measure, and weighed
the mountains in scales, and the hills in a balance?"
Why did he span the heavens, but that he might
mete out the atmosphere in exact proportion to all
the rest, and impart to it those properties and pow-
ers which it was necessary for it to have, in order
that it might perform all those offices and duties for
which he designed it?
Harmonious in their action, the air and sea are
obedient to law and subject to order in all their
movements ; when we consult them in the perform-
ance of their offices, they teach us lessons concerning
the wonders of the deep, the mysteries of the sky,
the greatness, and the wisdom, and goodness of the
Creator. The investigations into the broad-spread-
ing circle of phenomena connected with the winds
of heaven and the waves of the sea are second to
none for the good which they do and the lessons
which thejy teach. The astronomer is said to see
the hand of God in the sky; but does not the right-
minded mariner, who looks aloft as he ponders over
these things, hear his voice in every wave of the sea
that " claps its hands," and feel his presence in every
breeze that blows ?
HERMAN HOOKEE,
A bookseller of Philadelphia, who began life as
a student of divinity at Princeton, and subse-
quently became a clergyman of the Protestant
Episcopal Church, the active duties of which ho
was compelled to relinquish by ill health, was
born at Poultney, Vermont, about the year 1806.
He is the author of several works esteemed for
their Christian philosophy ; of these the chief are
The Portion of the Soul, or Tlioughts on its At-
tributes and Tendencies as Indications of its Des-
tiny, published in 1835 ; Popular Infidelity, en-
titled in a late edition, The Philosophy if Unbe-
lief in Morals and Religion, as Discernible in. the
Faith and Character of Men ; The Uses of Ad-
versity and the Provisions of Consolation ; a vo-
William r. williams.
425
Inme of Maxims; and The Christian Life, a
Fight of Faith.
As a characteristic specimen of Dr. Hooker's
skilful evolution of his topic, we cite a passage of
a practical character from the "Philosophy of
Unbelief:"—
GRATITUDE TO GOD.
It requires no great insight into human nature, to
discover the remnants of a now fallen, but once glo-
rious structure ; and, what is most remarkable, to see
that the remains of this ancient greatness are more
apt to be quickened and drawn out by their sem-
blances and qualities, fouud in creatures, than by the
bright and full perfection of them which is in the
Creator; — that the heart puts on its most benign
face, and sends forth prompt returns of gratitude and
love to creatures who have bestowed on us favor and
displayed other amiable qualities, while He, whose
goodness is so great, so complete, so pervading, that
there is none besides it, is unrequited, uuheeded,
unseen, though hanging out his glory from the hea-
vens, and coming down to us in streams of compassion
and love, which have made an ocean on earth that is
to overflow and till it. How strange it is, that all
this love, so wonderful in itself, so undeserved, so dif-
fused, that we see it in every beauty, and taste it in
every enjoyment, — should be lost on creatures whose
love for the gentler and worthier qualities of each
other, runs so often into rapture and devotion?
How strange that they should be so delighted with
streams which have gathered such admixtures of
earth, which cast up such " mire ami dirt," and have
such shallows and falls that we often wreck our
hopes in them, — as not to be reminded by them of
the great and unmixed fountain whence they have
flowed, or of the great ocean, to whose dark and
uubottomed depths they will at last settle, as too
earthy to rise to its pure and glorious surface!
There are .many mysteries in human nature, but
none greater than this : for while it shows man is
so much a creature of sense and so devoid of faith,
that objects, to gain his attention and affection, must
not only be present to him, but have something of
sense and self in them, we are still left to wonder
how he could, with such manifestations of divine
goodness in him, around him, and for him, have failed
to see and adore them, and become so like a brute,
as not to think of God, the original of all that is
lovely, when thinking of those his qualities which so
please and affect him in creatures ; and this, though
they be so soiled and defaced by sin, that his un-
mixed fondness for any the most agreeable of them,
instead of being an accomplishment, is a sure indi-
cation of a mind sunk greatly below the standard
allotted to it by the Creator.
Our wonder will be raised higher still, if we con-
sider that our nature, when most corrupt and per-
verse, is not wholly lost to all sense of gratitude, but
may be wrought upon by human kindness, when all
the amazing compassion and love of God fail to affect
it; if we consider that the very worst of men who
set their faces against the heavens, affronting the
mercy and defying the majesty thereof, are some-
times so softened with a sense of singular and unde-
served favors, that their hearts swell with grateful
sentiments towards their benefactors, and something
akin to virtue is kindled up where nothing of the
kind was seen before ; we might think it incredible,
if there was any doubting of what we see and know.
When we see such men so ready to acknowledge
their obligations to their fellows, and to return ser-
vice for service ; so impatient of being thought un-
grateful, when they have any character or interest
to promote by it, and sometimes when they have
not; so strongly affected with the goodness of him
who has interposed between them and temporal dan-
ger or death, and yet so little moved by the love of
God in Christ, which has undertaken their rescue
from eternal and deserved woes, and not merely
their rescue, but their exaltation to fellowship with
himself, and to the pleasures for evermore at his
right hand, — a love compared with which the great-
est love of creatures is as a ray of light to the sun,
and that ray mixed and darkened, while this is so
disinterested and free in the grounds and motives of
it, that it is exercised towards those who have nei-
ther merit to invite, nor disposition to receive it;
when we see this, and find that this love, so worthy
in itself, so incomprehensible in its degree and in
the benefits it would confer, is the oidy love to which
they make no returns of thankfulness or regard, we
may ascribe as much of it as we please to the hard-
ness and corruption of their hearts, but that will not
account for such conduct. Depravity, considered
by itself, will not enable us fully to understand it.
Depraved, sensual, and perverse as they are, they
have something in them that is kindled by human
kindness, and why should it not be kindled by the
greater " kindness of God our Saviour ?" It is not
because it is a divine kindness; not that it is less
needed — not that it is bestowed in less measure, or
at less expense. And if it is because they do not
apprehend this kindness, do not feel their need of it,
do not see anything affecting in the measure and
expense of it, this is infidelity; and it grows out of
an entire misconception of their own character, and
of the character and law of God. It is a total blind-
ness to distant and invisible good and evil. It is a
venturing of everything most important to them-
selves on an uncertainty, which they would not and
could not do, if they had any understanding of the
value of the interests at stake. They really see no-
thing important but the gratifications of sense and
'time: still they have the remains of a capacity for
something higher. These may be contemplated with
profit, if not with admiration. They resemble the
motions in the limbs and heart of animals, when the
head is severed from the body. They are symptoms
of a life that of itself must come to nothing , a life
that is solely pouring itself out on the ground. But
as this is nil the life they have, an image of life, and
that only of life in death; and as the motions of it
are only excited by the creature's kindness, we dis-
cover in their best virtues, or rather, in their only
breathings and indications of virtue, the evidence
of a faithless heart.
WILLIAM E. WILLIAMS.
A niGFiT.Y esteemed clergyman of the Baptist de-
nomination, who has for many years past been
minister of the Amity street congregation in
New York. He is the son of a former clergy-
man, of Welsh origin, much respected in the
city.
Though a quiet and retired student, fond of
books aiid skilled in their various lore, and more
given to discourse of his favorite topics at home
than abroad, Dr. Williams has on several occa-
sions afforded the public, beyond his attached
congregation, proof of his ability.
His occasional addresses and lectures, chiefly
in the direct course- of his ministry, show a
mind of fine order, exhibiting delicacy of taste,
devotional earnestness, and the reading of the
cultivated scholar. They are mostly included
in a volume of Miscellanies, published in 1850,
426
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
which contains A Discourse on Ministerial Re-
sponsibility, delivered before the Hudson River
Baptist Association in 1S35; An Address, Tlie
Conservative Principle in our Literature, de-
livered in 1843, before the literary societies of the
Hamilton Literary and Theological Institution,
Madison County, £T. Y. ; several eloquent occa-
sional Sermons ; and among other papers, one on
The Lfe and Times of Baxter, which indicates
the happy manner in which Dr. Williams em-
ploys the resources of his library. Another illus-
tration of his copious stores of reading was
afforded to the public in the hitherto unpublished
Address pronounced in 1854 before the Alumni
of Columbia College, New York, on occasion of
the completion of a century in the career of that
institution. It was a retrospective review of the
literature and other liberal inlluences of the year
of the college foundation, 1754.
Dr. Williams is also the author of two volumes
of a practical devotional character, entitled Reli-
gions Progress, and Lectures on the Lord's
Prayer.
Though the utterance of Dr. Williams is fee-
ble, and his health apparently infirm, few clergy-
men of the day have a firmer hold upon their
hearers. His delivery is in low measured tone;
the main topic of the discourse flowing easily on,
while occasional illustrations from history or bio-
graphy fall like leaves from the trees, refreshing
its banks, into the unconscious current of his
style.
AN AGE OF PASSION.
Our age is eminently, in some of its leading minds,
an age of passion. It is seen in the character of
much of the most popular literature, and especially
the poetry of our day. Much of this has been the
poetry of intense passion, it mattered little how un-'
principled that passion might be. An English scho-
lar lately gone from this world (it is to Southey that
we refer), branded this school of modern literature,
in the person of its great and titled leader, as the
Satanic school. It has talent and genius, high pow-
ers of imagination and language, and boiling energy;
but it is, much of it, the energy of a fallen and revolt-
ed angel, with no regard for the right, no vision into |
eternity, and no hold on Heaven. We would not
declaim against passion when employed in the ser-
vice of literature. Informed by strong feelings,
truth becomes more awful and more lovely ; and
some of the ages which unfettered the passions of a
nation, have given birth to master-pieces of genius.
But Passion divorced from Virtue is ultimately
among the fellest enemies to literary excellence.
When voiced to the car of duty, and reined in by prin-
ciple, passion is in its appropriate place, and may
accomplish a mighty service. But when, in domes-
tic life, or political, or in the .walks of literature,
passion throws off these restraints and exults in its
own uncontrolled power, it is as useless for purposes
of good, and as formidable from its powers of evil,
as a car whose fiery coursers have shaken off bit and
rein, and trampled under foot their charioteer. The
Maker of man made conscience to rule his other fa-
culties, and when it is dethroned, the result is ruin.
Far as the literature to which we have alluded
spreads, it cherishes an insane admiration for mere
talent or mental power. It substitutes as a guide in
morals, sentiment for conscience ; and makes blind
feeling the irresistible fate, whose will none may
dispute, and whose doirgs are beyond the jurisdic-
tion of casuists or lawgivers. It has much of occa-
sional tenderness, and can melt at times into floods
of sympathy ; but tins softness is found strangely
blended with a savage violence. Such things often
co-exist. As in the case of the French hangman,
who in the time of their great revolution was found,
fresh from his gory work of the guillotine, sobbing
over the sorrows of Werther, it contrives to ally the
sanguinary to the sentimental. It seems, at first
sight, much such an ill-assorted match as if the fami-
ly of Mr. Wet-eyes in one of Bunynn's matchless al-
legories, were wedded to that of Giant Bloody-man
in the other. But it is easily explained. It has been
found so in all times when passion has been made to
take the place of reason as the guide of a people,
and conscience has been thrust from the throne to
be succeeded by sentiment. The luxurious and the
cruel, the fierce and the voluptuous, the licentious
and the relentless readily coalesce ; and we soon are
made to perceive the. fitness of the classic fable by
which, in the old Greek mythology, Venus was seen
knitting her hands with Mars, the goddess of sen-
suality allying herself with the god of slaughter.
We say, much of the literature of the present and
the last generation is thus the caterer of passion —
lawless, fierce, and vindictive passion. And if a re-
tired student may " through the loop-holes of reti eat"
read aright the world of fashion, passion seems at
times acquiring an unwonted ascendency in the
popular amusements of the age. The lewd panto-
mime and dance, from which the less refined fashion
of other times would have turned her blushing and
indignant face, the gorgeous spectacle and the shows
of wild beasts, and even the sanguinary pugilistic
combat, that sometimes recalsthe gladiatorial shows
of old Rome, have become, in our day, the favorite
recreations of some classes among the lovers of plea-
sure. These are, it should be remembered, nearly
the same with the favorite entertainments of the
later Greek empire, when, plethoric by its wealth,
and enervated by its luxury, that power was about
to be trodden down by the barbarian invasions of
the north.
It is possible that the same dangerous ascendency
of passion may be fostered, where we should have
been slow to suspect it, by the ultraism of some good
men among the social reformers of our time. Wil-
berforce was, in the judgment of Mackintosh, the
very model of a reformer, because he united an ear-
nestness that never flagged with a sweetness that
never failed. There are good men that have nothing
of this last trait. Amid the best intentions there
is occasionally, in the benevolent projects even of
this day, a species of Jack Cadeism, if we may be
allowed the expression, enlisted in the service of re-
form. It seems the very opposite of the character
of Wilberforee, nourishes an acridity and violence
of temper that appears to delight in repelling, and
seeks to enkindle feeling by wild exaggeration and
personal denunciation ; raves in behalf of good with
the very spirit of evil, and where it cannot convince
assent, would extort submission. Even truth itself,
when administered at a scalding heat, cannot benefit
the recipient; and the process is not safe for the
hands of the administrator himself.
Far be it from us to decry earnestness when shown
in the cause of truth and justice, or to forget how
the passion awakened in some revolutionary crisis of
a people's history, has often infused into the pro-
ductions of genius an unwonted energy, and clothed
them as with an immortal vigor. But it is passion
yoked to the chariot of reason, and curbed by the
strong hand of principle ; laboring in the traces, but
not grasping the reins. But set aside argument and
truth, and give to passion its unchecked course, and
the effect is fatal. It may at first seem to clothe a
WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS.
427
literature, with new energy, but it is the mere ener-
gy of intoxication, soon spent, and for which there
speedily come* a sure and bitter reckoning. The
bonds of principle are loosened, the tastes and habits
of society corrupted; and the effects are sion seen
exte lUing themselves to the very form and style of
a literature as well as to the morality of its produc-
tions. The iuteuse is substituted fin* the natural and
true. What is effective is sought for rather than
what is exact. Our literature therefore has little,
in such portions of it, of the high finish and serene
repose of the master-piece3 of classic antiquity, where
passion in its highest flights is seen wearing grace-
fully all the restraining rules of art : and power toils
ever as under the severe eye of order.
WILLIAM GILMOEE SIMM9,
On'E of the most consistent and accomplished
authors by profession the country has produced, is
a native of Charleston, South Carolina. He was
born April 17, 1S06. His father, who bore the
same name, was of Scoto-Irish descent, and his
mother, Harriet Ann Augusta Singleton, was of
a Virginia family, which came early to the state,
and was found in the Revolutionary times on the
Whig side. William Gilinore Simms, the elder,
having failed in Charleston as a merchant, re-
moved to Tennessee, where he held a commission
in Coffee's brigade of mounted men, under the
command of Jackson, employed in the Indian
war against the Creeks and Seuiinoles. His wife
died while our author, the sec ind sonj was in his
infancy, and he was left in the absence of his
father to the care of his grandmother. Though
bis early education derived little aid from the
pecuniary means of his family, which were limit-
ed, and "though he had not the benefit of early
classical training, yet the associations of tins part
of his life were neither unhappy nor unproductive,
while his energy of character and richly endowed
intellect were marking out an immediate path of
mental activity and honor. Choosing the law
for a profession, he was admitted to the bar at
Charleston at the age of twenty-one. He did
not long practise the profession, but turned its
peculiar .training to the lues of a literary life.
His first active engagement was in the editorship
of a daily newspaper, the {Jharleitoa City Gazette,
in which lie opposed the prevailing doctrines of
nullification ; he wrote with industry and spirit,
but being interested in the paper as its proprie-
tor, and the enterprise proving unsuccessful, he
was stripped by its failure of the limited patri-
mony he had embarked in it.
The commencement of his career as an author
had preceded this. He wrote verses at eight
years of age, and first appeared before the public
as a poet, in the publication, about 1825, of a
Monody on Get.. Charles Gotesworth Piuckney.
A volume, Lyrical and other Poems, appeared
from his pen, in 1827, at Charleston, followed by
Early Lays the same year. Another volume,
The Vision of Cortes, Cain, and other Poems,
appeared in 1829, and the next year a celebration,
in verse, of the French Revolution of 1830, The
Tricolor, or Three Days of Blood in Paris.
Shortly after this date, in 1832, Mr. Simms
visited New York, where his imaginative poem,
Atalantis, a Story of the Sea, published by the
Harpers in that year, introduced him to the lite-
rary circles of the city, in which be was warmly
welcomed. Atalantis was a successful poem
with the publishers, a rarity at any time, and
more noticeable in this case as the work of an
unheralded, unknown author. It is written with
easy elegance, in smooth blank verse, interspersed
with frequent lyrics. Atalantis, a beautiful and
virtuous princess of the Nereids, is alternately
flattered and threatened by a monster into whose
power she has fallen, by straying on the ocean
beyond her domain, and becoming subject to his
magical spells. She recovers her freedom by
the aid of a shipwrecked Spanish knight, whoso
earthly nature enables him to penetrate the gross
atmosphere of the island which the demon had
extemporized for her habitation. The prison
disappears, and the happy pair descend to tho
caves of ocean.
The next year the Harpers published Mr.
Simms's first tale, Martin Faber, the Story of a
Criminal, written in the intense passionate style.
It secured at once public attention.
The author had now fairly entered upon the
active literary life which he has since pursued
without interruption ; and so uniform has been
his career, that a few words will cum up the inci-
dents of his history. A second marriage to tho
daughter of Mr. Roach, a wealthy planter of the
Burnwell district, his first wife having died soon
after their union before his visit to New York ; a
seat in the state legislature, and the reception of
the. Doctorate of Laws from the University of
Alabama: his summer residence at Charleston and
his home winter life on the plantation Woodlands
Woodlands.
at Midway, with frequent visits to the northern
cities ; these are the few external incidents of
; a career, the events of which must be sought for
in the achievements of the author. The latter are
sufficiently numerous and important.
To proceed with their production in some classi-
fied order, the author's poems may he first enume-
rated. The publication, next to those already
mentioned, was a volume in New York in 1839,
Southern Passages and Pictures, lyrical, senti-
mental, and descriptive; Donna Florida, a Tile,
in the Don Juan style with a Spanish heroine, pub-
lished at Charleston in 1843; Grouped Thoughts
I and Scattered Fancies, a collection of sonnets;
I Areytos, or Songs of the South, 184C; Lays of the
428
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Palmetto, a number of ballads illustrative of the
progress of the South Carolina regiments in the
Mexican war in 1848 ; a new edition of Atalantis
the same year at Philadelphia, with a collection,
The Eye and the Wing ; Poems Chiefly Imagina-
tive ; The Cassique of Accabee, a Tale of Ashley
Piter, with other pieces, New York, 1849 ; TJie
City of the Silent, a poem delivered at the Con-
secration of Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, in
1850.
In 1853, two volumes of poems were published
by Redfield, comprising a selection, with revisions
and additions, from the preceding. In dramatic
literature, Mr. Simms has written Norman Mau-
rice, or the Man of the People, in which the action
is laid in the present day, and the author grap-
ples resolutely in blank verse with the original
every -day materials of familiar life. The scene
opens in Philadelphia. Maurice is the suitor for
the hand of Clarice, whom he marries, to the
discomfiture of an intriguing aunt, Mrs. Jervas
(whose name and character recall her prototype
in Pamela), and a worthless Robert Warren,
kinsman and enemy — who retains a forged paper
which Maurice had playfully executed as a boyish
freak of penmanship, which had been made nego-
tiable, and which Maurice had " taken up," re-
ceiving from bis cunning relative a copy of the
paper in place of the original, the latter being
kept to ruin hiin as time might serve. In the
second act, we have Maurice pursuing his career
in the west, in Missouri, as the Man of the Peo-
ple. In a law suit which he conducts for a widow,
he confronts in her oppressor the fire-eating bully
of the region, with whom he fights a duel, and is
talked of for senator. The scoundrel Warren fol-
lows him, and seeks to gain control over his wife
by threatening to produce the forged paper at a
critical moment for his political reputation. She
meets the villain to receive the paper, and stabs
him. The widow's cause is gained ; all plots, per-
sonal and political, discomfited ; and Missouri, at
the close, enjoys the very best prospect of secur-
ing an honest senator. Though this play is a bold
attempt, with much new ground to be broken, it
is managed with such skill, in poetical blank verse,
and with so consistent, manly a sentiment, that
we pay little attention to its difficulties. Michael
Bonliam, or the Full of the Alamo, is a romantic
drama founded upon an event in Texan history.
Both of these have been acted with success. Mr.
Simms has also adapted for stage purposes Shake-
speare's play of Timon, with numerous additions
of Ins own. This drama has been purchased
by Mr. Forrest, and is in preparation for the
stage.
Of Mr. Simms's Revolutionary Romances,
The Partisan, published in 1835, was the ear-
liest, the first of a tribigy completed by the
publication of Mellichampe and Katharine
Walton, or the Eebel of Dorchester, which con-
tains a delineation of social life at Charleston in
the Revolutionary period. The action of these
pieces covers the whole period of active warfare
of the Revolution in South Carolina, and presents
every variety of military and patriotic movement
of the regular and partisan encounter of the
swamp and forest country. They include the
career of Marion, Sumpter, Pickens, Moultrie,
Hayne, and others, on the constant battle-field of
the state, South Carolina being the scene of the
most severe conflicts of the Revolution. These
works have been succeeded at long intervals by
The Scout, originally called The Kinsmen, or
the Black Eiders of the Congaree, and Woodcraft,
or Hoicks about the Dovecot, originally published
as The Sword and the Distaff. Euiaw, which
includes the great action known by this name, is
the latest of the author's compositions in this
field. Guy Eirers, a Tale of ■ Georgia, the first
regularly constructed novel of Mr. Simms, belongs
to a class of border tales, with which ma}' be
clashed Eichard Hurdis, or the Arenger of Blood,
a Tale of Alabama ; Border Beagles, a Tale of
Mississippi ; Beauchampe, a Tale of Kentucky,
founded upon a story of crime in the state, which
has employed ' the pens of several American
writers ; Helen Hahey, or the Sicarnp State of
Conelachita ; The Golden Christinas, a Chronicle
of St. John's, Berkeley.
The Historical Romances include The Temassee,
a Eomance of Carolina, an Indian story, founded
upon the general conspiracy of that Colony to
massacre the whites in 1715 — the portraiture
of the Indian in this work, based by Mr. Simms
upon personal knowledge of many of the tribes,
correcting numerous popular misconceptions of
the character ; Peiayo, a Story of the Goth, and
its sequel, Count Julian, both founded on the
invasion of Spain by the Saracens, the fate of
Roderick, and the apostasy of the traitor from
whom the second work is named ; The Damsel
of Darien, the hero of which is the celebrated
"Vasco Nunez de Balboa, the discoverer of the
Pacific; The Lily and the Totem, or the Hugue-
nots in Florida, an historical romance, of one of
the most finely marked and characteristic epi-
sodes in the colonial annals of the country,
bringing into view the three rival nations of
Spain, France, and the Red Men of the Continent,
at the very opening of the great American drama
before the appearance of the English; Vascoti-
celos,.the scene of which includes the career of
De Soto in Florida and the Havannali. In the
last work Mr. Simms introduces the degradation
of a knight by striking off his spurs, under the
most imposing scenes -of chivalry — one of the
most delicate and elaborate of his many sketches.
This was first published under the nom de plume
of " Frank Cooper."
Another class of Mr. Simms's novels may be
generally ranked as the moral and the imaginative,
and are both of a domestic and romantic interest.
This was the author's earliest vein, the series open-
ing with Martin Faber, published in 1833, fol.
lowed at intervals by Carl Werner, Confession of
the Blind Heart, The Wigwam and The Cabin, a
collection of tales, including several in which an
interest of the imagination is sustained -with
striking effect; and Castle Dismal, or the Bache-
lor's Christmas, a domestic legend, in 1844, a
South Carolina Ghost Story ; Marie de Berniere,
a Tale of the Crescent City, with other short ro-
mances.
In History, Mr. Simms has produced a History
of South Carolina, and South Carolina in the De-
volution, a critical and argumentative work, sug-
gestive of certain clues overlooked by historians.
A Geograpihy of South Carolina may ,be ranked
under this head, and reference should be made to
WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS.
429
the numerous elaborate review and magazine
articles, of which a protracted discussion of the
Gitil Warfare of the South in the Southern
Literary Messenger, the American Loyalists of
the Revolutionary Period in the Southern Quar-
terly Review, and frequent papers illustrating the
social and political history of the South, are the
most noticeable. Mr. Simms's contributions to
Biography embrace a Life of Francis Marion,
embodying a minute and comprehensive view of
the partisan warfare in which he was engaged ;
The Life of John Smith, which affords oppor-
tunity for the author's best narrative talent and
display of the picturesque; a kindred subject,
The Life of the Chevalier Bayard, handled con
amove, and The Life of General Greene, of the
Revolution. These are all works of consider-
able extent, and are elaborated with care.
In Criticism, Mr. Simms's pen has traversed
the wide field of the literature of his day, both
foreign and at home. He has edited the imputed
plays of Shakespeare, with notes and preliminary
essays*
To Periodical literature he has always been a
liberal contributor, and has himself founded and
conducted several reviews and magazines. Among
these may be mentioned The Southern Literary
Gazette, a monthly magazine, which reached two
volumes in 1825 ; The Cosmopolitan, Ah Occa-
sional ; The Magnolia, or Southern Apalachian,
a literary magazine and monthly review, pub-
lished at Charleston in 1842-3; The Southern
and Western Monthly Magazine and Review, pub-
lished in two volumes in 1845, which he edited ;
while he has frequently contributed to the Knick-
erbocker, Orion, Southern Literary Messenger,
Graham's, G-odey's, and other magazines. A re-
view of Mrs. Trollope, in the American Quarterly
for 1832, attracted considerable attention at the
time. In 1849, Mr. Simms became editor of the
Southern Quarterly Review, to which he had pre-
viously contributed, and which was revived by his
writings and personal influence. Several Miscel-
laneous productions may be introduced in this con-
nexion. The Bool: of my Lady, a melange, in
1833 ; Views and Reviews of American History,
Literature, and Art, including several lectures,
critical papers, and biographical sketches ; Father
Abbot, or the Home Tourist, a Medley, embracing
sketches of scenery, life, manners, and customs
of the South ; Egeria, or Voices of Ttouyht and
Counsel for. the Woods and Wayside, a collection
of aphorisms, and brief essays in prose and verse ;
Southward Ho! a species of Decameron, in which
a group of travellers interchanging opinion and
criticism, discuss the scenery and circumstances
of the South, with frequent introduction of song
and story ; The Morals of Slavery, first pub-
lished in the Southern Literary Messenger, and
'since included in the volume entitled The Pro-
Slavery Argument.
In addition to these numerous literary produc-
tions, Mr. Simms is the author of several orations
on public occasions, — The Social Principle, the
True Secret of National Permanence, delivered in
* A Supplement to tie Plays of William Shakespeare, com-
prising the Seven Dramas which have been ascribed to his pen,
but which are not included witli his writings in modern edi-
tions, edited with notes, and an introduction to each play. Svo.
Cooledge & Brother : New York. 1S4S.
1842 before the literary societies of the Univer-
sity of Alabama ; The True Sources of American
Independence, in 1844, before the town council
and citizens of Aiken, S. C. ; Self-Development,
in 1847, before the literary societies of Oglethorpe
University, Georgia ; The Battle of Fort Moul-
trie, an anniversary discourse on Sullivan's Island ;
two courses of lectures, of three each, On Poetry
and the Practical, and The Moral Character of
Hamlet.
V^z-it/'Zw-^/'
The numerous writings of Mr. Simms are
characterized by their earnestness, sincerity, and
thoroughness. Hard- worker as he is in litera-
ture, he pursues each subject with new zeal and
enthusiasm. They are a remarkable series of
works, when it is considered how largo a portion
of them involve no inconsiderable thought and
original research. But Mr. Simms is no ordinary
worker. Much as he has accomplished, much lies
before him, — and in the prime of life, with a phy-
sical constitution which answers every demand of
the active intellect, he still pursues new game in
the literary world.
As an author, ho has pursued an honorable,
manly career. His constant engagements in the
press, as a critic and reviewer, have given him
opportunities of extending favors to his brother
writers, which he has freely employed. His
generosity in this respect is noticeable. Nor has
this kindness been limited by any local feeling;
while his own state has found in him one of the
chief, in a literary view the chief, supporter of
her interests. As a novelist, Mr. Simms is
vigorous in delineation, dramatic in action, poetic
in his description of scenery, a master of plot,
and skilled in the arts of the practised story
teller. His own tastes lead him to the composi-
tion of poetry and the provinces of imaginative
literature, and he is apt to introduce much of.
their spirit into his prose creations. His powers
as an essayist, fond of discussing the philosophy
430
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
of his subject, are of a high order. He is in-
genious in speculation and fertile in argument.
Many as are his writings, there is not one of
them which does not exhibit some ingenious, wor-
thy, truthful quality.
THE BABS.
Where dwells the spirit of the Bard — what sky
Persuades his daring wing, —
Folded in soft carnation, or in snow
Still sleeping, far o'er summits of the cloud,
And, with a seeming, sweet unconsciousness,
Wooing his plume, through baffling storms to fly,
Assured of all that ever yet might bless
The spirit, b}r love and loftiest hope made proud,
.Would he but straggle for the dear caress ! —
Or would his giant spring,
Impelled by holiest ire,
Assail the sullen summits of the storm,
Bent with broad breast and still impatient form,
Where clouds unfold themselves in leaping fire!
What vision wins his soul, —
What passion wings his flight, —
What dream of conquest woos his eager eye ! —
How glows he with the strife,—
How spurns he at control, —
With' what unmeasured rage would he defy
The foes that rise around and threaten life ! —
His upward flight is fair,
He goes through parting air.
He breaks the barrier cluud, he sees the eye that's
there,
The centre of the realm of storm that mocked him but
to dare !
And now he grasps the prize,
That on the summit lies,
And binds the burning jewel to his brow;
Transfigured by its bright,
He wears a mightier face,
Nor grovels more in likeness of the earth ; —
His wing a bolder flight,
His step a wilder grace,
He glows, the creature of a holier birth ; —
Suns sing, and stars glow glad around his light ;
And thus he speeds afar,
'Mid gathering sun and star,
The sov'reign, he, of worlds, where these but subjects
are ;
And men that marked his wing with mocking
sight,
Do watch and wonder now ; —
Will watch and worship with delight, anon,
AViien far from hiss and hate, his upward form hath
go.ie !
Oh ! ere that van was won,
Whose flight hath braved the sun—
Whose daring strength and aim
Have scaled the heights of cloud and bared their
breasts of flame ;
What lowly toil was done, —
How slow the moments sped, —
How bitter were the pangs that vexed the heart and
head !
The burden which he bore,
The thorns his feet that tore,
The cruel wounds he suffered with no moan, —
Alone, — and still alone ! —
Denial, which could smile,
Beholding, all the while,
How Salter than the sea were the salt tears he
shed;
And over all, the curse,
Than all of these more worse.
Prostrate, before the common way, to bear
The feet of hissing things,
Whose toil it is to tear,
And cramp the glorious creature born to wings I
Ah I should he once despair I —
Not lonely, with the sad nymph Solitude,
Deep in the cover of the ancient wood,
Where the sun leaves him, and the happy dawn,
Stealing witli blushes over the gray lawn,
Stills finds him, all forgetful of the flight
Of hours, that passing still from dark to bright,
Know not to loiter, — all their progress naught : —
His eye, unconscious of the day, is bright
With inward vision ; till, as sudden freed,
By the superior quest of a proud thought.
He darts away with an unmeasured speed ;
His pinion purpling :is he gains the height,
Where still, though all obscured from mortal sight,
He bathes him in the late smiles of the sun ; — -
And oh ! the glory, as he guides his steed,
Flakes from his pinions falling, as they soar
To mounts where Eos binds her buskins on
And proud Artemis, watching by her well,
For one, — sole fortunate of all his race, —
With hand upon his mouth her beagle stays,
Lest lie should baffle sounds too sweet to lose,
That even now are gliding with the dews.
How nobly he arrays
His robes for flight — his robes, the woven of song',
Borrowed from starry spheres, — with each a muse
That, with her harmonies, maintains its dance
Celestial, and its circles bright prolongs.
Fair ever, but with warrior form and face,
He stands before the e}*e of each young graee
Beguiling the sweet passion from her cell,
And still subjecting beauty by the glance,
Which speaks his own subjection to a spell.
The eldest born of rapture, that makes Love,
At once submissive and the Conqueror.
He conquers but to brii g deliverance,
And with deliverance light; —
To conquer, he has only to explore, —
And makes a permanent empire, but to spread,'
Though speeding on with unobseiving haste, —
A wing above the waste.
A single feather from his pinion shed,
A single beam of beauty from his eye,
Takes captive of the dim sleeping realm below,
Through eyes of truest worshippers, that straight
Bring shouts to welcome and bright flowers to
wreathe
His altars ; and, as those, to life from death,
Plucked sudden, in their gratitude and faith
Deem him a god who wrought the miracle, —
So do they take him to their shrines, and vow
Their annual incense of sweet song and smell,
For him to whom their happiness they owe.
Thus goes he still from desert shore to shore,
Where life in darkness droops, where beauty errs,
Having no worshippers,
And lacking sympathy for the light ! — The eye
That is the spirit of his wing, no more,
This progress once begun, can cease to 6oar,
Sutlers eclipse, or sleeps ! —
No more be furled
The wing, — that, from the first decreed to fly,
Must speed to daily conquests, deep and high,
Till no domain of dark unlighted keeps,
And all the realm of strife beneath the sky
Grows one, in beauty and peace for evermore, —
Soothed to eternal office of delight,
By these that wing the soul on its first flight,
For these are the great spirits that shape the
world !
WILLIAM GILMOEE SIMMS.
431
BLESSINGS ON CHILDREN.
Blessings on the blessing children, sweetest gifts of
Heaven to earth,
Filling all the heart with gladness, filling all the
house with mirth ;
Bringing with them native sweetness, pictures of the
primal bloom,
Which the bliss for ever gladdens, of the region
whence they come :
Bringing with them joyous impulse of a Btate with-
outen care,
And a buoyant faith in being, which makes all in
nature fair;
Not a doubt to dim the distance, not a grief to vex
thee, nigh,
And a hope that in existence finds each hour a
luxury ,
Going singing, bounding, brightening — never fearing
as they go,
That the innocent shall tremble, and the loving find
a foe ;
In the daylight, in the starlight, still with thought
that freely flies,
Prompt and joyous, with no question of the beauty
in the skies ;
Genial fancies winning raptures, as the bee still sucks
her store,
All the present still a garden gleaned a thousand
times before ;
All the future, but a region, where the liappy serv-
ing thought,
Still depicts a thousand blessings, by the winged
hunter caught ;
Life a chase where blushing pleasures only seem to
strive in flight,
Lingering to be caught, and yielding gladly to the
proud delight ;
As the maiden, through the alleys, looking backward
as she flies,
Woos the fond pursuer onward, with the love-light
in her eyes.
Oh ! the happy life in children, still restoring joy to
ours,
Making for the forest music, planting for the way-
side flowers ;
Back recalling all the sweetness, in a pleasure pure
as rare,
Back the past of hope and rapture bringing to the
heart of care.
How, as swell the happy voices, bursting through
the shady grove,
Memories take the place of sorrows, time restores
the sway to love !
We are in the shouting comrades, shaking off the
load of years,
Thought forgetting strifes and trials, doubts and
agonies and tears;
We are in the bounding urchin, as o'er hill and plain
he darts,
Share the struggle and the triumph, gladdening in
his heart of hearts;
What an image of the vigor and the glorious grace
we knew,
When to eager youth from boyhood, at a single
bound we grew !
Even snch our slender beauty, such upon our cheek
the glow,
In our eyes the life r.nd gladness — of our blood the
overflow.
Bless the mother of the urchin ! in his form we see
her truth :
He is now the very picture of the memories in our
youth ;
Never can we doubt the forehead, nor the sunny
flowing hair,
Nor the smiling in the dimple speaking chin and
cheek so fair :
Bless the mother of the young one, he hath blended
in his grace,
All the hope and joy and beauty, kindling once in
either face.
Oh ! the happy faith of children ! that is glad in all
it sees,
And with never need of thinking, pierces still its
mysteries ,
In simplicity profoundest, in their soul abundance
blest,
Wise in value of the sportive, and in restlessness at
rest ,
Lacking every creed, yet having faith so large in all
they see,
That to know is still to gladden, and 'tis rapture but
to be.
What trim fancies bring them flowers; what rare
spirits walk their wood,
What a wondrous world the moonlight harbors of
the gay and good !
Unto them the very tempest walks in glories grate-
ful still,
And the lightning gleams, a seraph, to persuade
them to the hill :
'Tis a sweet and loving spirit, that throughout the
midnight rains.
Broods beside the shuttered windows, and with
gentle !ove complains ;
And how wooing, how exalting, with the richness
of her dyes,
Spans ttie painter of the rainbow, her bright arch
along the skies,
Witii a dream like Jacob's ladder, showing to the
fancy's sight,
How 'twere easy for the sad one to escape to worlds
of light !
Ah ! the wisdom of such fancies, and the truth in
every dream,
That to faith confiding offers, cheering every gloom,
a gleam !
Happy hearts, still cherish fondly each delusion of
your youth,
Joy is born of well believing, and the fiction wraps
the truth.
THE RATTLESNAKE — FROM TIIE TEMASSEE.
[The* heroine, Bess Matthews, in the wood waits the coming
other lover.]
" He is not come," she murmured, half disap-
pointed, as tiie old grove of oaks with ail its religious
solemnity of shadow lay before her. She took her
seat at the foot of a tree, the growth of a century,
whose thick and knotted roots, started from their
sheltering earth, shot even above the long grass
around them, and ran m irregular sweeps for a con-
siderable distance upon the surface. Here she sat
not. long, for her mind grew impatient and confused
with the various thoughts crowding upon it — -sweet
thoughts it may be, for she thought of him whom
she loved, — of him almost only ; and of the long
hours of happy enjoyment which the future had in
store. Then came the fears, following fast upon the
hopes, as the shadows follow the sunlight, The
doubts of existence — the brevity and the fluctua-
tions of life ; these are the contemplations even of
happy love, and these beset and saddened her ; till,
starting up in that dreamy confusion which the
scene not less than the subject of her musings had
inspired, she glided among the old trees scarce con-
Bcious of her movement.
432
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
" He does not come — lie does not come," she mur-
mured, as she stood contemplating the thick copse
spreading before her, and forming the barrier which
terminated the beautiful range of oaks which con-
stituted the grove. How beautiful was the green
and garniture of that little copse of wood. The
leaves were thick, and the grass around lay folded
over and over in bunches, with here and there a
wild flower, gleaming from its green, and making of
it a beautiful carpet of the richest and most various
texture. A small tree rose from the centre of a
clump around which a wild grape gadded luxuri-
antly ; and. with an incoherent sense of what she
saw, she lingered before the little cluster, seeming to
survey that which, though it seemed to fix her eye,
yet failed to fill her thought. Her mind wandered
— her soul was far away ; and the objects in her
vision were far other than those which occupied her
imagination. Things grew indistinct beneath her
eye. The eye rather slept than saw. The musing
spirit had given holiday to the ordinary senses, and
took no heed of the forms that rose, and floated, or
glided away, before them. In this way, the leaf de-
tached made no impression upon the sight that was
yet bent upon it ; she saw not the bird, though it
whirled, untroubled by a fear, in wanton circles
around her head — and the black snake, with the
rapidity of an arrow, darted over her path without
arousing a single terror in the form that otherwise
would have shivered at its mere appearance. And
yet, though thus indistinct were all things around
her to the musing eye of the maiden, her eye was
yet singularly fixed — fastened as it were, to a single
3pot — gathered and controlled by a single object,
ind glazed, apparently, beneath a curious fascina-
tion. Before the maiden rose a little clump of
bushes, — bright tangled leaves flaunting wide in
glossiest green, with vines trailing over them, thickly
decked with blue and crimson flowers. Her eye
communed vacantly with these; fastened by a star-
iike shining glance — a subtle ray, that shot out from
the circle of green leaves — seeming to be their very
e3-e — and sending out a lurid lustre that seemed to
stream across the space between, and find its way
into her own eyes. Very piercing and beautiful
was that subtle "brightness, of the sweetest, strangest
power. And now the leaves quivered and 6eemed
to float away, only to return, and the vines waved
and swung around in fantastic mazes, unfolding
ever-changing varieties of form and color to her
gaze ; but the star-like eye was ever steadfast, bright
and gorgeous gleaming in their midst, and still
fastened, with strange fondness, upon her own.
How beautiful, with wondrous intensity, did it
gleam, and dilate, growing larger and more lustrous
with every ray which it sent forth. And her own
glance became intense, fixed also ; but with a dream-
ing sense that conjured up the wildest fancies,
terribly beautiful, that took her soul away from her,
and wrapt it about as with a spell. She would have
fled, she would have flown ; but she had not power
to move. The will was wanting to her flight. She
felt that she could have bent forward to pluck the
gem-like thing from the bosom of the leaf in which
it seemed to grow, and which it irradiated with its
bright white gleam ; but ever as she aimed to stretch
forth her hand, and bend forward, she heard a rush
of wings, and a shrill scream from the tree above
her — such a scream as the mock-bird makes, when,
angrily, it raises its dusky crest, and flaps its wings
furiously against its slender sides. Such a scream
seemed like a warning, and though yet unawakened
to full consciousness, it startled her and forbade her
effort. More than once in her survey of this strange
object, had she heard that shrill note, and still had
it carried to her ear the same note of warning, and
to her mind the same vague consciousness of an evil
presence. But the star-like eye was yet upon her
own — a small, bright eye, quick like that of a bird,
now steady in its place, and observant seemingly
only of hers, now darting forward with all the
clustering leaves about it, and shooting up towards
her, as if wooing her to seize. At another moment,
riveted to the vine which lay around it, it would
whirl round and round, dazzlingly bright and beau-
tiful, even as a torch, waving hurriedly by night in
the hands of some playful boy ; — but, in all this
time, the glance was never taken from her own —
there it grew, fixed — a very principle of light — and
such a light — a subtle, burnii g, piercing; fascinating
gleam, such as gathers in vapor above the old grave,
and binds us as we look — shooting, darting directly
into her eye, dazzling her gaze, defeating its sense of
discrimination, and confusing strangely that of per-
ception. She felt dizzy, for, as she looked, a cloud
of colors, bright, gay, various colors, floated and
hung like so much drapery around the single object
that had so secured her attention and spell-bound
her feet. Her limbs felt momently more and more
insecure — her blood grew cold, and she seemed to
feel the gradual freeze of vein by vein, throughout
her person. At that moment a rustling was heard
in the branches of the tree beside her, and the bird,
which had repeatedly uttered a single cry above her,
as it were of warning, flew away from his station
with a scream more piercing than ever. This move-
ment had the effect, for which it really seemed in-
tended, of bringing back to her a portion of the con-
sciousness she seemed so totally to have been de-
prived of before. She strove to move from before
the beautiful but terrible presence, but for a while
she strove in vain. The rich, star-like glance still
riveted her own, and the subtle fascination kept her
bound. The mental energies, however, with the
moment of their greatest trial, now gathered sud-
denly to her aid; and, with a desperate effort, but
with a feeling still of most annoying uncertainty and
dread, she succeeded partially in the attempt, and
threw her arms backwards, her hands graspii g the
neighboring tree, feeble, tottering, and depending
upon it for that support which her own limbs al-
most entirely denied her. With her movement,
however, came the full development of the power-
ful spell and dreadful mystery before her. As her
feet receded, though but a sii gle pace, to the tree
against which she now rested, the audibly articulated
ring, like that of a watch when wound up with the
verge broken, announced the nature of that splendid
yet dangerous presence, in the form of the monstrous
rattlesnake, now but a few feet before her, lying
coiled at the bottom of a beautiful slnub, with
which, to her dreaming eye, many of its own glorious
hues had become associated. She was, at length,
conscious enough to perceive and to feel all her dan-
ger ; but terror had denied her the strength necessary
to fly from her dreadful enemy. There still the eye
glared beautifully bright and piercing upon her own ;
and, seemingly in a spirit of sport, the insidious
reptile slowly unwound himself from his coil, but
only to gather himself up again into his muscular
rings, his great flat head rising in the midst, and
slowly nodding, as it were, towards her, the eye
still peerirg deeply into her own ; — the rattle still
slightly ringing at intervals, and givii g forth that ■
paralysing sound, which, once heard, is remembered
for ever. The reptile all this while appeared to be
conscious of, and to sport with, while seeking to ex-
cite her terrors. Kow, with his flat head, distended
mouth, and curving neck, would it dart forward its
long form towards her, — its fatal teeth, unfolding on
JAMES H. HAMMOND.
433
cither side of its upper jaws, seeming to threaten
her with instantaneous death, whilst its powerful
eye shot forth glances of that fatal power of fascina-
tion, malignantly bright, which, by paralysing, with
a novel form of terror and of beauty, may readily
account for the spell it possesses of binding the feet
of the timid, and denying to fear even the privilege
of flight. Could she have fled! She felt the neces-
sity; but the power of her limbs was gone! and
there still it lay, coiling and uncoiling, its arching
neck glittering like a ring of brazed copper, bright
and lurid; and the dreadful beauty of its eye still
fastened, eagerly contemplating the victim, while the
pendulous rattle still rang the death note, as if to
prepare the conscious mind for the fate which is
momently approaching to the blow. Meanwhile the
stillness became death-like with all surrounding ob-
jects. The bird had gone with its scream and rush.
The breeze was silent. The vines ceased to wave.
The leaves faintly quivered on their stems. The
uerpent once more lay still; but the eye was never
once turned away from the victim. Its corded mus-
cles are all in coil. They have but to unclasp sud-
denly, and the dreadful folds will be upon her, its
full length, and the fatal teeth will strike, and the
deadly venom which they secrete will mingle with
the life-blood in her veins.
The terrified damsel, her full consciousness re-
stored, but not her strength, feels all the danger.
She sees that the sport of the terrible reptile is at an
end. She cannot now mistake the horrid expression
of its e}Te. She strives to scream, but the voice dies
away, a feeble gurgling in her throat. Her tongue
js paralysed; her lips are sealed — once more she
strives for flight, but her limbs refuse their office.
She has nothing left of life but its fearful conscious-
ness. It is in her despair, that, a last effort, she
succeeds to scream, a single wild cry, forced from
her by the accumulated agony ; she sinks down
upon the grass before her enemy — her eyes, how-
ever, still open, and still looking upon those which
he directs for ever upon them. She sees him ap-
proach— :iow advancing, now receding — now swell-
ing in every part with something of anger, while
his neck is arched beautifully like that of a wild
horse under the euib; until, at length, tired as it
were of play, like the eat with its victim, she sees
the neck growing larger and becoming completely
bronzed as about to strike — the huge jaws unclosing
almost directly above her, the long tubulated fang
charged with venom, protruding from the cavernous
mouth — and she sees no more. Insensibility came
to her aid, and she lay almost lifeless under the very
folds of the monster.
In that moment the copse parted — and an arrow,
piercing the monster through and through the neek,
bore his head forward to the ground, alongside the
maiden, while his spiral extremities, now unfolding
in his own agony, were actually, in part, writhing
upon her person. The arrow came from the fugitive
Occonestoga, who had fortunately reached the spot
in season, on his way to the Block House. He
rushed frora the copse'as the snake fell, and, with a
stick, fearlessly approached him where he lay tossing
in agony upon the grass. Seeing him advance the
courageous reptile made an effort to regain his coil,
shaking the fearful rattle violently at every evolu-
tion which he took for that purpose ; but the arrow,
completely passing through his neck, opposed an
unyielding obstacle to the endeavor; and finding
it hopeless, and seeing the new enemy about to as-
sault him, with something of the spirit of the white
man under like circumstances, he turned desperately
round, and striking his charged fangs, so that they
were riveted in the wound they made, into a sus-
VOL. II. — 28
ceptible part of his own body, lie threw himself
over with a single convulsion, and, a moment
after, lay dead beside the utterly unconscious
maiden.
JAMES II. HAMMOND.
James H. Hammond, Ex-Governor of the Stato
of South Carolina, and a political writer of dis-
tinction, was bom at Newberry district in that
1 state, November 15, 1807. His father was a
native of Massachusetts, a graduate of Dartmouth
in 1802, who the next year emigrated to South
Carolina and became Professor of Languages in
the State College at Columbia. The son received
Ms education at that institution, was admitted to
the bar in 1S28, and in 1S30 became editor at
Columbia of a very decided political paper of the
nullification era and principles, called the Southern
Times.
In 1831, on his marriage with Miss Fitzsimons,
he retired from his profession, and settled at his
plantation, Silver Bluff, on the eastern bunk of the
Savannah river, a site famous in the early history,
being the point where De Soto found the Indian
princess of Cofachiqui, where George Galphin
subsequently established his trading post with the
Indians, forming one of the frontier posts of the
infant colony, distinguished in the Revolution by-
its leaguer, under Pickens and Lee. He did not,
however, withdraw from politics ; and as a
member of the military family of Governor Ha-
milton and Governor Wayne, contributed his full
quota to the nullification excitement, and recruit-
ing for the nullification army of 1833. He was
elected member of Congress, in which body he
took his seat in 1835. His health, never vigorous,
failed him so entirely in the following spring, that
he resigned his seat in Congress and travelled a
year and a half in Europe, with no benefit to his
constitution. For several years after he took no
part in politic-;, though often invited to return to
Congress, and generously tendered his seat there
by his successor, Col. Elmore.
He was in 1841 elected General of his brigade
of state militia, and in 1842 Governor of the
state. In this capacity he paid particular atten-
tion to the state military organization, and under
his auspices the several colleges were established
on. the West Point system. During his governor-
ship he wrote a letter to the Free Church of
Glasgow on Slavery, and two letters in reply to
an anti-slavery circular of the English Clarkson,
which have been since gathered and published in
a Pro-Slavery volume, issued in Charleston,
From the expiration of his term of service he has
resided in retirement on his plantation.
His printed writings, besides a speech in Con-
gress on Slavery, his Governor's Messages, and
the letters we have mentioned, are a pamphlet on
the Railroad System and the Bank of the State ; a
review of Mr. Elwood Fisher's " North and
South'' in the Southern Quarterly; an oration on
the Manufacturing System of the State, delivered
before the South Carolina Institute in 1849; an
elaborate discourse on the Life, Character, and
Services of Calhoun, at the request of the city
council, in 1850; and an Oration before the Lite-
rary Societies of South Carolina College. Thesa-
compositions severally display the statesman and
the scholar of habits of intellectual energy. A
434
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
passage from the conclusion of the college address
exhibits their prevailing manner : —
INTELLECTUAL POWEB.
Thus if we should pass in review all the pursuits
of mankind, and all the ends they aim at under the
instigation of their appetites and passions, or at the
dictation of shallow utilitarian philosophy, we shall
find that they pursue shadows and worship idols, or
that whatever there is that is good and great and
catholic in their deeds and purposes, depends for its j
accomplishment upon the intellect, and is aceom- I
plished just in proportion as that intellect is stored
with knowledge. And whether we examine the
present or the past, we shall find that knowledge
alone is real power — " more powerful," says Bacon,
"than the Will, commanding the reason, under-
standing, and belief," and " setting up a Throne in
the spirits and souls of men." We shall find that
the progress of knowledge is the only true and per-
manent progress of our race, and that however in-
ventions, and discoveries, and events which chai.ge
the face of human affairs, may appear to be the re-
sults of contemporary efforts or providential acci-
dents, it is, in fact, the Men of Learning who lead
with noiseless step the vanguard of civilization, that
mark out the road over which — opened sooner or
later — posterity marches; and from the abundance
of their precious stores sow seed 03' the wayside,
which spring up in due season, and produce an hun-
dred fold ; and cast bread upon the waters which is
gathered after many days. The age which gives
birth to the largest number of such men is always
the most enlightened, and the age in which the high-
est reverence and most intelligent obedience is ac-
corded to them, always advances most rapidly in the
career of improvement.
And let not the ambitious aspirant to enrol him-
self with this illustrious band, to fill the throne
which learning " setteth up in the spirits and souls
of men," and wield its absolute power, be checked,
however humble he may be, however unlikely to at-
tain wealth or office, or secure homage as a practical
man or man of action, by any fear that true know-
ledge can be stifled, overshadowed, or compelled to
involuntary barrenness. Whenever or wherever
men meet to deliberate or act, the trained intellect
will always master. But for the most sensitive j
and modest, who seek retirement, there is another ]
and a greater resource. The public press, accessible !
to all, will enable him, from the depths of solitude, I
to speak trumpet-tongned to the four corners of the
earth. No matter how he may be situated — if he
has facts that will bear scrutiny, if he has thoughts
that burn, if he is sure he has a call to teach — the
press is a tripod from which he may give utterance I
to liia oracles; and if there be truth in them, the j
world and future ages will accept it. It is not Com- '
merce that is King, nor Manufactures, nor Cotton,
nor any single Art or Science, any more than those
who wear the baubles-crowns. Knowledge is Sove-
reign, and the Press is the royal seat on which she
sits, a sceptred Monarch. From this she rules pub-
lic opinion, and finally gives laws alike to prince
and people, — laws framed by men of letters ; by the
wandering bard ; by the philosopher in his grove or ;
portico, his tower or laboratory; by the pale stu-
dent in his closet. We contemplate with awe the i
mighty movements of the last eighty years, and we
held our breath while we gazed upon the heaving
human mass so lately struggling like huge Leviathan,
over the broad face of Europe. What has thus stir- |
red the world? The press. The press, which has
scattered far and wide the sparks of genius, kindling
as they fly. Books, journals, pamphlets, the^e are
the paixhan balls — moulded often by the obscure
and humble, but loaded with fiery thoughts — which
have burst in the sides of every structure, political,
social, and religious, and shattered too often, alike
the rotten and the sound. For in knowledge as in
everything else, the two great principles of Good
and Evil maintain their eternal warfare, " 'U ayton avri
■navTtav ayajixV — a war amid and above all other ware.
But in the strife of knowledge, unlike other con-
tests—victory never fails to abide with truth. And
the wise and virtuous who find and use this mighty
weapon, are sure of their reward. It may not come
soon. Years, ages, centuries may pass away, and
the grave-stone may have crumbled above the head
that should have worn the wreath. But to the eye
of faith, the vision of the imperishable and inevita-
ble halo that shall enshrine the memory is for ever
present, cheering and sweetening toil, and compen-
sating for privation. And it often happens that the
great and heroic mind, unnoticed by the world, bu-
ried apparently in profoundest darkness, sustained
by faith, works out the grandest problems of human
progress: working under broad rays of brightest
light; light furnished by that inward and immortal
lamp, which, when its mission upon earth has closed,
is trimmed anew by angels' hands, and placed among
the stars of heaven.
M. C. M. Hammond, a younger brother of the
preceding, was born m the Newberry district, De-
cember 12, 1814. He was educated at Augusta
by a son of the Rev. Dr. Waddel, now a professor
at Franklin College, Georgia. In 1S32 he re-
ceived a cadet's appointment at West Point, where
in 1835 he delivered an oration to the corps, by
the unanimous election of his class, on the Influ-
ence of Government on the Mind. He was a gra-
duate of 1836. He served two years in the Semi-
nole war, and also in the Cherokee difficulties in
1838 ; was then for three years stationed at Fort
Gibson, Arkansas, returned again to Florida, and
in 1842 resigned in ill health. He then married,
and became a successful planter, while he occa-
sionally wrote on topics of agriculture. He was
then occupied, under Polk's administration, as pay-
master in Louisiana and Texas, where he suffered
a severe sun-stroke. Ill health again led to his
resignation from the army in 1847. He had pre-
viously delivered a discourse before the Agricul-
tural Society, which he had been mainly instru-
mental in forming, in Burke county, Georgia. In
1849 he began the publication of an elaborate se-
ries of military articles in the Southern Quarterly,
on Fremont's Command and the Conquest of Cali-
fornia ; the Commercial and Political Position of
California; the Mineral Resources of California;
the Battles of the Rio Grande; of Buena Vista;
Vera Cruz; Cerro Gordo; Contreras; Cheru-
busco; Molino del Rey; Chapultepec; the Se-
condary Combats of the War ; an article on Ama-
zonia ; in all some six hundred pages, marked by
their knowledge of military affairs, and ingenious,
candid discrimination.
In 1852 he visited West Point as a member of
the Board of Visitors, and was elected their pre-
sident. He delivered an eloquent oration before
the corps of cadets at their request, which was
published. He is a resident of South Carolina,
and, it is understood, is engaged in a translation
of the great military authority Jomini on the art
of war, and an original essay on the same subject
in reference to the necessities of this country..
R0B3RT M. CHARLTON.
435
ROBERT M. CHAELTON.
Tms accomplished writer, to whom, the engage-
ments of literature were a relaxation from other
duties, was born at Savannah, Ga., Jan. 19, 1807.
His father was Judge Thoraa-s U. P. Charlton,
whose position and social virtues were renewed
by the son. He was early admitted to the bar;
on his arrival at age was in the state legislature ;
became United States District Attorney ; and at
twenty-seven was appointed Judge of the Su-
preme Court of the Eastern District of Georgia.
In 1852 he was in the United States Senate. He
was known for his polished oratory and his genial
powers in society. His literary productions were
in prose and verse : essays, sketches, lectures, and
literary addresses. Many of these, including a
series of sketches entitled Leaves from the Port-
folio of a Georgia Lvwyer, appeared in the
Knickerbocker Magazine. They are all indi-
cative of his cultivated talents and amiable tem-
perament.
In 1839 Mr. Charlton published a volume of
poems, in which he included the poetical remains
marked by a delicate sentiment, of his brother,
Dr. Thomas J. Charlton, a young physician, who
died in September, 1835, a victim to his profes-
sional zeal. This volume appeared in a second
edition at Boston in lb42, with alterations and
additions. It includes, besides the poems of the
brothers, two prose compositions by E. M. Charl-
ton, a eulogy on Doctor John Cumming, an es-
teemed citizen of Savannah, who was lost in the
steamer Pulaski, and an historical lecture on Ser-
jeant Jasper, the hero of Fort Moultrie and Sa-
vannah, delivered before the Georgia Historical
Society in 1841.
The poems of Mr. E. M. Charlton are written
in a facile style, expressive of a genial and
pathetic susceptibility, rising frequently to elo-
quence.
He died at Savannah Jan. 8, 1854.
TO THE RIVER OGEECITEE.
O wave, that glidest swiftly
On thy bright and happy way,
From the morning until evening,
And from twilight until day,
Why leapest thou so joyously,
Whilst coldly on thy shore,
Sleeps the noble and the gallant heart,
For aye and evermore ?
Or dost thou weep, 0 river.
And is this bounding wave,
But the tear thy bosom sheddeth
As a tribute o'er his grave ?
And when, in midnight's darkness,
The winds above thee moan,
Are they mourning for our sorrows,
Do they sigh for him that's gone ?
Keep back thy tears, then, river,
Or, if they must be shed,
Let them flow but for the living:
They are needless for the dead.
His soul shall dwell in glory,
Where bounds a brighter wave,
But our pleasures, with his. troubles,
Are buried in the grave.
THEY ARE PASSING AWAY.
They are passing away, they are passing away —
The joy from our hearts, and the light from our
day,
The hope that beguiled us when sorrow was near,
The loved one that dashed from our eye-lids the
tear,
The friendships that held o'er our bosoms their
sway ;
They are passing away, they are passing away.
They are passing away, they are passing away — ■
The cares and the strifes of life's turbulent day,
The waves of despair that rolled over our soul,
The passions that bowed not to reason's control,
The dark clouds that shrouded religion's kind ray ;
They are passing away, they are passing away.
Let them go, let them pass, both the sunshine and
shower,
The joys that yet cheer us, the storms that yet
lower:
When their gloom and their light have all faded
and past,
There's a home that around us its blessing shall
cast,
Where the heart-broken pilgrim no longer shall
say,
" We are passing away, we are passing away."
THE DEATH OF JASPER — A HISTORICAL BALLAD.
'T was amidst a scene of blood,
On a bright autumnal day,
When misfortune like a flood,
Swept our fairest hopes away ;
'T was on Savannah's plain,
On the spot we love so well,
Amid heaps of gallant slain,
That the daring Jasper fell !
He had borne him in the fight,
Like a soldier in his prime,
Like a bold and Btalwart knight,
Of the glorious olden time ;
And unharmed by sabre-blow,
And untouched by leaden ball,
He had battled with the foe,
'Till he heard the trumpet's call.
But he turned him at the sound,
For he knew the strife was o'er,
That in vain on freedom's ground,
Had her children shed their gore ;
So lie slowly turned away,
With the remnant of the band,
Who, amid the bloody fray,
Had escaped the foemau's hand.
But his banner caught his eye,
As it trailed upon the dust,
And he Baw his comrade die,
Ere he yielded up his trust,
"To the rescue ! " loud he cried,
" To the rescue, gallant men ! "
And he dashed into the tide
Of the battle-stream again.
And then fierce the contest rose,
O'er its field of broidered gold.
And the blood of friends and foes.
Stained alike its silken fold ;
m
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
But unheeding wound and blow,
He lias snatched it midst the strife,
He has borne that flag away,
Rut its ransom is its life !
" To my father take my sword,"
Thus the dying hero said,
"Tell him that my latest word
"Was a blessing on his head;
That when death had seized my frame,
And uplifted "was his dart,
That I ne'er forgot the name,
That was dearest to my heart.
.'.'And tell her whose favor gave
This fair banner to our band,
That I died its folds to save,
From the foe's polluting hand;
And let all my comrades hear,
When my form lies cold in death,
That their friend remained sincere,
To his last expiring breath."
It was thus that Jasper fell,
'Neath that bright autumnal sky;
Has a stone been reared to tell
Where he laid him down to die?
To the rescue, spirits bold !
To the rescue, gallant men 1
Let the marble page unfold
All his daring deeds again !
WILLIAM A. CAEEUTHEES,
The author of several novels written with spirit
and ability, was a Virginian, and as we learn
from a communication to the Knickerbocker
Magazine,* in which he gives an account of a
hazardous ascent of the Natural Bridge, of which
he was a witness, was, in 1818, a student of
Washington College, in the vicinity of that cele-
brated curiosity. We have no details of his life,
beyond the facts of his publication of several
books in New York about the year 183±, his
retirement from Virginia to Savannah, Georgia,
where he practised medicine, and wrote for the
Magnolia and other Southern magazines, and
where he died some years since.
His books which have come to our knowledge
are, The Cavaliers of Virginia, or the Recluse of
Jamestown, an Historical Romance of the Old Do-
minion, contrasting the manners of the conserva-
tive and revolutionary races, the followers of
Charles and of Noll in the State; The Kentucl-
ian in New Yurie, or the Adventures of Three
Southerns, a sketchy volume of romantic descrip-
tive matter ; and The Knights of the Horse Shoe,
a Traditionary Tale of the Coded Hat Gentry
in the Old Dominion, published at Wetumpka,
Alabama, in 1845. In the last hook the author
drew a pleasing and animated picture of the old
colonial life in Virginia, in the days of Governor
Spotswood. A passage from one of its early
chapters will exhibit its genial spirit.
A KITCHEN FIEE-SIDE IN TITE OLD DOMINION.
Imagine to yourself, reader, a fire-place large
enough to roast an ox whole, and within which a
common "waggon load of wood might be absorbed in
Buch a speedy manner as to horrify one of our city
economical housewives — though now it was late
insummer, and of course no such pile of combustibles
enlivened the scene — besides, it was night, and the
culinary operations of the day were over. A few
blazing fagots of rich pine, however, still threw a
lurid glare over the murky atmosphere, and here
and there sat the several domestics of the establish-
ment ; some nodding until they almost tumbled
into the fire, but speedily regaining the perpendicu-
lar without ever opening their eyes, or giving any
evidence of discomposure, except a loud snort, per-
haps, and then dozing away again as comfortably
as ever. Others were conversing without exhibiting
any symptoms of weariness or drowsiness.
In one corner of the fire-place sat old Sylvia, a
Moor, who had accompanied the father of the Gover-
nor (a British naval officer) all the way from Africa,
the birth-place of his Excellency. She had straight
hair, which was now white as the driven snow, and
hung in long matted locks about her shoulders, not
unlike a bunch of candles. She was by the negroes
called outlandish, and talked a sort of jargon en-
tirely different from the broken lingo of that race.
She was a general scape-goat for the whole planta-
tion, and held in especial dread by the Ethiopian
tribe. She was not asleep, nor dozing, but sat rock-
ing her body back and forth, without moving the
stool, and humming a most mournful and monoto-
nous ditty, all the while throwing her large stealthy
eyes around the room. In the opposite corner sat a
regular hanger-on of the establishment, and one of
those who kept a greedy eye always directed
towards the fleshpots, whenever he kept them open
at all. His name was June, and he wore an old
cast-off coat of the Governor's, the waist buttons of
which just touched his hips, while the skirts hung
down to the ground in straight hues, or rather in
the rear of the perpendicular, as if afraid of the
constant kicking which his heels kept up against
them when walking. His legs were bandied, and
set so much in the middle of the foot as to render it
rather a difficult matter to tell which end went fore-
most. His face was of the true African stamp :
large mouth, flat nose, and a brow overhung with
long, plaited queus, like so many whip-cords cut off
short and even all round, and now quite grey. The
expression of his countenance was full of mirthful-
ness and good humor, mixed with just enough of
shrewdness to redeem it from utter vacuity. There
was a slight degree of cunning twinkled from his
small terrapin-looking eye, but wholly swallowed
up by his large mouth, kept constantly on the
stretch. He had the run of the kitchen , and, for
these perquisites was expected and required to per-
form no other labor than running and riding errands
to and from the capital ; and it is because he will
sometimes be thus employed that we have been so
particular in describing him, and because he was the
banjo player to all the small fry at Temple Farm.
He had his instrument across his lap on the evening
in question, his hands in the very attitude of play-
ing,' his ejres closed, and every now and then, as he
rose up from a profound inclination to old Sornnus,
twang, twang, went the strings, accompanied by
some negro doggvel just lazily let slip through his
lips in half utterance, such as the following ; —
Massa is a wealthy man, and nil <l.c nebors know it;
Keeps good liquors in his house, and always says — here goes
it.
The last words were lost in another declination
of the head, until catgut and voice became merged
in a grunt or snort, when he would start up, perhaps,
strain his eyes wide open, and go on again:
Sister Sally's mighty sick, oh what de debil ails her,
She used to eat good beef and beans, but now her stomach
fails her.
The lr.st words spun out again into a drawl to no-
JAMES OTIS ROCKWELL.
<±37
company a monotonous symphony, until all were
lost together, by his head being brought in wonder-
ful propinquity to his heels in the ashes.
While old June thus kept up a running accompa-
niment to Sylvia's Moorish monotony, on the oppo-
site side of the fire, the front of the circle was oc-
cupied by more important characters.
Old Essex, the major-domo of the establishment,
sat there in all the panoply of state. He was a tall,
dignified old negro, with his hair queued up behind
and powdered all over, and not a little of it sprin-
kled upon the red collar of his otherwise scrupu-
lously clean livery. He wore small-clothes and
knee-buckles, and was altogether a fine specimen of
the gentlemanly old family servant. He felt him-
self just as much a part and parcel of the Gover-
nor's family as if he had been related to it by blood.
The manners of Essex were very far above his men-
tal culture ; this no one could perceive by a slight
and superficial observation, because he had acquired
a most admirable tact (like some of his betters) by
which he never travelled beyond his depth ; added
to this, whatever he did say was in the most appro-
priate manner, narrowly discerning nice shades of
character, and suiting Ins replies to every one who
addressed him. For instance, were a gentleman to
alight at the'hall door and meet old Essex, he would
instantly receive the attentions due to a gentleman;
whereas, were a gentlemanly dressed man to come,
who feared that his whole importance might not be
impressed upon this important functionary, Essex
would instantly elevate his dignity in exact propor-
tion to the fussiness of his visitor. Alas! the days
of Essex's class arc fast fading away. Many of them
survived the Revolution, but the Mississippi fever
has nearly made them extinct.
On the present occasion, though presumed to be
not upon his dignity, the old major sat with folded
arms and a benignant but yet contemptuous smile
playing upon his features, illuminated as they were
by the lurid fire-light, while Martin the carpenter
told one of the most marvellous and wonder-stirring
stoi'ies of the headless corpse ever heard within
these walls, teeming, as they were, with the marvel-
lous. Essex had often heard stories first told over
the gentlemen's wine, and then the kitchen version,
and of course knew how to estimate them exactly :
now that before-mentioned incredulous smile began
to spread until he was forced to laugh outright, as
Martin capped the climax of his tale of horror, by
6ome supernatural appearance of blue flames over
the grave. Not so the other domestics, male and
female, clustering around his chair; they were
worked up to the highest pitch of the marvellous.
Even old June ceased to twang his banjo, and at
length got his eyes wide open as the carpenter
came to the sage conclusion, that the place would
be haunted.
It was really wonderful, with what rapidity this
same point was arrived at by every negro upon the
plantation, numbering more than a hundred ; and
these having wives and connexions on neighboring
plantations, the news that Temple Farm was haunt-
ed became a settled matter for ten miles round in
less than a week, and so it has remained from that
day to this.
On the occasion alluded to, the story-teller for the
night had worked his audience up to such a pitch
of terror, that not one individual dared stir for his
life, every one seeming to apprehend an instant ap-
parition. This effect on their terrified imaginations
was not a little heightened by the storm raging
without The distant thunder had been some time
reverberating from the shores of the bay, mingling
with the angry roar of the waves as they splashed
and foamed against the beach, breaking, and then
retreating for a fresh onset.
JAMES OTIS ROCKWELL.
James 0. Rockwell was, to a great extent, a self-
made man. He was born at Lebanon, Conn., in
1807, and at an early age placed as an operative
in a cotton factory at Paterson, New Jersey.
When he was fourteen the family removed to
Manilas, N. Y., and James was apprenticed to a
printing establishment at Utica. He remained
there about four years, writing for as well as
working at the press, and then after a short
sojourn in New York removed to Boston. After
working a short time as a journeyman printer lie
obtained the situation of assistant editor of the
Boston Statesman, from which he was soon pro-
moted, in 182'J, to the exclusive charge of a paper
of his own, The Providence Patriot. " lie con-
tinued," says his biographer Everest, "his edito-
rial labors until the summer of 1831, when a
'card apologetic' announced to the readers of the
Patriot that its editor had been ' accused of ill
health — tried — found guilty — and condemned over
to the physicians for punishment.' The following
number was arrayed in tokens of mourning for his
death."*
His poems are scattered through his own and
other periodicals, having never been collected.
They are all brief, and though bearing marks of
an ill regulated imagination and imperfect literary
execution, are animated by a true poetic flame.
6PKING.
Again upon the grateful earth,
Thou mother of the flowers,
The singing birds, the singing streams,
The rainbow and the showers:
And what a gift is thine ! — thou mak'st
A world to welcome thee ;
And the mountains in their glory smile,
And the wild and changeful sea.
Thou gentle Spring ! — the brooding sky
Looks welcome all around ;
The moon looks down with a milder eye,
And the stars with joy abound;
And the clouds come up with softer glow,
Up to the zenith blown,
And float in pride o'er the earth below,
Like banners o'er a throne.
Thou smiling Spring! — again thy praise
Is on the lip of streams ;
And the water-falls loud anthems raise,
By day, and in their dreams;
The lakes that glitter on the plain,
Sing with the stirring breeze ;
And the voice of welcome sotinds again
From the surge upon the seas.
Adorning Spring! the earth to thee
Spreads out its hidden love ;
The ivy climbs the cedar tree,
The tallest in the grove;
And on the moss-grown rock, the rose
Is opening to the sun,
And the forest leaves are putting forth
Their green leaves, one by one.
* Poets of Connecticut, p. 357. See also a further notice
from the same pen, South Lit. Mess., July, 1S3S, in which a
suspicion of suicide is hinted at.
438
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
As thou to earth, so to the soul
Shall after glories be, —
When the grave's winter yields control,
And the spirit's wings are free:
And then, as yonder opening flower
Smiles to the smiling sun, —
Be mine the fate to smile in heaven,
When my weary race is run.
GEOEGE LUNT.
Geokge Lunt was born at Newburyport, Massa-
chusetts. After completing his collegiate course
at Harvard in 1324, he studied law at Boston, and
has since practised the profession at Newbury-
port.
In 1839, he published a volume of Poems, fol-
lowed in 1843 by The Aye of Gold arid other
Poems, and in 1854, by Lyric Poems, So?mets, and
Miscellanies. He is also the author of Eastford,
or Household Sketches, by Westley Brooke, a novel
of New England life, published in 1854.
We quote from Mr. Lunt's hist published vo-
lume of poems, a characteristic specimen.
MEMORY AND HOPE.
Memory has a sister fair,
Blue-eyed, laughing, wild, and glad,
Oft she comes, with jocund air, .
When her twin-born would be sad ;
Hand-iu-hand I love them best,
And to neither traitor prove,
Both can charm the aching breast,
Scarce I know which most to love.
Memor}' has a downcast face,
Yet 'tis winning, sweet, and mild,
Then comes Hope, with cheerful grace,
Like a bright enchanting child.
Now, I kiss this rosy cheek,
And the dimpling beam appears,
Then her pensive sister seek,
She too smiles, through pleasant tears.
Thus the heart a joy may take,
Else it were but hard to win,
And a quiet household make,
Where no jealousies come in.
If thy spirit be but true,
Love like this is sure to last, —
Happy he, who weds the two,
Hopeful Future, — lovely Past.
NATHANIEL PAEKEE WILLIS.
The family of Nathaniel Parker Willis trace back
their de-cent to George Willis, who was born in
England in 1602, and who, as a newly settled resi-
dent of Cambridge near Boston, was admitted
" Freeman of Massachusetts," in 1C38. By the-ma-
ternal branch, dividing at the family of the grand-
father of N.P. Willis, he is a descendant of the
Rev. John Bailey, pastor of a church in Boston, in
1683. The portrait of the Rev. John Bailey was pre-
sented some years since to the Massachusetts Histo-
rical Society, by Nathaniel Willis, the father of N.
P.Willis, to whom it had descended as the oldest of
the sixth generation. Mr. Bailey was an exile for
opinion's sake. He had begun his ministry at
Chester, in England, at the age of 22, but was
imprisoned for his non-conformist doctrines; and
while waiting for his trial, had preached to
crowds through the bars of Lancashire jail. He
afterwards preached fourteen years in Limerick,
Ireland, and was again imprisoned and tried for
his opinions. He then fled from persecution to
this country. The memoir of his ministry in Bos-
ton has been written by the Rev. Mr. Emerson. He
died in 1 697, and his funeral sermon was preach-
ed by the Rev. Cotton Mather.
The numerous descendants of these two names
have been principally residents in New Erjgland,
and are traceable mainly in the church records of
their different locations. The majority have been
farmers. Nathaniel Willis, the grandfather of
N. P. Willis, was born in Boston in 1755. He
was one of the proprietors and publishers of the
Independent Chronicle, a leading political paper,
from 1776 to 1784. He removed from Boston to
Virginia, where he established the "Potomac
Guardian," which he published several years at
Martinsburgh. He thence removed to Ohio, and
established the first newspaper ever published in
that state, the " Scioto Gazette." He was for
several years the Ohio State printer. It was
among the memorabilia of his life that he had
been an apprentice in the same printing-office
with Benjamin Franklin ; and that he was one of
the adventurous " Tea Party," who, in 1773,
boarded the East India Company's ship in Boston
harbor, and threw overboard her cargo of tea, to
express their opinion of the tea-tax. He died at
an advanced age on his farm near Chillicothe, to
which he had retired, to pass his latter years in
repose.
The poet's father, Nathaniel Willis, was for
several years a political publisher and editor —
the "Eastern Argus" having been established by
him at Portland in 1803. With a change in his
religious opinions and feelings, he returned to
Boston, his native city, and there founded in
1816, the first religious newspaper in the world,
the "Boston Recorder." This he conducted for
twenty years, establishing, during the latter part
of the same time, the first child's newspaper in the
world, the "Youth's Companion." The latter
he still conducts, having parted with the Recorder
as too laborious a vocation for his advancing
years, and its eminent success having realized for
him a comfortable independence.
^^7&-^-M^
NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS.
439
Nathaniel Parker Willis was born in Portland,
Jan. 20, 1807. His father removed to Bo-ston
when he was six years of age. He was for a year
ortwoapupiloftheRev.Dr.McFarlanc of Concord,
N. II. ; lint at the Latin School of Boston and at
the Phillips Academy at Andover, he received
his principal education, previous to entering col-
lege. He was graduated at Yale in 1827. While
in college he published several religious pieces of
poetry under the signature of "Boy," and gained
the prize of fifty dollars for the best poem, offered
by "The Album," a gift book published by Lock-
wood. His mother, by whom he takes the name
of Parker, was the daughter of Solomon Parker,
a farmer of Massachusetts. She was a woman of
uncommon talents, and of very exemplary piety
and benevolence. Her husband's house being for
many year-: the hospitable home of the clergy of
their denomination, her friendship with some of
the most eminent men of her time was intimate
and constant ; and her long and regular correspon-
dence with the Rev. Dr. Payson, theRev. Dr. Storrs,
and others of the first minds of the period in
which she lived, will, some day probably, be
formed into a most interesting memoir. She died
in 1844.
After his graduation, Mr. Willis first became the
editor of " The Legendary," a series of volumes of
tales published by S. G. Goodrich. He next esta-
blished the " American Monthly Magazine," which
he conducted for two j'ears, then merging it in the
"New York Mirror," conducted by Geo. P. Mor-
ris— that he might carry out a cherished purpose
of a visit to Europe. His "Pencillings by the
Way," contributed to the Mirror, give the history
of Ids next four years of travel and adventure.
During his first stay in Paris, Mr. Rives, the
American Minister, attached him to his Legation,
and it was with diplomatic passport and privilege
that he made his leisurely visit to the different
Courts and Capitals of Europe and the East. In
1835, after two years' residence in England, he
married Mary Leighton Stace, daughter of the
Commissary General William Stace, then in com-
mand of the arsenal at Woolwich, a distinguished
officer, who was in the enjoyment, of a large pen-
sion from government for his gallant conduct at
Waterloo.
* Before tie returned to America, his contributions to the
Mirror giving an account of the society in which he moved
and the places which he saw, had found their way to England,
and lulling into the hands of Lockhart, were reviewed by him
witli severity in the Quarterly for 1835. The chief points of
the article were the correction of some technical errors touch-
ing the artificial distinctions of the aristocracy, and the charge
that Willis had committed himself by printing his "unre-
strained tabie-talk on delicate subjects, and capable of compro-
mising individuals." This referred mainly to an account which
Willis had published of the conversation of Moore at Lady
Blcssington's, in which the Irish poet commented witli freedom
on tlie career of O Connell. It was an injudicious passage,
which Willis regretted was published, not thinking at the time
it was written that it would re-appear in England, though it
contained, probably, nothing more than was generally known
of the opinions of Moore on the Irish agitation. Moore, at any
rate, was writing similar opinions himself in his Diary (since
published), for the benefit of posterity. The immediate conse-
quence of the agitation of the subject in the Quarterly was a
public demand for the book, and' a publisher's offer of three
hundred pounds for the portion on hand in England, — about
one half of what subsequently appeared in America, witli the
title of the collection thus made, Peneilling* by the Way.
Captain Marryatt, then editing the Metropolitan Magazine,
made the volumes, on their publication, the subject of a personal
article in that journal. Satisfaction was demanded by Willis,
and shots were exchanged between the parties at Chatham.
Immediately after his marriage, Mr. Willis re-
turned to this country, and gratified his early
passion for rural life, which had grown upon him
with time and weariness of travel, by the pur-
chase of a few acres in the valley of the Susque-
hannah, and the building of a small cottage in
which he hoped to pass the remainder of his life.
At this place, which he called " Glenmarv," and
from which he wrote the Letters from Under a
Bridge, he passed four years. His one child by
his first wife, Imogen his daughter, was born
here.
By the failure of his publisher, the death of his
father-in-law, and other simultaneous calamities,
involving entirely his means of support, Mr. Wil-
lis was driven once more to active life; and re-
turning to New York, he established, in connexion
with Dr. Porter, The Corsair, a weekly journal.
To arrange the foreign correspondence for this and
visit his relatives, he made a short trip to Eng-
land, engaging, among others, Mr. Thackeray,
wtio was less known then than now to fame,
and who wrote awhile for the Corsair. While
abroad on this second tour, Mr. Willis publish-
ed in London a miscellany of his magazine sto-
ries, poems, and European letters, with the
title Loiterings of Travel. He also published
in London his two plays " Bianca Visconti" and
"Tortesa the Usurer," with the joint title Two
Ways of Dying for a Husband. He also wrote
about this time the letter-press for two serial
publications by Virtue, on the Scenery of the
United States and Ireland.
On his return to New York, he found that his
partner Dr. Porter had suddenly abandoned their
project in discouragement; and he soon after es-
tablished, in connexion with his former partner
Gen. Morris, the " Evening Mirror." The severe
labor of this new and trying occupation made the
first break in a constitution of great natural vigor,
and the death of his wife occurring soon after, his
health entirely gave way, and he was compelled
once more to go abroad. A brain fever in Eng-
land,and a tedious illness at the Baths of Germany,
followed. On reaching Berlin, however, he met
with his former literary partner, Theodore S. Fay ;
and Mr.Wheaton, the American minister, appoint-
ing him attache to the Legation of which Mr. Fay
was the Secretary, he determined to make this the
home of his literary labors. Visiting England to
place his daughter at school, however, he found
himself too much prostrated in health to return
to Germany, and soon after sailed once more
with his daughter for home.
The change from the Evening Mirror to the
Home Journal, which was made *oon after by
both partners, was a return to the more quiet
paths of literature, which were better suited to
both.
Upon this last enterprise, Mr. Willis is still ac-
tively employed, and its career has been, as is
well known, eminently successful.
Since that time, the publications of Mr. Willis
have of late consisted of editorial articles in the
journal, and aseries of special contributions written
on his journeys in the western and southern states
and among the West India islands, or from his
new country residence of Idlewild on the plateau
of the Highlands of the Hudson beyond West
Point. A collection of his works in royal octavo
440
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Idlewild.
was published in 1846 by Redfield with the ad-
dition to the writings which we have enumerated
up to that date of Ephemera, a gathering of brief
newspaper miscellanies. His poems have beennub-
lished in octavo, in a volume illustrated by Leutze.
A newly arranged edition of his writings, with
new collections from his articles in his journal, is
in course of publication by Scribner. The titles
of the-e volumes are —
Rural Letters, and Other Records of Thoughts
at Leisure ; People L have Met, or Pictures of
Society and People of Mark, drawn under a Thin
Veil of 'Fiction ; Life Here and There, or Sketches
of Society and Adventures at Far-Apart Times
and Places; Hurry -Graphs, or Sketches from
Fresh Impressions of Scenery, Celebrities, and
Society ; Pencillings by the Way ; A Summer
Cruise in the Mediterranean on board an Ameri-
can Frigate ; Fun Jottings, or Laughs I have
taken a Pen To ; A Health Trip to the Tropics,
etc. ; Letters from. Idlewild ; Famous Persons
and Places ; The Pag Bag.
In 1845, Mr. Willis married Cornelia, only
daughter of the Hon. Joseph Grinned, member of
Congress from Massachusetts. The Home Jour-
nal, bis "Health Trip to the Tropics," and his
" Letters from Idlewild" give the outlines of his
life for these latter years. By his second marriage
he has three children, one son and two daughters.
The contributions of Mr. "Willis to the various
periodicals upon which be lias been engaged,
have been written with that invariable care and
finish, which enable him now, in their collected
form of nine volumes, to look upon them as the
even and steady product of a career of literary
industry, varying only in place and circumstances.
They are severally characterized by their acute
perception of affairs of life and the world ; a deli-
cate vein of sentiment, an increased ingenuity
in the decoration and improvement of matters
which in the hands of most writers would be im-
pertinent and wearisome; in line, their invention
which makes new things out of old, whether
among the palled commonplaces of the city, or
the scant monotony of the country. In a series
of some twenty years, Mr. Willis has ministered,
with but few intervals of absence from his post,
weekly through the journals with which he has
been connected, to the entertainment and delight
of the American public. That his pen is as fresh
at the end of that time as at the beginning, is the
best proof of his generously gifted nature. If, in
the course of his " spiritings," he has occasionally
provoked the more fastidious of his readers by
far-fetched expressions or other conceptions, he
has made his ground good, even on this debatable
territory, — since the eccentricities have been off-
shoots of his originality, and maintained by a
style, fresh, idiomatic, and in its construction really
pure. As a gentleman may take many liberties
not allowed to a clown, an author who writes .
English as well as Mr. Willis may be indulged
with some familiarities with Priscian.
The poetry of Mr. Willis is musical and origi-
nal. His Sacred Poems belong to a class of com-
positions which critics might object to, did not
experience show them to be pleasurable and pro-
fitable interpreters to many minds. The versifi-
cation of these poems is of remarkable smooth-
ness. Indeed, they have gained the author repu-
tation where his nicer powers would have failed to
be appreciated. In another •view, his novel in
rhyme, of Lady Jane, is one of the very choicest
of the numerous poems cast in the model of Don
Juan ; while his dramas are delicate creations of
sentiment and passion, with a relish of the old
poetic Elizabethan stage.
As a traveller, Mr. Willis has no superior in
representing the humors and experiences of the
world. He is sympathetic, witty, observant, and
at the same time inventive. Looking at the world
through a pair of eyes of his own, he finds ma-
terial where others would see nothing: indeed,
some of his greatest triumphs in this line have
been in his rural sketches from Glenmary and
Idlewild, continued with novelty and spirit, long
after most clever writers would have cried out
that straw and clay too for their bricks had been
utterly exhausted. That this invention has been
pursued through broken health, with unremitting
diligence, is another claim to consideration, which
the public should be prompt to acknowledge.
Under the most favorable circumstances, a continu-
ous career of newspaper literary toil is a painful
drudgery. It weighs heavily on dull men of
powerful constitution. The world then should
be thankful, when the delicate fibres of the poet
and man of genius are freely worked from day to
day in its service.
THE BELFET PIGEON.
On the cross-beam under the Old gouth bell
The nest of a pigeon is budded well.
In summer and winter that bird is there,
Out and in with the morning air:
I love to see him track the street,
With his wary eye and active feet ;
And I often watch him as be springs,
Circling the steeple with easy wings,
'Till across the dial his shade has passed.
And the belfry edge is gained at last
'Tis a bird 1 love, with its brooding note,
And the trembling throb in its mottled throat;
There's a human look in its swelling breast,
And the gentle curve of its lowly crest ;
And I often stop with the fear I feel — ■
He runs so close to the rapid wheel.
Whatever is rung on that noisy hell — ■
Chime of the hour or funeral knell —
NATHANIEL PACKER WILLIS.
411'
The dove in the belfry must hear it well.
When the tongue swings out to the, . midnight
moon —
When the sexton cheerly rings for noon —
When the clock strikes clear at morning light —
When the child is waked with " nine at night" —
When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air,
Killing the spirit with tones of prayer —
Whatever tale in the bell is heard,
He broods on bis folded feet unstirred,
Or rising half in his rounded nest,
He takes the time to smoothe his breast,
Then drops again with filmed eyes,
An 1 sleeps as the last vibration dies.
Sweet bird ! I would that 1 could be
A hermit in the crowd like thee !
With wii;gs to fly to wood and glen,
Thy lot, like mine, is east with men ;
And daily, with unwilling feet,
I tread, like thee, the crowded street;;
But, unlike me, when day is o'er,
Thou canst dismiss the world and soar,
Or, at a half felt wish for rest,
Canst smoothe the feathers on thy breast,
And drop, forgetful, to thy nest.
I would that in such wings of gold
I could my weary heart upfold ;
And while the world throngs on beneath,
Smoothe down my cares and calmly breathe;
And only sad with others' sadness,
And only glad with others' gladness,
Listen, unstirred, to knell or chime,
And, lupt in quiet, bide my time.
TITE ANTJOYER.
Common as light is love,
And Us familiar voice wearies not over. — Suellev.
Love ttuowetn every form of air,
And every shape of earth,
And comes, unbidden, everywhere,
Like thought's mysterious birth.
The moonlit sea and the sunset sky
Are written with Love's words,
And you hear his voice unceasingly,
Like song in the time of birds.
He peeps into the warrior's heart
From the tip of a stooping plume,
And the serried spears, and the many men,
May not deny him room.
He'll come to his tent in the weary night,
And be busy in his dream ;
And he'll float to his eye in morning light
Like a fay on a silver beam.
He hears the sound of the hunter's gun,
And rides on the echo back.
And sighs in his ear. like a stirring leaf,
And flits in his woodland track.
The shade of the wood, and the sheen of the river,
The cloud and the open sky —
He will haunt them all with Ins subtle quiver,
Like the light of your very eye.
The fisher hangs over the leaning boat,
And ponders the silver sea,
For love is under the surface hid,
And a spell of thought has he;
He heaves the wave like a bosom sweet,
And speaks in the ripple low,
'Till the bait is gone from the crafty line,
And the hook hangs bare below.
He blurs the print of the scholar's book,
And intrudes in the maiden's prayer,
And profanes the cell of the holy man,
In the shape of a lady fair.
In the darkest night, and the bright daylight,
In earth, and sea, and sky,
In every home of human thought,
Will love be lurking nigh.
LOVE IN A COTTAGE.
They may talk of love in a cottage,
And bowers of trellised vine —
Of nature bewitehiugly simple,
And milkmaids half divine;
They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping
In the shade of a spreading tree,
And a walk in the fields at morning,
By the side of a footstep free !
But give me a sly flirtation
By the light of a chandelier —
With music to play in the pauses,
And nobody ve;y near:
Or a seat on a silken sofa,
With a glass of pure old wine,
And mamma too blind to discover
The small white hand in mine.
Your love in a cottage gets hungry,
Your vine is a nest for flies —
Your milkmaid shocks the Graces,
Anl simplicity talks of pies!
You lie down to-your shady slumber
And wake with a bug in your ear,
And your damsel that walks m the morning
Is shod like a mountaineer.
True love is at home on a carpet,
And mightily likes his ease —
And true love has :in eye for a dinner,
And starves beneath shady trees.
His wing is the fan of a lady,
His foot's an invisible thing,
And his arrow is tipped witli a jewel,
And shot from a silver string.
UNSEEN SPIRITS.
The shadows lay along Broadway —
'Twas near the twilight-tide —
And slowly there a lady fair
Was walking in her pride.
Alone walked she; but, viewlessly,
Walked spirits at her side.
Peace charmed the street beneath her feet,
And Honor charmed the air;
And all astir looked kind on her,
And called her good as fair —
For all God ever gave to her
She kept with chary care.
She kept with care her beauties rare
From lovers warm and true —
For her heart was cold to all but gold,
And the rich came not to woo —
But houore 1 well are charms to sell
If priests the selling do.
Now walking there was one more fair —
A slight girl, lily-pale ;
And she had unseen company
To make the spirit quail —
Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn.
And nothing could avail.
No mercy now can clear her brow
For this world's peace to pray ;
For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air,
442
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Her •woman's heart gave way ! —
But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven
By man is curst alway !
LITTLE FLORENCE GEAY.
I was in Greece. It was the hour of noon,
And the Egean wind had dropped asleep
Upon Hymettus, and the thymy isles
Of Salanris and Egina lay hung
Like clouds upon the bright and breathless sen.
I had climbed up th' Acropolis at morn,
And hours had fled as time will in a dream
Amid its deathless ruins — for the air
Is full of spirits in these mighty fanes,
And they walk with you ! As it sultrier grew,
I laid me down within a shadow deep
Of a tall column of the Parthenon,
And in an absent idleness of thought
I scrawled upon the smooth and maible base.
Tell me, O memory, what wrote I there?
The name of a sweet child J knew at Home!
I was in Asia. 'Twas a peerless night
Upon the plains of Sardis, and the moon,
Touching my eyelids through the wind-stirred tent,
Had witched me from my slumber. I arose,
And silently stole forth, and by the brink
Of golden " Pactolus," where bathe his waters
The bases of Cybele's columns fair,
I paced away the hours. In wakeful mood
I mused upon the storied past awhile,
Watching the moon, that with the same mild eye
Had looked upon the mighty Lybiau kings
Sleeping around me — Croesus, who had heaped
Within the mouldeih g portico his gold,
And Gyges, buried with his viewless ring
Beneath yon swelling tumulus — and then
I loitered up the valley to a small
And humbler ruin, where the undefiled*
Of the Apocalypse their garments kept
Spotless; and crossing with a conscious awe
The broken threshold, to my spirit's eye
It seemed as if, amid the moonlight, stood
"The angel of the church of Sardis" still!
And I again passed onward, and as dawn
Paled the bright morning star, I lay me down
Weary and sad beside the river's brink,
And 'twixt the moonlight and the rosy morn.
Wrote with my fingers in the golden "sands."
Tell me, O memory! what wrote I there?
The name of the sweet child I knew at Rome !
The dust is old upon my " sandal-shoon,"
And still I am a pilgrim ; I have roved
From wild America to spicy Iud,
And worshipped at innumerable shrines
Of beauty; and the painter's art, to me,
And sculpture, speak as with a living tongue,
And of dead kingdoms, I recall the soul,
Sitting amid their ruins. I have stored
My memory with thoughts that can allay
Fever and sadness; and when life gets dim,
Aid I am overladen in my years,
Minister to me. But when wearily
The mind gives over toiling, and, with eyes
Open but seeing not, and senses all
Lying awake within their chambers fine,
Thought settles like a fountain, clear and calm — ■
Far in its sleeping depths, as 'twere a gem,
Tell me, 0 memory what shines so fair?
Tlie face of the sweet child I knew at Rome I
* " Thou hast a few names even in Sardis which have not
defiled their garments ; and they shall walk with me in white ;
for they are worthy." Eevelation ill. 4.
LETTER TO THE UNKNOWN PURCHASER AND NEXT OCCUPANT
OF GLENMARY.
Sir: In selling you the dew and sunshine ordained
to fall hereafter on this bright spot of earth — the
waters on their way to this sparkling brook — the
tints mixed for the flowers of that enamelled
meadow, and the songs bidden to be sung in
coming summers by the feathery builders in Glen-
mary, I know not whether to wonder more at the
omnipotence of money, or at my own impertinent
audacity toward Nature. How you can buy the
right to exclude at will every other creature made
in God's image from sitting by this brook, treading
on that carpet of flowers, or lying listening to the
bii'ds in the shade of these glorious trees — how I can
sell it you — is a mystery not understood by the In-
dian, and dark, 1 must say, to me.
" Lord of the soil," is a title which conveys your
privileges but poorly. You are master of waters
flowing at this, moment, perhaps, in a river of Judea,
or floating in clouds over some spicy island of the
tropics, bound hither after many charges. There
are lilies and violets ordered for you in millions,
acres of sunshine in daily instalments, and dew
nightly in proportion. There are throats to be
tuned with song, and wings to be painted with red
and gold, blue and yellow ; thousands of them; and
all tributaries to you. Your corn is ordered to be
sheathed in silk, and lifted high to the sun. Your
grain is to be duly bearded and stemmed. There is
perfume distillii g for your clover, and juices for
your grasses and fruits. Ice will be here for your
wine, shade for your refreshment at noon, breezes
and showers and snow-flakes ; all in their season,
and all "deeded to you for forty dollars the acre"
Gods ! what a copyhold of property for a fallen
world !
Wine has been but a short lease of this lovely and
well-endowed domain (the duration of a smile of
fortune, five years, scarce longer than a five-act
play) ; but as in a play we sometimes live through
a life, it seems to me that I have lived a life at
Glenmary. Allow me this, and then you must
allow me the privilege of those who, at the close of
life, leave something behind them : that of writing
out my will. Though I depart this life, I would
fain, like others, extend my ghostly hand into the
future ; and if wings are to be borrowed or stolen
where I go, you may rely on my hovering around
and haunting you, in visitations not restricted by
cock-crowing.
Trying to look at Glenmary through your eyes,
sir, I see too plainly that I havenotshapedmy ways
as if expecting a successor in my lifetime. I did not,
I am free to own. I thought to have shuffled off my
mortal coil tranquilly here; flitting at last in com-
pany with some troop of my autumn leaves, or some
bevy of spring blossoms, or with snow in the thaw ;
my tenants at my bnck, as a landlord may say I
have counted on a life-interest in the trees, trimming
them accordingly ; and in the squiiTels and birds,
encouraging them to chatter and build and fear
nothing; no guns permitted on the premises. I
have had my will of this beautiful stream. I have
carved the wooils into a shape of my liking. I have
propagated the despised sumach and the persecuted
hemlock and " pizen laurel." And " no end to the
weeds dug up and set out again," as one of my
neighbors delivers himself. I have built a bridge
over Glenmary brook, which the town looks to have
kept up by " the place," and we have plied free
ferry over the river, I and my man Tom, till the
neighbors, from the daily saving of the two miles
round, have got the trick of it. And betwixt the
aforesaid Glenmary brook and a certain muddy and
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
443
plebeian gutter formerly permitted to join company
with, and pollute it, I have procured a divorce at
much trouble and pains, a guardian duty entailed
of course on my successor. •
First of all, sir, let me plead for the old trees of
Glenmary ! Ah ! those friendly old trees ! The
cottage stands belted in with them, a thousand visi-
ble from tiie door, and of stems and branches worthy
of the great valley ot' the Susquehunnah. For how
much music played without thanks am I indebted
to those leaf-organs of changing tone ? for how many
whisperings of thought breathed like oracles into
my ear? for how many new shapes of beauty
moulded in the leaves by the wind ? for how much
companionship, solace, and welcome ? Steadfast and
constant is the countenance of such friends, God be
praised for their staid welcome and sweet fidelity !
If I love them better than some things human, it is
no fault of ambitiousuess in the trees. They stand
where they did. But in recoiling from mankind,
one may find them the next kindliest things, and be
glad of dumb friendship. Spare those old trees,
gentle sir!
In the smooth walk which encircles the meadow
betwixt that solitary Olympian sugar-maple and the
margin of the river, dwells a portly and venerable
toad; who (if I may venture to bequeathe you, my
friends) must be commended to your kindly con-
sideration. Though a squatter, he was noticed in
our first rambles along the stream, five years since,
for his ready civility in yielding the way— -not hur-
riedly, however, nor with an obsequiousness un-
becoming a republican, but deliberately and just
enough ; sitting quietly on the grass till our pass-
ing by gave him room again on the warm and
trodden ground. Punctually after the April cleans-
ing of the walk, this jewelled habitue, from his in-
different lodgings hard b}', emerges to take his
pleasure in the sun ; and there, at any hour when a
gentleman is likely to be abroad, you may find him,
patient on his os coccygis, or vaulting to his asylum
of high grass. This year, he shows, I am grieved
to remark, an ominous obesity, likely to render him
obnoxious to the female eye, and, with the trimuess
of his shape, has departed much of that measured
alacrity which first won our regard. He presumes
a little on your allowance for old age ; and with
this pardonable weakness growing upon him, it
seems but right that his position and standing
should be tenderly made known to any new-comer
on the premises. In the cutting of the next grass,
slice me not up my fat friend, sir! nor set your cane
down heedlessly in liis modest domain, lie is "mine
ancient," ami I would fain do him a good turn with
you.
For my spoilt family of squirrels, sir, I crave
nothing but immunity from powder and shot. They
require coaxing to come on the same side of the tree
with you, and though saucy to me, I observe that
they commence acquaintance invariably with a safe
mistrust. One or two of them have suffered, it is
true, from too hasty a confidence in my greyhound
Maida, but the beauty of that gay fellow was a trap
against which nature had furnished them with no
warning instinct ! (A fact, sir, which would pret-
tily point a moral !) The large hickory on the edge
of the lawn, and the black walnut over the shoulder
of the flower-garden, have been, through my dy-
nasty, sanctuaries inviolate for squirrels. I pray
you, sir, let them not be "reformed out," under
your administration.
Of our feathered connexions and friends, we are
most bound to a pair of Phebe-birds and a merry
Bob-o'-Lincoln, the first occupying the top of the
young maple near the door of the cottage, and the
latter executing his bravuras upon the clump of
alder-bushes in the meadow, though, in common
with many a gay-plumaged gallant like himself, his
whereabout after dark is a mystery. He comes
every year from his rice-plantation in Florida to
pass the summer at Gleumaiy. Pray keep him safe
from percussion-caps, and let no urchin with a long
pole poke down our trusting Phebes ; annuals in
that same tree for three summers. There are hum-
ming-birds, too, whom we have complimented and
looked sweet upon, but they cannot be identified
from morning to morning. And there is a golden
oriole who sings through May on a dog-wood tree
by the brook-side, but he has fought shy of our
crumbs and coaxing, and let him go ! We are mates
for his betters, with all his gold livery ! With these
reservations, sir, I commend the birds to your friend-
ship and kind keeping.
And now, sir, I have nothing else to ask, save only
your watchfulness over the small nook reserved from
this purchase of seclusion and loveliness. In the
shady depths of the small glen above you, among
the wild-flowers and music, the music of the brook
babbling over rocky steps, is a spot sacre 1 to love
and memory. Keep it inviolate, and as much of the
happiness of Glenmary as we can leave behind, stay
with you for recompense !
HENEY 'WAD9WORTII LONGFELLOW
Was born in Portland, Maine, February 27th,
1807, " in an old square wooden house, upon the
edge of the sea." He entered Bowdoin College,
where in due time he was graduated in the class
with Hawthorne, in 1S25. He wrote verses at
this time for the United, States Literary Gazette,
printed at Boston.
For a short time after leaving college, he studied
law in the office of his father, the Hon. Stephen
Longfellow; but soon fell into the mode of life
he has since pursued as a scholar, by the appoint-
ment to a Professorship of Modern Languages in
his college, to accomplish himself for which he
travelled abroad in 1826, making the usual tour
of the continent, including Spain. He was
absent three years; on his return, he lectured
at Bowdoin College, as Professor of Modern
Languages and Literature, and wrote articles
for the North American Review, papers on
Sir Philip Sidney, and other topics of polite
literature. One of these, an Essay on the Moral
and Devotional Poetry of Spain, included his
noble translation of the Stanzas of the soldier
poet Manrique on the death of his father.*
He also at this time penned the sketches of
travel in Outre Mer, commencing the publication
after the manner of Irving in his Sketch Book ;
but before the work was completed in this form,
it was intrusted to the Harpers, who issued it
entire in two volumes.
The elegance of the manner, the nice phrases
and fanciful illustrations — a certain decorated
poetical style — with the many suggestions of fas-
tidious scholarship, marked this in the eye of the
public as a book of dainty promise.
In 1835, Mr. Ticknor having resigned his Pro-
fessorship of Modern Languages and Literature
in Harvard, Mr. Longfellow was chosen his suc-
cessor. He now made a second tour to Europe,
* This was published in a volume, by Alien & Ticknor, in
1833, with Eorue translations of Sonnets by Lope de Vega and
others.
Hi
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
preliminary to entering upon his new duties, visiting
the northern kingdoms of Denmark, Sweden,
Holland, and afterwards Switzerland.
Shortly after assuming his engagement at Har-
vard, he established himself, in 1837, as a lodger
in the old Cragie House, the Washington Head
Quarters, which has since become his own by
purchase, and the past traditions and present hos-
pitality of which have recently been celebrated by
Longfellow's Residence.
an appreciative pen.* It is from this genial resi-
dence, the outlook from which has furnished many
a happy epithet and incident of the poet's verse,
that Hypericin, a Romance, was dated in 1839,
a dainty volume perfecting the happy promises
of Outre Mer. Old European tradition, the quaint
and picturesque' of the past, are revived in its
pages, by a modern sentiment and winning trick
of the fancy, which will long secure the attrac-
tiveness of this pleasant volume. It has been
always a scholar's instinct with Longfellow to
ally Ins poetical style to some rare subject of fact
or the imagination worthy of treatment ; and
those good services which he has rendered to his-
tory, old poets, and ancient art, will serve him
with posterity, which asks for fruit, while the
present is sometimes contented with leaves.
The first volume of original poetry published
by Longfellow, was the Voices of the Night at Cam-
bridgein 1839. Itcontained the " Psalm of Life,"
the "Midnight Mass for the Dying Year," the
Manrique translation, and a number of the early
poems of the Gazette. It at once became popular
— many of its stanzas, eloquently expressive of
moral courage or passive sentiment, veins since
frequently worked in his poems, as Excelsior and
Resignation, being fairly adopted as "household
words." Ballads and other Poems, and a thin
volume of Poems on Slavery, followed in 1842.
The former has the translation in hexameters
of "The Children of the Lord's Supper," from
the Swedish of Bishop Tegner. Other delicate
cream-colored volumes came on in due sequence.
The Spanish Student, a play in three acts, in
1843; The Befry of Bruges in 1846; Ecange-
* G. W. Curtis, in the "Homes of American Authors."
line, a Tale of Acarhe, a happy employment of
the hexameter, the next year ; Kwanagh, a Tale,
an idyllic pipse companion, in 1849 ; The Seaside
and the Fireside, in 1850 ; and that quaint anecdo-
tal poem of the middle ages in Europe, The Golden
Legend, in 1851. These, with two volumes of
minor poems from favorite sources, entitled The
Waif and The Estray, prefaced each by a poetical
introduction of his own, with a collection, The
Poets and Poetry of Europe, in 1845, complete
the list thus far of Longfellow's publications ;*
though some of his finest poems have since ap-
peared in Putnam's Magazine, to which he is a
frequent contributor. In 1854 he resigned his
Professorship at Harvard.
The same general characteristics run through
all Mr. Longfellow's productions. They are the
work of a scholar, of a man of taste, of a fertile
fancy, and of a loving heart. He is "a picked
man" of books, and sees the world and life by
their light. To interest his imagination the facts
around him must be invested with this charm of
association. It is at once his aid and his merit
that he can reproduce the choice pictures of the
past and of other minds with new accessories of
Iiis own; so that the quaint old poets of Ger-
many, the singers of the past centuries, the poeti-
cal vision aud earnest teachings of Goethe, and
the every-day humors of Jean Paul, as it were,
come to live among us in American homes and
landscape. This interpretation in its highest
forms is one of the rarest benefits which the
scholar can bestow upon his country. The genius
of Longfellow has given us an American idyl,
based on a touching episode of ante-refolution-
ary history, parallel with the Hermann and Doro-
thea of Goethe, in the exquisite story of Evange-
line ; has shown us how Richter might have
surveyed the higher aud inferior conditions, the
* There bare been other editions of several of these works;
a collection made by the author in a cheap form published by
the Harpers in 1S46: the costly c py, illustrated by Hunting-
ton, published at Philadelphia in 1645: and the elegant edi-
tions of Evangeline, the Poems, the Golden Legend, and Hy-
perion, published by Eogue of London, with the wood-cut il-
lustrations from original designs — for one series of which tho
artist made a tour on the continent — by Birket Foster.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
445
schoolmaster, the clergyman, the lovers and the
rustics of a New England village in his tale of
Kavanagh ; has reproduced the simple elegance
of the lighter Spanish drama in his play of the
Student ; and in his Golden Legend has carried
us, in his ingenious verse, to the heart of the
Middle Ages, showing us the most poetic as-
pects of the lives of scholars, churchmen, and
villagers, — how they sang, travelled, practised
logic, medicine, and divinity, and with what
miracle plays, jest, and grim literature they were
entertained. His originality and peculiar merit
consist in these felicitous transformations. If he
were simply a scholar, he would be but an an-
nalist or an annotator ; but being a poet of taste
and imagination, with an ardent sympathy for all
good and refined traits in the world, and for all
forms of the objective life of others, his writings
being the very emanations of a kind generous
nature, he has succeeded in reaching the heart of
the public. All men relish art and literature
when they are free from pedantry. We are all
pleased with pictures, and like to be charmed into
thinking nobly and acting well by the delights of
fancy. _ »
In his personal appearance, frank, graceful man-
ner, fortune, and mode of life, Mr. Longfellow
reflects or anticipates the elegance of his writings.
In a home surrounded by every refinement of
art and cultivated intercourse, in the midst of
his family and friends, the genial humorist enjoys
a retired leisure, from which many ripe fruits of
literature may yet be looked for.
A PSALM OF LIFE — WHAT THE HEART OFTnE TOTJNG MAN SALDTO
THE PSALMIST.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream !
For the soul is dead that slumbers.
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real ! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the souL
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow
♦ Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
Be a hero in the strife !
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead 1
Act, — act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead !
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave belaud us
Footprints on the sands of time ;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeimr, shall take heart asaii.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.
When the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight ;
Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful fire-light
Dance upon the parlour- wall ;
Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door ;
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more ;
He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,
By the road-side fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life !
They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more !
And with them the Being Beauteous,
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.
With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.
And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the sides.
Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.
0, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have hved and died!
god's- ACEE.
I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
The burial-ground God's- Acre I It is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls.
Aiid breathes a beuison o'er the sleeping du ■£■
God's- Acre ! Tes, that blessed name imparts
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown
The seed that they had garnered in their hearts
Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own.
Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith that we shall rise again
At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast
bhall wiuuow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
Ther shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth ;
And each bright blossom mingle its perfume
With that of flowers which never bloomed on
earth.
With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow ;
This is the field and Acre of our God.
This is the place where human harvests grow i
446
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
EXCELSIOR.
The shades of niglit -were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and iee,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior I
His brow was sad ; his eye beneath
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior I
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gle:im warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior !
" Try not the pass !" the old man said ;
" Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide 1"
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior !
" O, stay," the maiden said, " and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior I
" Beware the pine-tree's withered branch !
Beware the awful avalanche I"
This was the peasant's last good-night ;
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior !
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior I
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior I
There, in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!
RAIN IN SUMMER.
How beautiful is the rain I
After the dust and heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
In the narrow lane,
How beautiful is the rain !
How it clatters along the roofs,
Like the tramp of hoofs I
How it gushes and struggles out
From the throat of the overflowing spont !
Across the window-pane
It pours and pours ;
And swift and wide,
With a muddy tide,
Like a river down the gutter roars
The rain, the welcome rain !
The sick man from his chamber looks
At the twisted brooks ;
He can feel the cool
Breath of each little pool ;
His fevered brain
Grows calm again, .
A d he breathes a blessing on the rain.
From the neighbouring school
Come the boys,
With more than their wonted noise
And commotion ;
And down the wet streets
Sail their mimic fleets,
Till the treacherous pool
Engulfs them in its whirling
And turbulent ocean.
In the country, on every side,
Where far and wide,
Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide,
Stretches the plain,
To the dry grass and the drier grain
How welcome is the rain I
In the furrowed land
The toilsome and patient oxen stand ;
Lifting the yoke-encumbered head,
With their dilated nostrils spread,
They silently inhale
The clover-scented gale,
And the vapors that arise
From the well watered and smoking soil.
For this rest in the furrow after toil
Their large and lustrous eyes
Seem to thank the Lord,
More than man's spokeu word.
Near at hand,
From under the sheltering trees,
The fanner sees
His pastures, and his fields of grain,
As they bend their tops
To the numberless beating drops
Of the incessant rain.
He counts it as no sin
That he sees therein
Only his own thrift and gain.
These, and far more than these,
The Poet sees !
He can behold
Aquarius old
Walking the fenceless fields of air ;
And from each ample fold
Of the clouds about him rolled
Scattering everywhere
The showery rain,
As the farmer scatters his grain.
He can behold
Things manifold
That have not yet been wholly told, —
Have not been wholly sung nor said.
For his thought, that never stops,
Follows the water-drops
Down to the graves of the dead,
Down through chasms and gulfs profound,
To the dreary fountain-head
Of lakes and rivers under ground ;
And sees them, when the rain is done.
On the bridge of colors seven
Climbing up once more to heaven,
Opposite the setting sun.
Thus the seer,
With vision clear,
Sees forms appear and disappear,
In the perpetual round of strange,
Mysterious change
From birth to death, from death to birth,
From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth ;
Till glimpses more sublime
Of things, unseen before,
Unto his wondering eyes reveal
The L^niverse, as an immeasurable wheel
Turning for evermore
In the rapid and rushing river of Time.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
447
RESIGNATION.
There is no flock, however watched ami tended,
But one dead lamb is there I
There is no fireside, howsoever defended,
But has one vacant chair 1
The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead ;
The heart of Rachel for her children crying
Will not be comforted I
Let us be patient! these severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.
We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ;
Amid these earthly damps
What seem to us but dim funereal tapers
May be Heaven's distant lamps.
There is no Death ! what seems so is transition ;
This life of Mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.
She is not dead — the child of our affection —
But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.
In that great cloisters stillness and seclusion
By guardian angels led,
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,
She lives, whom we call dead.
Day after day we think what she is doing,
In those bright realms of air ;
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.
Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken
The bond which nature gives,
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,
May reach her where she lives.
Not as a child shall we again behold her ;
For when witii raptures wild
In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child ;
But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
Shall we behold her face.
And though at times, impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean
That cannot be at rest;
We will be patient! and assuage the feeling
We cannot wholly stay ;
By silence sanctifying, not concealing,
The grief that must have way.
THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.
L'eternito est une pendu'e. dnnt le balancier dit et redit sans
ce«s* ces deux mots settlement, dans ie silencudes tombeaux :
"Tuujours! jamais I Jamais! toujours!'
Jacques Bridaine.
Somewhat back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat,
Across its antique portico
Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw ;
And from its station in the hall
An ancient timepiece says to all, —
"For ever — never!
Never — for ever ! "
Halfway up the stairs it stands,
And points and beckons with its hands
From its case of massive oak,
Like a monk, who, under his cloak,
Crosses himself, and sighs, alasl
With sorrowful voice to all who pass, —
"For ever — never.'
Never — for ever! "
By day its voice is low and light ;
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say at each chamber door, —
" For ever— never!
Never — for ever ! "
Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death and days of b:rth,
Through every swdft vicissitude
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood,
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe, — ■
" For ever — never !
Never — for ever I "
In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted Hospitality ;
His great fires up the chimney roared ;
The stranger feasted at his board ;
But, like the skeleton at the feast,
That warning timepiece never ceased, —
"For ever — never!
Never — for ever ! "
There groups of merry children played,
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed ;
O precious hours! 0 golden prime,
And affluence of love and time!
Even as a miser counts his gold,
Those hours the ancient timepiece told, —
"For ever — never!
Never — for ever!"
From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night;
There, in that silent room below,
The dead lay in his shroud of snow,
And in the hush that followed the praye:-,
Was heard the old clock on the stair,—
"For ever — never!
Never — for ever ! "
All are scattered now and fled.
Some are married, some are dead;
And when I ask with throbs of pain,
"Ah! when shall they all meet again?"
As in the days long since gone by,
The ancient timepiece makes reply, —
"For ever — never!
Never — for ever! "
Never here, for ever there,
Where all parting, pain, and care,
And death, and time shall disappear, —
For ever there, but never here I
The horologe of Eternity
Sayeth this incessantly, — ■
"For ever — never!
Never — for ever I "
THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT NEWPORT.
How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their
graves,
Close by the street of this fair sea-port town ;
Silent beside the never-silent waves,
At rest in all this moving up ami down !
The trees are white with dust, that o'er their shjep
Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind's
breath.
as
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
While underneath such leafy tents they keep
The long, mysterious Exodus of Death.
And these sepulchral stones, so old and brown,
That pave with level ihigs their burial-place,
Are like the tablets of the Law, thrown down
And broken by Moses at the mountain's base.
The very names recorded here are strange,
Of foreign accent, and of different climes ;
Alvares and Rivera interchange
With Abraham and Jacob of old times.
" Blessed be God ! for he created Death ! "
The mourners said: " and Death is rest and peace."
Then added, in the certainty of faith :
41 And giveth Life, that never more shall cease."
Closed are the portals of their Synagogue,
No Psalms of David now the silence break,
No Rabbi reads the ancient Decalogue
In the grand dialect the Prophets spake.
Gone are the living but the dead remain,
And not neglected, for a hand unseen,
Scattering its bounty, like a summer rain,
Still keeps their graves and their remembrance
green.
How came they here? What burst of Christian hate,
What persecution, merciless and blind,
Drove o'er the sea, — that desert, desolate —
These Ishmaels and Hagars of mankind ?
They lived in narrow streets and lanes obscure,
Ghetto or Judeustrass', in mirk and mire,:
Taught in the school of patience to endure
The life of anguish and the death of fire.
All their lives long, with the unleavened bread
And bitter herbs of exile and its fears.
The wasting famine ^f the heart they fed,
And slaked its thirst with marah of their tears.
Anathema maranatha! was the cry
That rang from town to town, from street to street ;
At every gate the accursed Mordecai
Was mocked and jeered, and spurned by Christian
feet.
Pride and humiliation hand in hand
Walked with them through the world where'er
they went ;
Trampled and beaten were they as the sand,
And yet unshaken as the continent.
For in the background figures vague and vast,
Of patriarchs and of prophets rose sublime,
And all the great traditions of the Past
They saw reflected in the coming time.
And thus for ever with reverted look
The mystic volume of the world they read,
Spelling it backward like a Hebrew book,
Till life became a legend of the Dead.
But ah! what once has been shall be no more !
The groaning earth in travail and in pain
Brings forth its races, but does not restore,
And the dead nations never rise again.
BCENEEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI — FEOM EVANGELINE.
Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness
sombre with forests,
Day after day they glided adown the turbulent
river ;
Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped
on its borders.
Now through rushing chutes, among green islands,
where plumelike
Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept
with the current,
I Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery
sand-bars
Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves
of their margin,
Shining witli snow-white plumes, large flocks of
pelicans waded.
Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of
the river,
Shaded by China trees, in the midst of luxuriant
gardens,
Stood the houses of planters, with negro-eabins and
dove-cots.
They were approaching the region where reigns per-
petual summer,
Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of
orange and citron,
Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the
eastward.
They, too, swerved from their course ; and, entering
the Bayou of Plaquemine,
Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious
waters,
Whi?h, like a net-work of steel, extended in every
direction.
Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs
of the cypress
Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid air
Waved like banners that hang on the walls of an-
cient cathedrals.
Death-like the silence seemed, and unbroken, save
by the herons
Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at
sunset,
Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demo-
niac laughter.
Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed
on the water,
Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sus-
taining the arches,
Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through
clunks in a ruin.
Dream-like, and indistinct, and strange were all
things around them ;
And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of won-
der and sadness, —
Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be
compassed.
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western
horizon
Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the
landscape;
Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and
forest,
Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and
mingled together.
Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of
silver,
Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the
motionless water.
Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible
sweetness.
Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of
feeling
Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and
waters around her.
Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-
bird, wildest of singers,
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the
water,
Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious
music,
That the whole air and the woods and the waves
seemed silent to listen.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
449
Plaintive at first were the tones and Bad , then soar-
ing to madness
Seemed thoy to follow or guide the revel of frenzied
Bacchantes.
Then single notes were heard, in sorrowful, low la-
mentation ,
Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad
in derision,
As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the
tree-tops
Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower
on the branches.
With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throb-
bed with emotion,
Slowly they entered the Teehe, where it flows
through the green Opelousas,
And through the amber air, above the crest of the
woodland,
Saw the column of smoke that rose from a neigh-
boring dwelling; —
Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing
of cattle.
PIC-NIC AT ROARING CROOK — FROM KAVANAGn.
Every state, and almost every county, of New
England, has its Roaring Brook, — a mountain stream-
let, overhung by woods, impeded by a mill, encum-
bered by fallen trees, but ever racing, rushing, roar-
ing down through gurgling gullies, and filling the
forest with its delicious sound and freshness; the
drinking-place of home-returning herds; the myste-
rious haunt of squirrels and blue-jays, the sylvan
retreat of school-girls, who frequent it on summer
holidays, and mingle their restless thoughts, their
overflowing fancies, their fair imaginings, with its
restless, exuberant, and rejoicing stream.
Fairmeadow had no Roaring Brook. As its name
indicates, it was too level a land for that. But the
neighbouring town of Westwood, lying more inlaid,
and among the hills, had one of the fairest and full-
est of all the brooks that roar. It was the boast of
the neighbourhood. Not to have seen it, was to
have seen no brook, no waterfall, no mountain
ravine. And, consequently, to behold it and admire,
was Kavauagh taken by Mr. Churchill as soon as
the summer vacation gave leisure and opportunity.
The party consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, and
Alfred, in a one-horse chaise, and Cecilia, Alice, and
Kavauagh, in a carryall — the fourth seat in which
was occupied by a large basket, containing what the
Squire of the Grove, in Don Quixote, called his
" hambreras," — that magniloquent Castilinn word
for cold collation. Over warm uplands, smelling of
clover and mint; through e<»d glides, still wet with
the rain of yesterday , along the river; across the
rattling and tilting planks of wooden bridges; by
orchards bj- the gate* of fields, with the tall lmillen
growing at the bars; by stone walls overrun with
privet and barberries; in sun and heat, in shadow
and coolness, — forward drove the happy party on
that pleasant summer morning.
At length they reached the Roaring Brook.
From a gorge in the mountains, through a long,
winding gallery of birch, and beech, and | line, leaped
the bright, brown waters of the jubilant streamlet;
out of the woods, across the plain, under the rude
bridge of logs, into the woods again, — a day between
two nights, "vt it h :t went a song that made the
heart sing likewise, a song of joy. and exultation,
and freedom a continuous and unbroken son°- of
life, and pleasure, and perpetual youth. Like the
old Icelandic Scald, the streamlet seemed to say,
" I am possessed of songs such as neither the
spouse of a king, nor any son of man, can repeat:
vol. ii.— 29
one of them is called the Helper ; it will help thee
at thy need, in sickness, grief, and all adversity."
The little party left their carriages at a farm-
house by the bridge, and followed the rough road on
foot along the brook ; now close upon it, now shut
out by intervening trees. Mr. Churchill, bearing the
basket on his arm, walked in front with his wife and
Alfred. Kavauagh came behind with Cecilia and
Alice. The music of the brook silenced all conver-
sation ; only occasional exclamations of delight
were uttered, — the irrepressible applause of fresh
and sensitive natures, in a scene so lovely. Pre-
sently, turning otf from the road, which led directly
to the mill, and was rough with the tracks of heavy
wheels, they went down to the margin of the brook.
" How indescribably beautiful this brown water
is! " exclaimed Kavauagh. '■ It is like wine, or the
nectar of the gods of Olympus; as if the falling
Hebe had poured it from the goblet."
" More like themead ormetheglin of the northern
gods," said Mr. Churchill, " spilled from the drinking-
horns of Valhalla."
But all the ladies thought Kavanagh's comparison
the better of the two, and in fact the best that
could be made: and Mr. Churchill was obliged to
retract, and apologize for his allusion to the celestial
ale-house of Odin.
Ere long they were forced to cross the brook,
stepping from stone to stone, over the little rapids
and cascades. AH crossed lightly, easily, safely ;
even " the sumpter mule," a3 Mr. Churchill called
himself, on account of the pannier. Only Cecilia .
lingered behind, as if afraid to cross. Cecilia, who
had crossed at that same place a hundred times
before, — Cecilia, who had the surest foot, and the
firmest nerves, of all the village maidens, — she now
stood irresolute, seized with a sudden tremor ; blush-
ing and laughing at her own timidity, and yet un-
able to advance. Kavanagh saw her embarrass-
ment, and hastened back to help her. Her hand
trembled in his; she thanked him with a gentle look
and word. His whole soul was softened within him.
His attitude, his countenance, his voice were alike
submissive and subdued. He was as one penetrated
with the tenderest emotions.
It is difficult to know at what momentlove begins;
it is less difficult to know that it has begun. A
thousand heralds proclaim it to the listening air; a
thousand ministers and messengers betray it to the
eye. Tone, act, attitude and look, — the signals upon
the countenance, — the electric telegraph of touch.,
all these betray the yielding citadel before the word
itself is uttered, which, like the key surrendered,
opens every avenue and gate of entrance, and makes
retreat impossible.
The day passed delightfully with all. They sat.
upon the stones and the roots of trees. ' Cecilia read,
from a volume she had brought with her, poems that
rhymed with the running water. The others
listened and commented. Little Alfred waded in
the stream, with his bare white feet, and launched
boats over the falls. Noon had been fixed upon for
dining; but they anticipated it by at least an hour.
The great basket was opened, endless sandwiches
were drawn forth, and a cold pastry, as large as
that of the Squire of the Grove. During the re-
past, Mr. Churchill slipped into the brook, while in
the act of handing a sandwich to his wife, which
caused unbounded mirth- and Kavanagh sat down
on a mossy trunk, that gave way beneath him, and
crumbled into powder. This, also, was received
with great merriment.
After dinner, they ascended the brook still farther
— indeed, quite to the mill, which was not going. It
had been stopped in the midst of its work. The
450
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
saw still hold its hungry teeth fixed in the heart of
a pine. Mr. Churchill took occasion to make known
to the company his long cherished purpose of writing
a poem called " The Song of the Saw-Mill," and en-
larged on the beautiful associations of flood and
forest connected with the theme. He delighted him-
self and his audience with the fine fancies he meant
to weave into his poem, and wondered that nobody
had thought of the sisbject before. Kavanagh said
that it had been thought of before; and cited Ker-
ner's little poem, so charmingly translated by Bry-
ant, Mr. Churchill hail not seen it. Kavanagh
looked into his pocket-book for it, but it was not to
be found ; still he was sure that there was such a
poem. Mr. Churchill abandoned his design. He
had spoken, — and the treasure, just as he touched it
with his hand, was gone for ever.
The party returned home as it came, all tired and
happy, excepting little Alfred, who was tired ami
cross, and sat, sleepy and sagging on his father's
knee, with his hat cocked rather fiereely over his
eyes.
Me. Samuel Longfellow, a brother of the pro-
ceding, an accomplished Unitarian divine, is the
minister of a congregation at Brooklyn, X. Y. He
was a graduate of Harvard of the class of 1839. He
lias written several hymns which are included in
the collection of Higginson and Johnston. In
1853 he prepared a tasteful collection of poetry,
published by Ticknor and Co., entitled, Tha-
latta: a Booh for the Sea Side. Among its
numerous articles we notice this single contribu-
tion of his own.
EVENING WALK BY THE EAT.
The evening hour had brought its peace,
Brought end of toil to weary day ;
Prom wearying thoughts to find release,
I sought the sands that skirt the bay.
Dark rain-clouds southward hovering nigh,
Gave to the sea their leaden hue,
But in the west the open sky,
Its rose-light on the waters threw.
I stood, with heart more quiet grown,
And watched the pulses of the tide,
The huge black rocks, the sea weeds brown,
The grey beach stretched on either side,
The boat that dropped its one white sail,
Where the steep yellow bank ran down,
4nd o'er the clump of willows pale,
The white towers of the neighboring town.
A cool light brooded o'er the land,
A changing bistre lit the bay •
The tide just plashe 1 along the sand,
And voices sounded far away.
The Past came up to Memory's eye,
Dark with some clouds of leaden hue,
But many a space of open skv
Its rose-light on those waters threw.
Then came to me the dearest friend,
"Whose beauteous soul doth, like the sea,
To all tilings fair new beauty lend,
Transfiguring the earth to me.
The thoughts that lips oould never tell,
Through subtler senses were made kuown ;
I raised my eyes, — the darkness fell, —
I stood upon the sands, alone.
IIENET WILLIAM LTEr.BEET.
Me. nELKEET presents the somewhat rare combi-
nation in this country, where too little attention is
given to physical in connexion with intellectual
training, of the scholar, the sportsman, and the
novelist. He is the eldest son of the Hon.
and Eev. William Herbert, Dean of Manchester,
author of the poem of Attila, and a second son of
the Earl of Carnarvon. He was born in London,
April 7, 1807, was educated at home under a pri-
vate tutor until twelve years of age, and then,
after a year passed at a private school, sent to
Eton, April, 1820. In October, 1823, he entered .
Caius College, Cambridge, and was graduated
with distinction in January, 1829. At the close
of the following year he removed to the United
States, and has since resided in the city of New
York and at his country seat, the Cedars, in its
vicinity at Newark. During the eight years after
his arrival he was employed as principal Greek
teacher in the classical school of the Rev. R.
Townsend Huddart in the City of New York.
In 1833, in company with Mr. A. D. Patterson,
he commenced the American Monthly Magazine,
which he conducted, after the conclusion of the
second year, in connexion with Mr. C. F. Holi-
man until 1830, when the periodical passed into
the charge of Mr. Park Benjamin. Nearly one
half the matter of several numbers was written
by Mr. Herbert, who kept up a fine spirit of scho-
larship in its pages. In 183-t an historical novel,
which he had commenced in the magazine, The
Brothers, a Tale of the Fronde, 'vas published by
the Harpers. It was followed in 1837 by Groin-
well, in 1843 by Harmaduhe Wytil, and in 18-18
by The Soman. Traitor, a classical romance
founded on the Conspiracy of Catiline.
During the period of the publication of these
works Mr. Herbert was al o a constant contributor
to the New York Spirit of the Times. -His sport-
ing articles in that periodical have been collected
under the titles of. My Shooting Box, The War-
wick Woodlands, and Field Sports of the United
States. The last of these extends tof two volumes
octavo, and contains, in addition to the matters
Jfiwtf^Ab^dr-
especially pertaining to Venator and Fixator, a
full account of the characteristics of the fish, flesh,
and fowl treated of.
HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT.
451
Mr. Herbert, in his division of his time, must
nearly realize that of Izaak Walton's Scholar, "all
summer in the field and all winter in the study,"
as in addition to the productions Ave have men-
tioned he has written a fine metrical translation
of the Agamemnon, published in a small volume,
with a number of briefer versions from the clas-
sics, in the " Literary "World" and other periodi-
cals. He has also been a constant contributor of
tales and sketches, mostly drawn from romantic
incidents in European history, to the monthly ma-
gazine. Several of these have been collected into
volumes under the titles of The Cavaliers of Eng-
land, or the Times of the Revolutions of 1042 and
l'G88; The Knights of England, France, and Scot-
land; Bjiithe Chevaliers of France from the Cru-
saders to the Mareachals of Louis XIV. He has
also collected two volumes on the classical period,
The Captains of the Old World, their Campaigns,
Character, and Conduct, as Compared with the
Great Modern Srategis's, an account of the great
military leaders who flourished from the time of
the Persian Wars to the Roman Republic ; and a
work, The Captains of the Roman Republic.
Mr. Herbert's style is amide and flowing, with a
certain finished elegance marking the true man
of letters. Though only occasionally putting his
pen to verse, a poetical spirit of enthusiasm runs
through his writings.
THE LAST BEAP. ON THE nil.LS OF WARWICK.
It was a hot and breathless afternoon, toward the
last days of July — one of those days of tiery, scorch-
ing heat, that drive the care-worn citizens from their
great red-hot oven, into those calm and peaceful
shades of the sweet unsophisticated country, which,
.to them, savour far more of purgatory than they do
of paradise, — " for quiet, to quick bosoms, is a hell,"
— and theirs are quick enough, heaven knows, in
Wall-street.. It was a hot. and breathless afternoon
— the sun, which had been scourging the faint earth
all day long witli a degree of heat endurable by
those alone who can laugh at one hundred degrees
of Fahrenheit, was stooping toward the western verge
of heaven ; but no drop of diamond dew had as yet
fallen to refresh the innocent flowers, that, hung their
heads like maidens smitten by passionate and ill-
requited love ; no indication of the evening breeze
had sent its welcome whisper among the motionless
and silent tree-tops. Such was the season and the
hour when, having started, long before Dan Phoebus
had arisen from his bed, to beat the mountain swales
about the greenwood lake, and having bagged, by
dint of infinite exertion and vast sudor, present alike
to dogs and men, our thirty couple of good summer
Woodcock, Archer and I paused on the bald scalp of
Round Mountain.
Crossing a little ridge, we came suddenly upon the
loveliest and most fairy-looking ghyll — for I must
have recourse to a north-country word to denote that
which lacks a name in any other dialect of the An-
glo-Norman tongue — I ever looked upon. Not, at
the most, about twenty yards wide at the brink, nor
above twelve in depth, it was clothed with a dense
rich growth of hazel, birch, and juniper; the small
rill brawling and sparkling in a thousand mimic ca-
taracts over the tiny limestone ledges winch opposed
its progress — a beautiful profusion of wild flowers —
the tall and vivid spikes of the bright scarlet habe-
naria — the gorgeous yellow cups of the low-growing
enothera — and many gaily-colored creepers decked
the green marges of the water, or curled, in cluster-
ing beauty, over the neighbouring coppice. We fol-
lowed for a few paces this fantastic cleft, until it
widened into a circular recess or cove — the summit-
level of its waters — whence it dashed headlong,
some twenty-five or thirty feet, into the chasm be-
low. The floor of this small basin was paved with
the bare rock, through the very midst of which the
little stream had worn a channel scarcely a foot ia
depth, its clear cold waters glancing like crystal
over its pebbly bed. On three sides it was hemmed
in by steep banks, so densely set with the evergreen
junipers, interlaced and matted with cat-briars and
other creeping plants, that a small dog could not.,
without a struggle, have forced its way through the
close thicket. On the fourth side, fronting the open-
ing of the rift by which the waters found their
egress, there stood a tall, flat, fee of granite rock,
completely blocking up the glen, perfectly smooth
and slippery, until it reached the height of forty
feet, when it became uneven, and broke into many
craggy steps and seams, from one of which shot out
the broad stem and gnarled branches of an aged oak,
overshadowing, witli its grateful umbrage, the se-
questered source of that wild mountain spring. The
small cascade, gushing from an aperture midway the
height of the tall cliff, leaped, in a single glittering
thread, scarcely a foot broad, and but an inch or two
in volume, into the Utile pool which it had worn
out for its own reception in the hard stone at the
bottom. Immediately behind this natural fountain,
which, in its free leap, formed an arch of several feet
in diameter, might be seeu a small and craggy aper-
ture, but little larger than the entrance of a common
well, situate close to the rock's base, descending ia a
direction nearly perpendicular for several feet, as
might be easily discovered from without.
" There, Frank," cried Harry, as he pointed to the
cave — "there is the scene of my Bear story; and
here, as I told you, is the sweetest nook, and freshest
spring, you ever saw or tasted !"
" For the sight," replied I, " I confess. As to the
taste, I will speak more presently." While I replied,
I was engaged in producing from my pocket our
Blight stores of pilot biscuit, salt, and hard-boiled
eggs, whereunto Harry contributed his quota in the
shape of a small piece of cold salt pork, and — tell it
not in Gath — two or three young, green-topped,
summer onions. Two modest-sized dram bottles,
duly supplied with old Farintosh, ami a dozen or
two of right Manilla cheroots, arranged in tempting
order, beside the brimming basin of the nymph-like
cascade, completed our arrangement; and, after
having laved our heated brows and hands, begrimed
with gunpowder, and stained with the red witness
of vomerine slaughter, stretched on the cool granite
floor, and sheltered from the fierce rays of the sum-
mer sun by the dark foliage of the oak — we feasted,
happier and more content with our frugal fare, than
the most lordly epicure that ever strove to stimulate
his appetite to the appreciation of fresh luxuries.
" Well, Harry," exclaimed I, when I was satiate
with food, and while, having already quaffed two
moderate horns, I was engaged in emptying, alas!
the last remaining drops of whiskey into the silver
cup, sparkling with pure cold water—" Well, Harry,
the spring is fresh, and cold, and tasteless, as any
water I ever did taste ! Pity it were not situate in
some Faun-haunted glen of green Arcadia, or some
sweet flower-enamelled dell of merry England, that
it might have a meeter legend for romantic ears than
your Bear story — some minstrel dream of Dryad, or
Oread, or of Dian's train, mortal-wooed! — some
frolic tale of Oberon and his blithe Titania! — or,
stranger yet, some thrilling and disastrous lay. after
the German school, of woman waili ig for her demon
lover! But, sith it may not be, let's have the Bear."
452
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
" Well, then," replied that worthy, " first, as you
must know, the hero of my tale is — alas ! that I must
say was, rather — a brother of Tom Draw, than whom
no braver nor more honest man, no warmer friend,
no keener sportsman, ever departed to his long last
home, dewed by the tears of all who knew him. He
was — but it boots not to weave long reminiscences —
you know the brother who still survives; and,
knowing him, you have the veritable picture of the
defunct, as regards soul, I mean, and spirit — for he
was not a mountain in the flesh, but a man only —
and a stout and good one — as, even more than my
assertion, my now forthcoming tale will testify. It
was the very first winter I had passed in the United
States, that I was staying up here for the first time
likewise. I had, of course, become speedily intimate
with Tom, with whom, indeed, it needs no longer
space so to become ; and scarcely less familiar with
his brother, who, at that time, held a farm in the
valley just below our feet. I had been resident at
Tom's above six weeks ; and, during that spell, as
he would call it, we had achieved much highly plea-
sant and exciting slaughter of Quail, Woodcock, and
Partridge ; not overlooking sundry Foxes, red, black',
and grey, and four or five right Stags of ten, whose
blood had dyed the limpid waters of the Greenwood
Lake. It was late in the autumn ; the leaves had
fallen,; and lo| one morning we awoke and found
the earth carpeted far and near with smooth white
snow. Enough had fallen in the night to cover the
whole surface of the fields, hill, vale, and cultivated
level, with one wide vest of virgin purity — but that
was all! for it hacTcleared off early in the morning,
and frozen somewhat crisply; and then a brisk
ireezc rising, had swept it from the trees, before the
sun had gained sufficient power to thaw the burthen
of the loaded branches.
" Tom and I, therefore, set forth, after breakfast,
with dog and gun, to beat up a large bevy of Quail
which we had found on the preceding evening, when
it was quite too late to profit by the find, in a great
buckwheat stubble, a quarter of a mile hence on the
southern slope. After a merry tramp, we flushed
them in a hedgerow, drove them up into this swale,
and used them up considerable, as Tom said. The
last three birds pitched into that bank just above
you ; and, as we followed them, we came across
what Tom pronounced, upon the instant, to be the
fresh track of a Bear. Leaving the meaner game,
we set ourselves to work immediately to trail old
bruin to his lair, if possible; — the rather that, from
the loss of a toe, Tom confidently, and with many
oaths, asserted that this was no other than ' the
damndest ctarnal biggest Bar that ever had been
knowed in Warwick,' — one that had been acquainted
with the sheep and calves of all the farmers round,
for many a year of riot and impunity. In less than
ten minutes we had traced him to this cave, where-
unto the track led visibly, and whence no track re-
turned. The moment we had housed him, Tom left
me with directions to sit down close to the den's
mouth, and there to smoke my cigar, and talk to
myself aloud, until his return from reconnoitring the
locale, and learning whether our friend had any se-
cond exit to his snug Idemalia. ' You needn't be
scar't row, I tell you, Archer,' he concluded ; ' for
he's a deal too 'cute to come out, or even show his
nose, while he smells 'baeca and hears woiees. I'll
be back to-rights !'
"After some twenty-five or thirty minutes, back
he came, blown and tired, but in extraordinary
glee !
" ' There's no help for it, Archer ; he's got to smell
hell anyways! — there's not a fcole in the hull hill
side, but tins!'
"'But can we bolt him?' inquired I, somewhat
dubiously.
" ' Sartain !' replied lie, scornfully, — ' sartain t
what is there now to hinder us? I'll bide here qui-
etly, while you cuts down into the village, and brings
all hands as you can raise — and bid them bring lots
of blankets, and an axe or two, and all there is in the
house to eat and drink, both : and a heap of straw.
Now don't be stoppin' to ask me no questions — shin
it, I say, and jest call in and tell my brother what
we've done, and start him up here right away —
leave me your gun, and all o them cigars, iow,
strick it.'
'• Well, away I went, and, in less than an hour,
we had a dozen able-bodied men, with axes, arms,
provisions — edible and potable — enough for a week's
consumption, on the ground, where we found Tom
and his brother, both keeping good wateh and ward.
The first step was to prepare a shanty, as it -»-as
evident there was small chance of bolting him ere
nightfall. This was soon done, and our party was
immediately divided into gangs, so that we might be
on the alert botli day and night. A might}" fire was
next kindled overthe cavern's mouth — theriil having
been turned aside — in hopes that we might smoke
him out. After this method had been tried all that
day, and all night, it was found wholly useless — the
cavern having many rifts and rents, as we could see
by the fumes which arose from the earth at several
points, whereby the smoke escaped without betoin-
ing dense enough to force our friend to bolt. We
then tried dogs ; four of the best the country could
produce were sent in, and a most demoniacal affray
and hubbub followed within the bowels of the earth-
fast rock ; but, in a little while, three of our 'canine
friends were glad enough to make their exit, man-
gled, and maimed, and blecdirg ; more fortunate
than their companion, whose greater pluck had only
earned for him a harder and more mournful fate.
We sent for fire-works ; and kept up, for some three
hours, such a din, and such a stench, as might have
scared the devil from his lair ; but bruin bore it all
witli truly stoical endurance. Miners were sum-
moned uext; and we essayed to blast the granite,
but it was all in vain, the hardness of the stone defied
our labors. Three days had passed away, and we
were now no nearer than at first — every means had
been tried, and every means found futile. Blank
disappointment sat on every face, when Michael
Draw, Tom's brother, not meiely volunteered, but
could not be by any means deterred from going
down into the den, and shooting the brute in its
very hold. Dissuasion and remonstrance were in
vain — he was bent on it ! — and, at length Tom, who
had been the most resolved in opposition, exclaimed,
' If he will go, let him!' so that decided the whole
matter.
" The cave, it seemed, had been explored already,
and its localities were known to several of the party,
but more particularly to the bold volunteer who had
insisted on this perilous enterprise. The well-like
aperture, which could alone be seen from without,
descended, widening gradually as it got farther from
the surface, for somewhat more than eight feet. At
that depth the fissure turned off at right angles, run-
ning nearly horizontally, an arch of about three feet
in height, and some two yards in length, into a small
and circular chamber, beyond which there was no
passage whether for man or beast, and in which it
was certain that the well-known and much-detested
Bear had taken up his winter quarters. The plan,
then, on which Michael had resolved, was to descend
into this cavity, with a rope securely fastened under
his arm-pits, provided with a sufficient quantity of
lights, and his good musket — to worm himself feet
GEORGE B. CHEEVEK.
453
forward, on his brick, along the horizontal tunnel,
and to shoot at the eyes of the fierce monster, which
would be clearly visible in the dark den by the re-
flection of the torches; trusting to the alertness of
his comrades from without, who were instructed,
instantly on hearing the report of his musket-shot,
to haul him out hand over hand. This mode decided
on, it needed no long space to put it into execution.
Two narrow laths of pine wood were procured, and
half a dozen auger holes drilled into each — as many
candles were inserted into these temporary candela-
bra, and duly lighted. The rope was next made fast
about his chest — his musket carefully loaded with
two good ounce bullets, well wadded in greased
buckskin — his butcher-knife disposed in readiness to
meet Ins grasp — and in he went, without one shade
of fear or doubt on his bold, sun-burnt visage. As
he descended, I confess that my heart fairly sank,
and a faint sickness came across me, when I thought
of the dread risk lie ran in courting the encounter of
so fell a foe, wounded and furious, in that small nar-
row hole, where valor, nor activity, nor the high
heart of manhood, could be expected to avail any-
thing against the close hug of the shaggy monster.
" Tom's ruddy face grew pale, and his huge body
quivered with emotion, as, bidding him ' God speed,'
he griped his brother's fist, gave him the trusty piece
which his own hand had loaded, and saw him gra-
dually disappear, thrusting the lights before him
with his feet, and holding the long queen's arm
cocked and ready in a hand that trembled not — the
only hand that trembled not of all our party ! Inch
bv inch his stout frame vanished into the narrow
fissure ; and now his head disappeared, and still he
drew the yielding rope along! Now he has stopped,
there is no strain upon the cord ! — there is a pause!
— a long and fearful pause! The men without stood
by to haul, their arms stretched forward to their full
extent, their sinewy frames bent to the task, and
their rough lineaments expressive of strange agita-
tion ! Tom, and myself, and some half dozen others,
stood on the watch with ready rifles, lest, wounded
ami infuriate, the brute should follow hard on the
invader of its perilous lair. Hark to that dull and
stifled growl ! The watchers positively shivered,
and their teeth chattered with excitement. There!
there! that loud and bellowing roar, reverberated
by the ten thousand echoes of the confined cavern,
till it might have been taken for a burst of subter-
raneous thunder! — -that wild and fearful.howl — half
roar of fury — half yell of mortal anguish !
With headlong violence they hauled upon the
creaking rope, and dragged, with terrible impetu-
osity, out of the fearful cavern — his head striking
the granite rocks, and his limbs fairly clattering
against the rude projections, yet still with gallant
hardihood retaining his good weapon — the sturdy
woodman was whirled out into the open air un-
bounded; while the fierce brute within rushed after
him to the very cavern's mouth, raving and roaring
till the solid mountain seemed to shake and quiver.
" As soon as he had entered the small chamber, he
had perceived the glaring eyeballs of the monster;
had taken his aim steadily between them, by the
strong light of the flaring candles; and, as he said,
had lodged his bullets fairly — a statement which
was verified by the long-drawn and painful moan-
ings of the beast within. After a while, these dread
sounds died away, and all was still as death. Then
once again, undaunted by his previous peril, the bold
man — though, as he averred, he felt the hot breath
of the monster on his face, so nearly had it followed
him in his precipitate retreat — prepared to beard the
savage in his hold. Again he vanished from our
sight . — again his musket-shot roared like the voice
of a volcano from the vitals of the rock ! — again, at
mighty peril to his bones, he was dragged into day-
light!— but this time, maddened with wrath and
agony, yelling with rage and pain, streaming with
gore, and white with foam, which flew on every side,
churned from his gnashing tusks, the Bear rushed
after him. One mighty bound brought it clear out
of the deep chasm — the bruised trunk of the daring
hunter, and the confused group of men who had been
stationed at the rope, and who were now, between
anxiety and terror, floundering to and fro, hindering
one another — lay within three or, at most, four paces
of the frantic monster; while, to increase the peril,
a wild and ill-directed volley, fired in haste and fear,
was poured in by the watchers, the bullets whistling
on every side, but with far greater peril to our
friends than to the object of their aim. Tom drew
his gun up coolly — pulled — but no- spark replied to
the unlucky flint. With a loud curse he dashed the
useless musket to the ground, unsheathed bis butcher-
knife, and rushed on to attack the wild beast, single-
handed. At the same point of time, I saw my sight,
as I fetched up my rifle, in clear relief against the
dark fur of the head, close to the root of the left
ear! — my finger was upon the trigger, wdien, mor-
tally wounded long before, exhausted by his dying
effort — the huge brute pitched headlong, without
waiting for my shot, and, within ten feet of his des-
tined victims, ' in one wild roar expired.' He had
received all four of Michael's bullets ! — the first shot
had planted one ball in liis lower jaw, which it had
shattered fearfully, and another in his neck! — -the
second had driven one through the right eye into
the very brain, and cut a long deep furrow on the
crown with the other ! Six hundred and odd pounds
did he weigh! He was the largest, and the last I
None of his shaggy brethren have visited, since iiis
decease, the woods of Warwick ! — nor shall I ever
more, I trust, witness so dread a peril so needlessly
eucouutered."
GEORGE B. CnEEVEE
Was born April 17, 1807, at Ilallowell, Maine.
He was educated at Bowdoin and at Andover,
and ordained pastor of the Howard Street Church,
Salem, in 1832. In the same year he visited Eu-
rope, where heremained two years and a half. In
1839 lie became pastor of the Allen Street Church,
New York, and in 181:6 of the Church of the
Puritans, a beautiful edifice erected by a congre-
gation formed of his friends, a position which he
still retains. In 1S44 he again visited Europe for
a twelvemonth.
Dr. Cheever's first publications were the Ame-
riean Oommon-Place-Booh of Prose, in 1828, and
a similar volume of Poetry in 1S29. These were
followed by Studies in Poetry, with Biographical
Sketches of the Poets, in 1830, and in 1832 by
Selections from Archbishop Leiijhton, with an in-
troductory essay. In 1835 he acquired a wide
reputation as an original writer by the publica-
tion of Deacon Giles's Distillery, a temperance
tract, describing a dream in which the demoniacal
effects of the spirits therein concocted were em-
bodied in an inferno, which was forcibly described.
It was published on a broadside, with rude cuts,
by no means behind the text in energy. Deacon
Giles was a veritable person, and not relishing
the satire as well as his neighbors, brought an
action, the result of which confined the author
to the Salem jail for thirty days of the month of
December.
451
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
In 1837 Mr. Cheever gave some of the results
of his European experiences to the public in the
columns of the Xcw Yoili Observer. In 1841 he
published God's Hand in America, and the year
following The Argument fur Punishment by
Death, in maintenance of the penalty. In 1813,
The Lectures on Pdgrim/'s Prog ess, which had
been previously delivered with great success
in his own church, were published. Whether
owing to the writer's sympathy with Ban-
yan, from his own somewhat similar labors,
dangers, and sufferings in the temperance cause,
this vohnne is one of the ablest of his produc-
tions. On his return from his second visit to
Europe he published The Wanderings of a Pil-
grim in the Shadow of Mont Blanc and the
Jungfrau Alp, a work which was favorably re-
ceived. It was followed by The Journal of the
Pilgrims at Plymouth, in New England, re- j
printed from the original volume, with Histor.- \
cal and Local Illustrations of Providences, Prin-
ciples, and Persons. This volume consists of a
reprint of the work usually known as " Mourt's
Relation ;" the remaining half of the volume ;
being occupied with original remarks on the topics j
indicated in the title.
In 1849 he issued The Hill Difficulty, and \
other Allegories, illustrative of the Christian ca- |
reer, which was followed by a somewhat similar |
work, The Windings of the Ii,rer of the Water
of Life.
In addition to these volumes Dr. Cheever has
written a number of articles for the United
States Literary Gazette, Quarterly Register, New
Monthly Magazine, North American Review,
Quarterly Observer, and Biblical Repository. He
edited during the years 1845 and 1846 the New
York Evangelist, a Presbyterian weekly jour-
nal.
PEDESTRIANISSI IS SWITZERLAND.
A man should always travel in Switzerland as a
pedestrian, if possible. There is no telling how
much more perfectly he thus communes with nature,
how much more deeply and without effort he drinks
in the spirit of the meadows, the woods, the run-
ning streams and the mountains, going by them and
among them, as a friend with a friend. He seems to
hear the very breath of Nature in her stillness, and
sometimes when the whole world is hushed, there
are murmurs come to him on the air, almost like the
distant evening song of angels. Indeed the world
of Nature is filled with quiet soul-like sounds, |
which, when one's attention is gained to them, make
a man feel as if he must take his shoes from his feet
and walk barefooted, in order not to disturb them.
There is a language in Nature that requires not so
much a fine ear as a listening spirit; just as there is
a mystery and a song in religion, that requires not
so much a clear understanding as a believing spirit.
To such a listener and believer there comes
A Ik'ht in sound, a sound-like power in light,
Rhythm in all thought, andjoyaunce everywhere —
llcthinks it should have been impossible
Not to love all things in a world so filled,
Where the breeze warbles, and the nmte still air
Is music slumbering on her instrument.
The music of the brooks and waterfalls, and of
the wind among the leaves, and of the birds in the
air, and of the children at play, and of the distant
villages, and of the tinkling pleasant bells of flocks
upon the mountain sides, is all lost to a traveller in
a carriage, or rumbling vehicle of any kind ; where-
as a pedestrian enjoys it, and enjoys it much more
perfectly than a man upon a mule. Moreover, the
pedestrian at every step is gaining health of body
and elasticity of spirits. If he be troubled with
weak lungs, let him carry his own knapsack, well
strapped upon his shoulders; it opens and throws
back the ehe?t, and strengthens the weakest parts of
the bodily system. Besides this, the air braces him
better than any tonic. Ly day and by night, it is an
exhilarating cordial to him, a nepenthe to his
frame.
The pedestrian is a laboring man, and his sleep is
sweet. He rises with the sun, or earlier, with the
morning stars, so as to watch the breaking of the
dawn. He lives upon simple food with an unsus-
picious appetite. He hums his favorite tunes, peo-
ples the air with castles, cons a passage in the gos-
pels, thinks of the dear ones at home, cuts a cane,
wanders in Bypath meadow, where there is no
Giant Despair, sits down and jots in his note-book,
thinks of what he will do, or whistles as he goes for
want of thought. All day long, almost every fa-
culty of mind and body may be called into health-
ful, cheerful exercise. He can make out-of-the-way
excursions, go into the cottages, chat with the peo-
ple, sketch pictures at leisure. He can pray and
praise God when and where he pleases, whether he
comes to a cross and sepulchre, or a church, or a
cathedral, or a green knoll under a clump of trees,
without cross, or saint, or angel ; and if he have a
Christian companion, they two may go together as
pleasantly and profitably as Christian and Hopeful
in the Pilgrim's Progress.
ELEMENTS OF THE SWISS LANDSCAPE.
Passing out through a forest of larches, whose
dark verdure is peculiarly appropriate to it, and
going up towards the baths of Leak, the interest of
the landscape does not at all diminish. What a
concentration and congregation of all elements of
sublimity and beauty are before you ! what surpris-
ing contrasts of light and shade, of form and color,
of softness and ruggedness ! Here are vast heights
above you, and vast depths below, villages hanging
to the mountain sides, green pasturages and wind-
ing paths, chalets dotting the mountains, lovely
meadow slopes enamelled with flowers, deep im-
measurable ravines, torrents thundering down
them ; colossal, overhanging, castellated reefs of
granite ; snowy peaks with the setting sun upon
them. You command a view far down over the
valley of the Rhone, with its villages and castles,
and its mixture of rich farms and vast beds and
heaps of mountain fragments, deposited by furious
torrents. What affects the mind very powerfully
on first entering upon these scenes is the deep dark
blue, so intensely deep and overshadowing, of the
gorge at its turner end, and at the magnificent
proud sweep of the granite barrier, which there
shuts it in, apparently without a passage. The
mountains rise like vast supernatural intelligences
taking a material shape, and drawing around them-
selves a drapery of awful grandeur ; there is a fore-
head of power and majesty, and the likeness of a
kingly crown above it.
Amidst all the grandeur of this scenery I remem-
ber to have been in no place more delighted with
the profuse richness, delicacy, and beauty of the Al-
pine flowers. The grass of the meadow slopes in
the gorge of the Dala had a depth and power of
verdure, a clear, delicious greenness, that in its
effect upon the mind was like that of the atmo-
sphere in the brightest autumnal morning of the
year, or rather, perhaps, like the colors of the sky
THOMAS WARD.
455
at sunset. There is no such grass-color in the world
as that of these mountain meadows. It is just the
same at the verge of the iee oceans of Mont Blanc.
It makes you think of one of the points chosen by
the Sacred Poet to illustrate the divine benevolence
(and I had almost said, no man can truly understand
why it was chosen, who has not travelled in Swit-
zerland), " Who maketh the grass to grow upon the
'mountains."
And then the flowers, so modest, so lovely, yet of
such deep exquisite hue, enamelled i.i he grass,
sparkling amidst it, '"a starry multitude," under-
neath such awful brooding mountain forms and icy
precipices, how beautiful! All that the Poets have
ever said or sung of Daisies, Violets, Snow-drops,
King-cups, Primroses, and all modest flowers, is here
out-done by the mute poetry of the denizens of these
wild pastures. Such a meadow slope as this, water-
ed with pure rills from the glaciers, would have set
the mind of Edwards at work in contemplation on
the beauty of holiness. He has connected these
meek and lowly flowers with an image, which none
of the Poets of this world have ever thought of.
To him the divine beauty of holiness "made the
soul like a field or garden of God, with all maimer
of pleasant flowers; all pleasant, delightful, and un-
disturbed; enjoying a sweet calm, and the gentle,
vivifying beams of the Sun. The soul of a true
Christian appears like such a little white flower as
we see in the spring of the year; low and humble
on the ground ; opening its bosom to receive the
pleasant beams of the Sun's glory; rejoicing, as it
were, in a calm rapture ; diffusing around a sweet
fragrancy; standing peacefully and lovingly in the
midst of other flowers round about; all in like man-
ner opening their bosoms to drink in the light of the
Sun."
Very likely such a passage as tlds, coming from
the soul of the great theologian (for this is the
poetry of the soul, and not of the artificial senti-
ment, nor of tiie mere worship of nature), will seem
to many persons like violets in the bosom of a gla-
cier. But no poet ever described the meek, modest
flowers so beautifully, rejoicing in a calm rapture.
Jonathan Edwards himself, with his grand views of
sacred theology and history, his living piety, and
his great experience in the deep things of God, was
like a mountain glacier, in one respect, as the " pa-
rent of perpetual streams," that are then the deep-
est, when all the fountains of the world are the
driest; like, also, in another respect, that in climb-
ing his theology you get very near to heaven, and
are in a very pure and bracing atmosphere; like,
again, in this, that it requires much spiritual labor
and discipline to surmount his heights, and some
care not to fall into the crevasses; and like, once
more, in this, that when you get to the top, you
have a vast, wide, glorious view of God's great
plan, and see things in their chains and connection**,
which before you only saw separate and piece-
meal.
The Rev. ITexky T. Cheeyer, a brother of Dr.
Oheever, has written several volumes, derived in
part from his experiences as a sailor. The first
of these, A Reel in a Buttle: being the Adven-
tures of a Voyage to the Celestial Country, is a
nautical version of the Pilgrim's Progress, in
which pilgrims Peter and Paul put to sea in a
well appointed craft, and after various storms and
conflicts anchor at the Celestial City. The plan
is carried out in an ingenious and fanciful man-
ner. Mr. Cheever's other publications are —
T/ie Island World of the Pacific : Life in the
Sandwich Islands; and The Whale and his Cap-
tors.
THOMAS WAED,
Tite son of an esteemed citizen of Newark, N. J.,
was born in that city June 8, 1807. He was
educated at Princeton, and received Ids degree as
a physician at the Rutgers Medical College in
New York. He pursued the profession, however,
but a short time ; foreign travel and the engage-
ments of the man of wealth, with the literary
amusements of the amateur author, fully occupying
his attention. After' some skirmishing witli the
muse, and a number of more labored contributions
to the New York American, he published a vo-
lume in 18-12 — Passaic, a Group of Poems touch-
ing that river : with other Musings: by Flac-
cus, the signature he had employed in the news-
paper. The Passaic poems celebrate the ambition
of Sain Patch, the modern hero of the stream;
the sentimental story of a lover, who makes a
C'lufidaut of the river; a melancholy incident of
the death cf a young lady who perished at the
falls ; and " The Retreat of Seventy-six," an inci-
dent of the Revolution.
The " Musings in Various Moods," which oc-
cupy the second portion of the volume, are de-
scriptive, sentimental, and satirical; if so kindly
a man can be said to indulge in the last mode of
writing. His taste leads him rather to picture
the domestic virtues and social amenities of
life.
TO PASSAIC.
Bless thee ! bright river of my heart —
The blue, the clear, the wild, the sweet:
Though faint my lyre, and rude my art,
Love broke discretion's bands apart,
And bade me offer at thy feet
My murmuring praise, howe'er unmeet:
Aware, discourse to lovers dear
Insipid strikes the listener's ear,
Yet have I rashly sung to prove
The strength, the fervor of a love
That none, to whom thy charms are known,
Would seek to hide, or blush to own.
Yes ! oft have I indulged my dream
By many a fair and foreign stream ;
But vain my wandering search to see
A rival in far lands to thee.
Rhine, Tiber, Thames, a queenly throng —
The world's idolatry aad song —
Have roved, have slumbered, sung, and sighed,
To win my worship to their tide :
Have wound their forms with graceful wiles,
And curled their cheeks with rippling smiles;
Have leaped in waves, with frolic dance,
And winking tossed me many a glance :
Still, still my heart, though moved, was free,
For love, dear native stream, of thee !
For Rhine, though proudly sweeps her tide
Through hills deep-parted, gaping wide —
Whereon grey topping castles sprout,
As though the living rock shot out —
Too rudely woos me, who despise
The charms wherein no softness lies ;
While Thames, wdio boasts a velvet brim,
Ami meadows beautifully trim,
Too broadly shows the trace of art,
To win the wishes of the heart ;
And Tiber's muddy waves must own
Their glory is the past's alone.
456
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
No water-nymphs these eyes can see,
Mine Indian beauty, match "with thee ! —
For all, whate'er their fame, or place,
Lack the wild freshness of thy face —
That touch of Nature's antique skill
By modern art unrivalled stilL
I've traced thee from thy place of birth
Till, finding sea, thou quittest earth —
From that far spot in mountain land
Where heaving soft the yellow sand,
Thy infant waters, clear and rife,
Gush sudden into joyous life;
To yon broad bay of vivid light,
Where pausing rivers all unite,
As singly fearii:g to be first
To quench devouring Ocean's thirst —
I've followed, with a lover's truth,
The gambols of thy torrent youth ;
Have chased, with childish search, and vain,
Thy doublings on the marshy plain ;
Have idled many a summer's day
Where flower-fields cheered thy prosperous way ;
Nor have I faithless turned aside
When rocky troubles barred thy tide,
Tossing thee rudely from thy path
Till thou wert wrought to foaming wrath.
Nor when the iron hand of fate
Dethroned thee from thy lofty state,
And hurled thee, with a giant's throw,
Down to the vale — where far below,
Thy tides, by such rude ordeal tried,
With purer, heaveiflier softness glide.
Through eveiw change of good or ill,
My doting heart pursued thee still,
And ne'er did rival waters shine
With traits so varying rich as thine :
What separate charms in each I see,
Rare stream, seem clustered all iu thee !
Now brightly wild, now coyly chaste,
Now calm, now mad with passionate haste —
Grandeur and softness, power and grace,
All beam from thy bewitching face.
Nor are the notes thy voice can range,
Less striking for their endless change — ■
Hark ! — what alarming clamors ring,
Where far thy desperate currents spring
Into yon chasm, so deep and black,
The arrested soul turns shuddering back ;
Nor dares pursue thee, through the rent
Down to the stony bottom, sent
Loud thundering — that the beaten rock
Trembles beneath the ponderous shock,
And thy commanding voice profound
Bids silence to all meaner sound! —
And when in peace thy evening song
In silver warhlings floats along,
No whispering waters far or near,
Murmur such music to mine ear.
JOSEPH C. NEA1,
An original humorist, was a native of New Hamp-
shire, where he was born at Greenland, Feb-
ruary 3d, 1807. His father had been a prin-
cipal of a school in Philadelphia, and had
retired in ill-health to the country, where he dis-
charged the duties of a Congregational clergy-
man. He died while his son was in infancy, and
the family returned to Philadelphia. Mr. Neal
was early attracted to editorial life, and was, fur
a number of years, from 1831, engaged in con-
ducting the Pennsyhanian newspaper. The
labor proved too severe for a delicate constitution,
and he was compelled to travel abroad to regain
lost health, and finally, in 1844, to relinquish
his daily journal, when he established a popular
weekly newspaper, NeaVs Saturday Gazette.
This he continued with success to the time of his
death, in the year 1847.
jt^.-^Ya,^
The forte of Mr. Neal was a certain genial hu-
mor, devoted to the exhibition of a peculiar class
of citizens falling under the social history descrip-
tion of the genus "loafer." Every metropolis
breeds a race of such people, the laggards in the
rear of civilization, who lack energy or ability
to make an honorable position in the world, and
who fall quietly into decay, complaining of their
hard fate in the world, and eking out their defi-
cient courage by a resort to the bar-room. The
whole race of small spendthrifts, inferior pre-
tenders to fashion, bores, half-developed inebriated,
and generally gentlemen enjoying the minor
miseries and social difficulties of life, met with a
rare delineator in Mr. Neal, who interpreted their
ailments, repeated their slang, and showed them
an image which they might enjoy, without too
great a wound to their sell-love. A quaint vein
of speculation wrapped up this humorous dialogue.
The sketches made a great hit a few years since,
when they appeared, and for their preservation
of curious specimens of character, as well as for
their other merits, will be looked after by pos-
terity.
There were several series of these papers, con-
tributed by Mr. Neal to the Pennsyhanian, the
author's Weekly Gazette, the Democratic Review,
and other journals, which were collected in
several volumes, illustrated by David C. Johnston,
entitled Charcoal Sketches ; or Scenes in a Metro-
polis. The alliterative and extravagant titles of
the sketches take off something from the reality,
which is a relief to the picture ; since it would be
painful to be called to laugh at real misery, while
we may be amused with comic exaggeration.
TTNDEVELOPED GENTTS — A PASSAGE DJ THE LIFE OP P. PIL-
GAEL1CK PIGWIGGEN, ESQ.
The world has heard much of unwritten music,
and more of unpaid debts ; a brace of unsubstantial-
JOSEPH C. NEAL.
457
ities, in which very little faith is reposed. The mi-
nor poets have twangled their lyres about the one,
until the sound has grown wearisome, and until, for
the sake of peace and quietness, we heartily wish
that unwritten music were fairly written down, and
published in WiUig's or Blake's best style, even at
the risk of hearing it reverberate from every piano
in the city : while iron-visaged creditors — all credi-
tors are of course hard, both in face and in heart, or
they would not ask for their money — have chat-
tered of unpaid debts, ever since the flood, with a
wet finger, was uncivil enough to wipe out pre-ex-
isting scores, and extend to each skulking debtor the
"benefit of the act." But undeveloped genius, which
is, in fact, itself unwritten music, and is very closely
allied to unpaid debts, has, as yet, neither poet,
trumpeter, nor biographer. Gray, indeed, hinted at
it in speaking of "village Hampdens," "mute in-
glorious Miltons," and " Oromwells guiltless," which
showed him to be a man of some discernment, and
possessed of inklings of the truth. But the general
science of mental geology, and through that, the
equally important details of mineralogy and mental
metallurgy, to ascertain the unseen substratum of
intellect, and to determine its innate wealth, are as
yet unborn ; or, if phrenology be admitted as a
branch of these sciences, are still in uncertain infan-
cy. Undeveloped genius, therefore, is still undeve-
loped, and is likely to remain so, unless this treatise
should awaken some capable and intrepid spirit to
prosecute an investigation at once so momentous
and so interesting. If not, much of it will pass
through the world undiscovered and unsuspected ;
while the small remainder can manifest itself in no
other way than by the aid of a convulsion,
turning its possessor inside out like a glove; a
method, which the earth itself was ultimately com-
pelled to adopt, that stupid man might be made
to see what treasures are to be had for the digging.
There are many reasons why genius so often re-
mains invisible. The owner is frequently uncon-
scious of the jewel in his possession, and is indebted
to chance for the discovery. Of this, Patrick Henry
was a striking instance. After he had failed as a
shopkeeper, and was compelled to " hoe corn and
dig potatoes," alone on his little farm, to obtain a
meagre subsistence for his family, he little dreamed
that he had that within, which would enable him to
shake the throne of a distant tyrant, and nerve the
arm of struggling patriots. Sometimes, however,
the possessor is conscious of his gift, but it is to him
as the celebrated anchor was to the Dutchman ; he
can neither use nor exhibit it. The illustrious
Thomas Erskine. in his first attempt at the bar, made
so signal a failure as to elicit the pity of the good-
natured, and the scorn and contempt of the less
feeling part of the auditory. Nothing daunted,
however, for he felt undeveloped genius strong with-
in him, he left the court ; muttering with more pro-
fanity than was proper, but with much truth, " By
! it is in me, and it shall come out! " He was
right; it was in him ; he did get it out, and rose to
be Lord Chancellor of England.
But there are men less fortunate ; as gifted as
Erskine, though perhaps in a different way, they
swear frequently, as he did, but they cannot get
their genius out. They feel it, like a rat in a cage,
beating against their barring ribs, in a vain struggle
to escape ; and thus, with the materials for building
a reputation, and standing high among the sons of
song and eloquence, they pass their lives in obscurity,
regarded by the few who are aware of their exist-
ence, as simpletons — fellows sent upon the stage
solely to fill up the grouping, to applaud their supe-
riors, to eat, sleep, and die.
P. PiLGAitucK Pigwiggen, Esq., as he loves to be
styled, is one of these unfortunate undeveloped gen-
tlemen about town. The arrangement of his name
shows him to be no common man. Peter P. Pigwig-
gen would be nothing, except a hailing title to call
him to dinner, or to insure the safe arrival of dunning
letters and tailors' bills. There is as little character
about it as about the word towser, the individuality
of which has been lost by indiscriminate application.
To all intents and purposes, he might just as well be
addressed as "You Pete Pigwiggen," after the tender
maternal fashion, in which, in his youthful da3'S, he
was required to quit dabbling in the gutter, to come
home and be spanked. But
P. PILGAELICK PIGWIGGEN, ESQ.
— the aristocracy of birth and genius is all about it.
The very letters seem tasselled and fringed with the
cobwebs of antiquity. The flesh creeps with awe
at the sound, and the atmosphere undergoes a sensible
change, as at the rarefying approach of a supernatu-
ral being. It penetrates the hearer at each perspir-
atory pore. The dropping of the antepenultimate
in a man's name, and the substitution of a:i initial
therefor, has an influence which cannot be defined
— an influence peculiarly strong in the case of P. Pil-
garlick Pigwiggen — the influence of undeveloped
genius — analogous to that which bent the hazel rod,
in the hand of Housterswivel, in the ruins of St.
Ruth, and told of undeveloped water.
But to avoid digression, or rather to return from
a ramble in the fields of nomenclature, P. Pilgarlick
Pigwiggen is an undeveloped genius — a wasted man;
his talents are like money in a strong box, returning
no interest. He is, in truth, a species of Byron in
the egg ; but unable to chip the shell, his genius re-
mains uuhatched. The chicken moves and faintly
chirps within, but no one sees it, no one heeds it.
Peter feels the high aspirations and the mysterious
imaginings of poesy circling about the interior of
his cranium ; but there they stay. When he at-
tempts to give them utterance, he finds that nature
forgot to bore out the passage which carries thought
to the tongue and to the finger ends ; and as art has
not yet found out the method of tunnelling or of
driving a drift into the brain, to remedy such defects,
and act as a general jail delivery to the prisoners of
the mind, his divine conceptions continue pent in
their osseous cell. In vain does Pigwiggen sigh for
a splitting headache — one that shall ope the sutures,
and set his fancies free, In vain does he shave his
forehead and turn down his shirt collar, in hope of
finding the poetic vomitory, and of leaving it clear
of impediment; in vain does he drink vast quanti-
ties of gin to raise the steam so high that it may
burst imagination's boiler, and suffer a few drops of
it to escape ; in vain does he sit up late o' nights,
using all the cigars he can lay his hands on, to smoke
out the secret. 'Tis useless all. No sooner has he
spread the paper, and seized the pen to give bodily
shape to airy dreams, than a dull dead blank suc-
ceeds. As if a flourish of the quill were the crow-
ing of a "rooster," the dainty Ariels uf his imagina-
tion vanish. The feather drops from his checked fin-
gers, the paper remains unstained, and P. Pilgarlick
Pigwiggen is still an undeveloped genius.
Originally a grocer's boy, Peter early felt that he
had a soul above soap and candles, and he so dili-
gently nursed it with his master's sugar, figs, and
brandy, that early one morning he was unceremoni-
ously dismissed with something more substantial
than a flea in his ear. His subsequent life was
458
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
passed in various callings; but call as loudly as they
"would, our hero paid little attention to their voice.
He had an eagle's longings, and with an inclination
to stare the sun out of countenance, it was not to be
expected that he would stoop to be a barn-yard
fowl. Working when he could not help it ; at times
pursuing check speculations at the theatre doors, by
way of turning an honest penny, and now and then
gaining entrance by crooked means, to feed his
faculties with a view of the performances, he like-
wise pursued his studies through all the ballads in
the market, until qualified to read the pages of
Moore and Byron. Glowing with ambition, he
sometimes pined to see the poet's corner of our
wsekly periodicals graced with his effusions. But
though murder may out, his undeveloped genius
would not. Execution fell so far short of conception,
that his lyrics were invariably rejected.
Deep, but unsatisfactory, were the reflections which
thence arose in the breast of Pigwiggen.
"How is it," said he — "How is it I can't level
down my expressions to the comprehension of the
vulgar, or level up the vulgar to a comprehension
of my expressions? How is it I can't get the spigot
out, so my verses will run clear ? I know what I
mean myself, but nobody else does, and the impu-
dent editors say it's wasting room to print what
nobody understands. I've plenty of genius — lots of
it, for I often want to cut my throat, and would
have done it long ago, only it hurts. I'm chock full
of genius and running over; for I hate all sorts of
work myself, and all sorts of people mean enough
to do it. I hate going to bed, and I hate getting up.
My conduct is very eccentric and singular. I have
the miserable melancholies all the time, and I'm
pretty nearly always as cross as thunder, which is a
sure sign. Genius is as tender as a skinned cat, and
flies into a passion whenever you touch it. When I
condescend to unbuzzum myself, for a little sympa-
thy, to folks of ornery intellect— and caparisoned to
me, I know very few people that ar'n't ornery as to
brains — and pour forth the feelings indigginus to a
poetic soul, which is always biling, they ludicrate
my sitiation, and say they don't know what the dense
I'm driving at. Isn't genius always served o' this
fashion in the earth, as Hamlet, the boy after my
own heart, says? And when the slights of the
world, and of the printers, set me in a fine frenzy,
and my soul swells and swells, till it almost tears the
shirt off my buzzum, and even fractures my dickey
— when it expansuates and elevates me above the
common herd, they laugh again, and tell me not to
be pompious. The poor plebinians and worse than
Russian serfs ! — It is the fate of genius — it is his'n,
or rather I should say, her'n — to go through life with
little Bympathization and less cash. Life's a field of
blackberry and raspberry bushes. Mean people
squat down and pick the fruit, no matter how they
black their fingers; while genius, proud and per-
pendicular, strides fiercely on, and gets nothing but
scratches and holes torn in its trousers. These things
are the fate of genius, and when you see 'em, there
is genius too, although the editors won't publish its
articles. These things are its premonitories, its janis-.
saries, its cohorts, and its consorts.
"But yet, though in flames in my interiors, I
can't get it out. If I catch a subject, while I am
looking at it, Ican'tfind words to put it in ; and when
I let go, to hunt for words, the subject is off like a
shot. Sometimes I have plenty of words, but then
there is either no ideas, or else there is such a water-
works and catarack of them, that when I catch one,
the others knock it out of my fingers. My genius is
good, but my mind is not sufficiently manured by
'ears."
Pigwiggen, waiting it may be till sufficiently
" manured " to note his thoughts, was 6een one fine
morning, not long since, at the corner of the street,
witli a melancholy, abstracted air, the general cha-
racter of his appearance. His garments were of a
rusty black, much the worse for wear. His coat was
buttoned up to the throat, probably for a reason
more cogent than that of showing the moulding of
his chest, and a black handkerchief enveloped his
neck. Not a particle of white was to be seen about
him ; not that we mean to infer that his " sark "
would not have answered to its name, if the muster
roll of his attire had been called, for we scorn to
speak of a citizen's domestic relations, and, until the
contrary is proved, we hold it but charity to believe
that every man has as many shirts as backs. Peter's
cheeks were pale and hollow ; his eyes sunken, and
neither soap nor razor had kissed his lips for a
week. His hands were in his pockets — they had the
accommodation all to themselves — nothing else was
there.
" Is your name Peter P. Pigwiggen? " inquired a
man with a stick, which he grasped in the middle.
" My name is P. Pilgarlick Pigwiggen, if you
please, my good friend," replied our hero, with a
flush of indignation at being miscalled.
"You'll do," was the nonchalant response; and
" the man with a stick " drew forth a parallelogram
of paper, curiously inscribed with characters, partly
written and partly printed, of which the words,
" The commonwealth greeting," were strikingly visi-
ble ; you'll do, Mr. P. Pilgarlick Pigwiggen Peter.
That's a capias ad respondendum, the English of
which is, you're cotched because you can't pay;
only they put it in Greek, so as not to hurt a gentle-
man's feelings, and make him feel flat afore the com-
pany. I can't say much for the manners of the big
courts, but the way the law's polite and a squire's
office is genteel, when the thing is under a hundred
dollars, is cautionary."
There was little to be said. Peteryieldedatonce.
His landlady, with little respect for the incipient
Byron, had turned him out that morning, and had
likewise sent "the man with a stick," to arrest the
course of undeveloped genius. Peter walked be-
fore, and he of the " taking way " strolled leisurely
behind.
***** * * *
" It's the fate of genius, squire. The money is
owed."
"But how can I help it? I can't live without
eating and sleeping. If I wasn't to do those func-
tionaries, it would be suicide, severe beyond cir-
euinflexion."
"Well, you know, you must either pay or go to
jail."
" Now, squire, as a friend — I can't pay, and I don t
admire jail — as a friend, now."
"Got any bail? — No! — what's your trade — what
name is it ? "
" Poesy," was the laconic, but dignified r ply.
"Pusey ? — Yes, I remember Pusey. You're in the
shoe-cleaning line, somewhere in Fourth street.
Pusey, boots and shoes cleaned here. Getting whiter,
ar'n't you ? I thought Pusey was a little darker in
the countenance."
" P-o-e-s-y !" roared Peter, spelling the word at the
top of his voice ; " I'm a poet."
" Well, Posy, I suppose you don't write for nothing.
Why didn't you pay your landlady out of what you
received for your books, Posy ?"
" My genius ain't developed. I haven't written
any thing yet. Only wait till my mind is manured,
so I can catch the idea, and I'll pay off all old
scores."
RICHARD HILDRETH.
45!)
"Twont do, Posy. I don't understand it at all.
You must go and find a little undeveloped bail, or I
must send you to prison. The officer will go with
you. But stay ; there's Mr. Grubsou in the corner —
perhaps he will hail you."
Grubson looked unpromising. He had fallen
asleep, and the flies hummed about his sulky cop-
per-colored visage, laughing at his unconscious
drowsy efforts to drive them away. He was
aroused by Pilgarlick, who insinuatingly preferred
the request.
"I'll sec you hanged first," replied Mr. Grubson;
" I goes bail for nobody. I'm undeveloped myself
on that subject, — not but that I have the greatest
respect for you in the world, but the most of people's
cheats."
" You see, Posy, the development won't answer.
You must try out of doors. The officer will go with
you."
"Squire, as a friend, excuse me," said Pilgarlick.
"But the truth of the matter is this. I'm delicate
about being seen in the street with a constable. I'm
principled against it. The reputation which I'm
going to get might be injured by it. Wouldn't
it be pretty much the same thing, if Mr. Grub-
son was to go with the officer, and get me a little
"bail!"
"I'm delicate myself," growled Grubson; "I'm
principled agin that too. Everyman walk abouton
his own 'sponsibility; every man bail his own boat,
You might jist as well ask me to swallow your physic,
or take your thrashings."
Alas! Pilgarlick knew that his boat was past
bailing. Few are the friends of genius in any of its
stages — very few are they when it is undeveloped.
He, therefore, consented to sojourn in " Arch west
of Broad," until the whitewashing process could lie
performed, on condition he were taken there by the
"alley way;" for he still looks ahead to the day,
when a hot-pressed volume shall be published by
the leading booksellers, entitled Poems, by P. Pilgar-
lick Pigwiggen, Esq.
EICHAED HILDP.ETH.
Btohabd HitDEETH was born June 28, 1807, in
the old town of Deerfield, Massachusetts. His
father was the Rev. Hosea Hildreth, a prominent
congregational clergyman, who was the last old-
school divine of latitudinarian views to join the
Unitarian from the Calvinistic church of New
England. In his profession he always stood in
high esteem for ability, public spirit, and active
rjenevolenee. During Richard's fourth year his
father removed with his family to Exeter, New
Hampshire, the seat of Exeter Academy, where
the son was fitted for college.
Hildreth was graduated at Harvard College in
1826. Here he proved himself .a successful stu-
dent of the prescribed course, without, however,
entirely confining himself to it. Besides his ex-
tensive readings in history, political economy, and
ethics, he became familiar with the whole body
of Greek and Latin authors in their original lan-
guages. Embracing the pursuit of law he next
entered the office at Newbnryport, Massa-
chusetts, of L. W. Marston, where his remark-
able power of close and long-continued appli-
cation excited the astonishment of all who knew
him.
In 1827, during Mr. Hildreth's residence at
Newbnryport, his literary life took its commence-
ment in a series of articles contributed to a niaga-
#Z> %k^2<A.,^
zine then lately started in Boston by Mrs. Sarah
Jane Hale. Not long after lie became a contribu-
tor to Willis's Boston Magazine (the first editorial
experiment of that popular writer), and subse-
quently to Joseph T. Buckingham's New England
Magazine. Many of these miscellaneous composi-
tions are worthy of republication in a collected
form.
In July, 1832, while practising the legal pro-
fession in Boston, he was induced to accept the
post of editor of the Boston Atlcix. For several
years Mr. Hildreth's connexion with the new pa-
per gave it a decided pre-eminence among the
political journals of New England. A series of
ably written articles from his pen, published in
1837, relative to the design of certain influential
men in the southwest of procuring the separation
of Texas from the Mexican government, prior to
any general suspicion of the affair, powerfully con-
tributed to excite the strenuous opposition which
was afterwards manifested in different parts of
the Union to the annexation of Texas.
Ill health in the autumn of 1831: compelled Mr.
Hildreth to seek a residence on a plantation at
the South, where he lived for about a year and a
half. While thus sojourning, his story of Arehy
Moore, the forerunner of anti-slavery novels, was
written. This work, which appeared in 1837,
was republished in England, where it received an
elaborate review in the Spectator, as well as in
other literary periodicals. In 1852 it was given
to the public in an enlarged form, under the title
of The White Sluvc. It purports to be the auto-
biography of a Virginia slave, the son of his own-
er, whose Anglo-Saxon superiority of intellect
and spirit is inherited by him. The period of the
story is during the war of 1812 with Great Bri-
tain. After passing through the vicissitudes of
his servile lot in the household, on the plantation,
and on the auction block, Archy, the hero, with
others of his condition, is take"n on board a vessel
for a more southern port. But in the passage the
ship is captured by the enemy, who at once libe-
rate them. He then becomes a British sailor, in
which capacity he rises to distinction and settles
in England, where he finally attains the position
460
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAS LITERATURE.
of an opulent merchant. The narrative, as con-
tinued subsequently to the first publication, pro-
ceeds to represent Arehy returning about the
year 1835 to his native land, where, after a com-
plicated series of adventures, his slave-wife and
two children, whom he had left in slavery, are
restored to him, and are thence carried to his
foreign home.
During the summer of 1836 Mr. Hildreth em-
ployed his pen in translating from the French of
Dumont a work, published at Boston in two
16mo. volumes, in 1840, under the title of Ben-
thanis Theory of Legislation. He also at the
same time wrote a History of Barik.%, advocating
the system of free-banking, with security to bill-
holders, — a plan since introduced successfully into
New York and other states. Passing the winter
of 1837-8 in Washington, as correspondent of the
Boston Atlas, lie returned to the editorial chair a
warm supporter of the election to the presidency
of General Harrison, of whom he wrote an elec-
tioneering biography, which appeared in pam-
phlet form.
Abandoning journalism, Mr. Hildreth next pub-
lished, in 1840, Despotism in America, an ably-
prepared discussion of the political, economical,
and social results of the slaveholding system in
the United States. To "this work in 1854 was
added a chapter on The Legal Basis of Sla-
very, embracing the substance of two articles
written by him for Theodore Parker's short-lived
Massachusetts Review. A letter to Andrews
Norton, the Unitarian theologian of Cambridge,
on Miracles followed, together with other contro-
versial pamphlets on various speculative topics.
These works were marked by keen and vigor-
ous argument, but at times by an unsparing se-
verity of language that materially interfered with
their popularity.
In 1840 Mr. Hildreth, for the benefit of his
health, again had resort to a warmer climate.
But a three years' residence at Demerara, in Bri-
tish Guiana, did not diminish his activity. Act-
ing successively as editor of two newspapers pub-
lished at Georgetown, the capital of the country,
he vigorously discussed the adoption of the. new
system of free labor, and the best policy to be
pursued in the circumstances in which the colony
was placed. There can be no doubt as to the
side which he would join in regard to the former
subject. "While in British Guiana he also found
time to write his Theory of Morals, published in
1844, as well as the Theory of Politics, which was
given to the world from the press of the Messrs.
Harper in 1853.
In the preface to the first mentioned work the
author announces his purpose of giving to the
world six treatises, bearing the collective title of
Rudiments of the Science of Man, and designed to
appear in the following order : Theory of Morals,
Theory of Politics, Theory of Wealth, Theory of
Taste, Theory of Knowledge, Theory of Educa-
tion. The peculiarity of these treatises, according
to Mr. Hildreth's intention, was the attempt to
apply rigorously to the subjects discussed the in-
ductive method of investigation, which, he sup-
posed, might be employed as successfully in ethi-
cal and kindred science as it has been in the do-
main of physical discoveries.
This may, perhaps, be the case, but such an ex-
periment often involves a disregard of established
doctrines and assumptions, which is much less
palatable to the mass of men than any similar con-
temptuous treatment of their notions of physical
science, in consequence of the more decided en-
listment of the feelings in matters pertaining to
moral, political, and social questions, than in any
other.
If Mr. Hildreth entertained any doubts on this
point, he must, by this time,J]ave been convinced
of the fact here stated, by the outcry raised by the
North American Review and Brownson's Quar-
terly against the former of his two volumes — the
Theory of Morals and the Theory of Politics. Yet,
in spite of what has been said to the contrary, we
cannot help looking upon them as among the most
original contributions which this country has fur-
nished on the topics of which they treat.
In saying this no assent is given to all the doc-
trines broached in them. The author, like Ben-
tham, of whom he appears to be a strong admi-
rer, is an independent, dispassionate, and patient
thinker, but, like him, is too much governed by
the test of utility, and too much enamored of his
rigid method of investigation, to reach conclusions
which shall be entirely satisfactory, in sciences so
proverbiall}- inexact and uncertain as those of
ethics or politics.
Of the two treatises already submitted to the
public the Theory of Politics is altogether the
most philosophical and best matured. It is divid-
ed into three parts, the first part treating of the
Elements of Political Power, under which head
are discussed the various forms which the political
equilibrium, called government, has taken, the
forces which produce it, and the re ans wl Teby
it is sustained or overturned. 1 • -co. c n-
tains a philosophical and historic eviev i the
Forms of Government and Political Revolutions,
in which the forms assumed by government du-
ring the world's history are specified chronolo-
gically, and the causes traced which have led to
their commencement and overthrow. In part
third are considered Governments in their Influ-
ence upon the Progress of Civilization and upon
Human Happiness in general; and here, in a sec-
tion entitled Of Democracies, may be found a the-
oretical vindication of the democratic system of
government which will amply repay perusal. The
survey is taken from the American stand-point,
and the results are developed with a conclusive-
ness of reasoning little short of mathematical.
Finding the public too little interested in his
speculative inquiries Mr. Hildreth turned his at-
tention to completing his History of the United
States, a work which he had projected as far back
as his life in college. This afforded him constant
occupation for seven years, during which he wrote
little else, with the exception of a few articles in
the Massachusetts Quarterly Review. The first
volume was issued by the Harpers in 1849, and
the entire work, in six volumes, in the course of
the three succeeding years. In regard to tliis
elaborate history, which covers the period begin-
ning with the settlement of the country and con-
cluding with the end of President Monroe's first
term, we may safely remark that it has secured
its author a prominent and permanent place among
American historians. He has here embodied the
matured results of long-continued and exhausting
RICHARD HILDRETH.
401
labor, carried on by a mind not ill-adapted to his-
torical inquiry, acute, comprehensive, endowed
with an inflexible honesty of purpose, and never
avoiding the sober duties of the historian for the
sake of rhetorical display. In the last three vo-
lumes may he found the only thorough and com-
plete account of the federal government for the
time of which it treats. There is hardly any
question of domestic or foreign policy which can
interest an American citizen that is not eluci-
dated in its pages, such matters having been so
fully discussed in the early period of our govern-
ment that there has been but little advance or
modification in regard to the views then taken
concerning them. Mr. Hildreth has terminated
his history with Monroe's first term, at which
lime began that fusion of parties which prepared
the way for the state of political affairs now ex-
isting. To this point refer the concluding re-
marks of the sixth volume : —
"With the re-annexation of Florida to the Anglo-
American dominion, the recognised extension of our
western limit to the shores of the Pacific, and the
partition of those new acquisitions between slavery
and freedom, closed Monroe's first term of office;
and with it a marked era in our history. All the
old landmarks of party, uprooted as they had been,
first by the embargo and the war with England, and
then by peace in Europe, had since, by the bank
question, the internal improvement question, and
the tariff question, been completely superseded and
almost wholly swept away. At the Ithuriel touch
of the Missouri discussion, the slave interest, hitherto
hardly recognised as a distinct element in our sys-
tem, had started up, portentous and dilated, dis-
avowing the very fundamental principles of modern
democracy, and again threatening, as in the Federal
Convention, the dissolution of the Union. It is from
this point, already beginning indeed to fade away
in the distance, that our politics of to-day take their
departure.
In his portraitures of political men, Mr. Hil-
dreth perhaps too often "wears the cap of the
executioner." Of this peculiarity bis austere com-
ments upon the characters and lives of Jefferson,
Madison, John Adams, and J. Q. Adams, are an
example. No statute of limitations, no popular
canonization of the offender avails against the
impartial severity of his criticism. But to the
memories of Washington and Hamilton he pays
a uniform and deserved homage, as may be seen
by the passage subjoined : —
In Hamilton's death the Federalists and the coun-
try experienced a loss second only to that of Wash-
ington. Hamilton possessed the same rare and lofty
qualities, the same just balance of soul, with less,
indeed, of Washington's severe simplicity and awe-
inspiring presence, but with more of warmth, vari- •
ety, ornament, and grace. If the Doric in arcbitec- ;
ture be taken as the symbol of Washington's charac-
ter, Hamilton's belonged to the same grand style as
developed in the Corinthian — if less impressive, more
winning. If we add Jay for the Ionic, we have a
trio not to be matched, in fact not to be approached
in our history, if, indced,«in any other. Of earth-
born Titans, as terrible as gre.it, now angels, and
now toad* and serpents, there are everywhere enough.
Of the serene and benign sons of the celestial gods, '
how few at any time have walked the earth !
As an example of the more animated descriptive I
style of the historian we select a portion of his
account of the duel of Hamilton and Burr : —
It was not at all in the spirit of a professed duel-
list, it was not upon any paltry point of honor, that
Hamilton had accepted this extraordinary challenge,
by which it was attempted to hold him answerable
for the numerous imputations on Burr's character
bandied about in conversation and the newspapers
for two or three years past. The practice of duel-
ling he utterly condemned; indeed, he had himself
already been a victim to it in the loss of his eldest
son, a boy of twenty, in a political duel some two
years previously. As a private citizen, as a man
under the influence of moral and religious senti-
ments, as a husband, loving and loved, and the fa-
ther of a numerous and dependent family, as a debtor
honorably disposed, whose creditors might suffer by
his death, he had every motive for avoiding the
meeting. So he stated in a paper which, under a
premonition of Ids fate, he took care to leave behind
him. It was in the character of a public man. It
was in that lofty spirit of patriotism, of which ex-
amples are so rare, rising high above all personal and
private considerations — a spirit magnanimous and
self-sacrificing to the last, however in this instance
uncalled for and mistaken — that he accepted the fa-
tal challenge. "The ability to be in future useful,"
such was his own statement of his motives, " whether
in resisting mischief or effecting good in those crises
of our public affairs which seem likely to happen,
would probably be inseparable from a conformity
with prejudice in this particular."
With that candor towards his opponents by which
Hamilton was ever so nobly distinguished, but of
which so very seldom, indeed, did he ever experience
any return, he disavowed in this paper, the last he
ever wrote, any disposition to affix odium to Burr's
conduct in this particular case. He denied feeling
towards Burr any personal ill-will, while he admit-
ted that Burr might naturally be influenced against
him by hearing of strong animadversions in which
he had indulged, and which, as usually happens,
might probably have been aggravated in the report.
Those animadversions, in some cases, might have
been occasioned by misconstruction or misinforma-
tion ; yet his censures had not proceeded on light
grounds nor from unworthy motives. From the pos-
sibility, however, that he might have injured Burr,
as well as from his general principles and t Mper in
relation to such affairs, he had come to the resolu-
tion which he left on record, and communicated also
to his second, to withhold and throw away his first
fire, and perhaps even his second; thus giving to
Burr a double opportunity to pause and reflect.
The grounds of Weehawk, on the Jersey shore,
opposite New York, were at that time the usual field
of these single combats, then, chiefly by reason of
the inflamed state of political feeling, of frequent
occurrence, and very seldom ending without blood-
shed. The day having been fixed, and the hour ap-
pointed at seven o'clock in the morning, the parties
met, accompanied only by their seconds. The barge-
men, as well as Dr. Hosack, the surgeon, mutually
agreed upon, remained as usual at a distance, in
order, if any fatal result should occur, not to be
wil nesses.
The parties having exchanged salutations, the se-
conds measured the distance of ten paces ; loaded the
pistols ; made the other preliminary arrangements,
and placed the combatants. At the appointed sig-
nal. Burr took deliberate aim, and fired. The ball
entered Hamilton's side, and as he fell his pistol too
was unconsciously discharged Burr approached
him apparently somewhat moved; but on the Bug-
462
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
gestion of li is second, the surgeon and barge-men
already approaching, he turned and hastened away,
Van Ness coolly covering him from their sight by
opening an umbrella.
The surgeon found Hamilton half-lying, half-sit-
ting on the ground, supported in the arms of his se-
cond. The pallor of death was on his face. " Doc-
tor," he said, " this is a mortal wound ;" and, as if
overcome by the effort of speaking, he immediately
fainted. As he was carried across the river the
fresh breeze revived him. His own house being in
the country, he was conveyed at once to the house
of a friend, where he lingered for twenty -four hours
in great agony, but preserving his composure and
self-command to the last.
Mr. Hildreth has throughout his life been much
engaged in newspaper discussions of topics inte-
resting to the community, and at the present time
is an effective contributor to the New York Tri-
bune, and other influential political journals.
The amount of literary drudgery, such as editing
geographical •cyclopaadias and works of a similar
character, which he lias performed, attests his
singular mental vigor and activity, as well as the
inadequate remuneration of more congenial lite-
rary labor. lie is now busied in the composition
of a work on Japan as it Was and as it Is*
W. S. W. EUSCHENBEEGER.
William S. AY. Ruschenberger was horn in
Cumberland county, New Jersey, September 4,
1807. His father, Peter Ruschenberger, a Ger-
man, died a short time before the birth of Ins
only son.
While an infant, Ruschenberger was removed
to Philadelphia, where his mother supported her-
self and her child by keeping a school for several
years. He was educated at New York and Phila-
delphia, and prepared for college, when lie com-
menced, in 1S24, the study of medicine in the
office of Prof. Chapman. In June, 1S26, he ob-
tained the appointment of surgeon's-mate in the
navy, and made a cruise to the Pacific in the
frigate Brandywine. After an absence of thirty-
eight months, he returned to his studies, and
obtained his medical diploma in March, 1830.
Having passed an examination as surgeon in the
navy in March, 1831, lie made a second cruise to
the Pacific, which occupied about three years.
The results of his observations were given to the
public in 1835, in an octavo yolume entitled
Three Years in the Pacific, by an Officer of the
United States Nary.
In March, 1835, he sailed in the sloop-of-war
Peacock as surgeon of the fleet for the East India
squadron. After an absence of over two years,
he landed at Norfolk in November, 1837. In the
following spring, Lea & Blanchard published his
Voyage Round the World, including an Embassy
',o Siam and Muscat. The work was reprinted
In 1843 Dr. Ruschenberger was ordered to the
! United States Naval Hospital, New York, where
he remained until 1847, during which period he
[ laid the foundation of the naval laboratory,
! designed to furnish the service with unadulterated
' drugs. He next sailed to the East Indies, hut
returned under orders in the following year.
After being stationed at New York and Phila-
delphia, he sailed as surgeon of the Pacific sqna-
; dron Cctober 9, 1854.
In addition to the works already noticed, Dr.
Ruschenberger is the author of a series of manu-
als— Elements of Anatomy and Physiology, Mam-
malogy, Ornithology, Herpetology and Ichthyo-
logy, Conchology, Entomology, Botany, and Geo-
logy, and of several pamphlets* and numerous arti-
cles on subjects connected with the navy in the
Southern Literary Messenger and Democratic Re-
view. He has al.-o written much on medical and
scientific topics in the American Journal of the
Medical Sciences, Sillimnn's Journal, Medical and
Surgical Journal, Journal of Pharmacy, Medical
Examiner, Boston Medical and Surgical Journal,
and the National Intelligencer. He has also edited
American reprints of Marshall on the Enlisting,
I Discharging, and Pensioning of Soldiers, 1840;
i and Mrs. Somerville's Physical Geography, 1850-
53.
JONATHAN LAWEENCE, Je.
Jonathan Lawrence, Jr., was born in New
York November 19, 1807. He was graduated
from Columbia College at the early age of fifteen,
I and studied law with Mr. W. Slosson, whose
partner he became on his admission to the bar.
He devoted himself earnestly to his profession,
his essays and poems being the fruit of hours of
relaxation; but in the midst of high promise of
future excellence he was removed by death on
the 26th of April, 1833.
A selection from his writings was prepared and
privately printed by his brother soon after. The
volume contains essays on Algernon Sidney,
i Burns, English comedy, the Mission to Panama
(on the affairs of the South American republics),
• two Dialogues of the Dead (imaginary conversa-
tions between Milton and Shakespeare, and
Charles II. and Cowper, in the style of Walter
Savage Landor), and a number of poems, miscel-
laneous in subject, grave and reflective in tone.
to
by Bentley in London, with the omission of
various passages commenting upon the English
government.
* "We .ire indebted for this notice of Mr. Hildreth to the
pen of Mr. W. S. Thayer, himself An accomplished litterateur,
as his critical articles contributed to his friend Mr. Charles
Haie's excellent Boston periodical "To-Day," and his occa-
sional poems, correspondence, and other articles latterly pub-
lished in tlie New York Evenvhg PoRt, with which he has been
connected, sufficiently witness.
Oh, the spring has come again, love,
With beauty in her train,
And her own sweet buds are springii g
To her merry feet again.
They welcome her onward footsteps,
With a fragrance full of song,
* The Navy. ITints on the Reorganization of the Navy. in-
: eluding an Examination of the Claims of its civil officers to an
Equality of Rights. Svo. pp. 71. Wilev & Putnam, New
York. 1S45.
Examination of a Reply to Hints on the Reorganization of
the Navy. Idem.
Assimilated Rank in the Civil Branch of the Navv. Jan.,
1848. Phila.
An Examination of the Legality of the General Orders
which confer assimilated rank on officers of the Civil Branch
ol'lhe United States Navy. By a Surgeon. Phila.. Feb., 184s.
A Brief History of an Existing Controversy on the subject
of Assimilated Rank in the Navy of the United States. By
W. S. W. II. Svo. pp. 108. Sept., 185ft Phila.
CORNELIUS CONWAY FELTON.
463
And they bid her sip from each dewy lip
Of the rosy-tinted throng.
Oh, the spring has come again, love,
And her eye is bright and blue,
With a misty passionate light that veils
The earth in its joyous hue;
And a single violet in her hair,
And a light flush in her cheek,
Tell of the blossoms maids should wear,
And the love tales they should speak.
The spring has come again, love,
And her home is everywhere ;
She grows in the green and teeming earth,
And she fills the balmy air;
But she dearly loves, by some talking rill,
Where the early daisy springs,
To nurse its leaves and to drink her fill
Of the sweet stream's murmurings.
The spring has come again, love,
On the mountain's side she throws
Her earliest morning glance, to rind
The root of the first wild rose ;
And at noon she warbles through airy throats,
Or sounds in the whirring wing
Of the minstrel throng, whose untaught notes
Are the joyous liymus of spring.
Oh, the spring has eome again, love,
With her skylark's cloudy song ; •»"
Ilark ! how his echoing note rings clear
His fleecy bowers among.
Her morning laughs its joyous way,
In a floi id of rosy light,
And her evening clouds melt gloriously,
In the starry blue of night.
Oh, the spring has eome again, love,
And again the spring shall go ;
And withered her sweetest flowers, and dead
Her soft brooks' silvery flow ;
And her leaves of green shall fade and die
When their autumn bloom is past,
Beautiful as her cheek whose tint
Looks loveliest at the last.
Oh, life's spring can come but once, love,
And its summer will soon depart,
And its autumn flowers will soon be nipped,
By the winter of the heart ;
But yet we can fondly dream, love,
That a fadeless spring .-hall bloom,
When the sun of a new existence dawns
On the darkness of the tomb.
CORNELIUS CONWAY FELTON,
Eliot Professor of Greek Literature in Harvard
University, Cambridge, Massachusetts, was born
Nov. 6, 1807, at Newbury, now West Newbury,
Mass., on the Merrimack, about six miles from
Newburvport. The family of Felton dates from an
early period — the first of the name having establish-
ed himself in the town of Danvers at or about the
year 1636. Mr. Felton was prepared for College
chiefly at the Franklin Academy, Andover, under
the late Simeon Putnam, an eminent classical
scholar and teacher. On his entrance at Har-
vard University in 1823 in his sixteenth year,
the Ctixv.v examiners were the Hon. Edward
Everett, then Eliot Professor of Greek Literature,
George Bancroft the Historian, then Greek tutor.
and Dr. Popkin afterwards Eliot Professor. Like
many other New England students, being obliged
to earn money for the payment of College bills,
he taught winter schools in the sophomore and
junior years, besides teaching the mathematics
the last six months of the junior year in the
Round Hill School, Northampton, under the
charge of J. G. Cogswell (now of the Astor
Library), and George Bancroft. He was gradu-
ated in 1827.
For the next two years, in conjunction with
two classmates, the late Henry Russell Cleveland
and Seth Sweetser, now the Rev. Seth Sweetser,
D.D., Pastor of one of the principal religions
societies in Worcester, Mass., Mr. Felton had
charge of the Livingston County High School in
Genesee, New York. In 1829 he was appointed
Latin tutor in Harvard University; in 1830
Greek tutor; and in 1832 College Professor of
the Greek language. In 1834 he received his
appointment of Eliot Professor of Greek literature,
(the third Professor on that foundation; Mr.
Everett and John Snelling Popkin having pre-
ceded him), the duties of which he has since dis-
charged* with the exception only of the time
passed in a foreign tour from April, 1S53, to
May, 1854. In this journey he visited Eng-
land, Scotland and Wales, France, Germany,
Switzerland, Italy, travelling thence to Malta and
Constantinople. On his return stopping at
Smyrna, and several of the Greek islands, he
arrived in Athens in Oct. 1853, and remained in
Greece, the principal object of his tour, till the
following February. In Europe, previous to visit-
ing Greece, he was occupied chiefly with the
collections of art and antiquities in London, Paris,
Berlin, Munich, Dresden, Venice, Florence, Rome,
Naples. In Greece he was engaged, partly in
travelling through the country, in visiting the
most celebrated places for the purpose of illustrat-
ing Ancient Greek History and Poetry, and in
studying at Athens the remains of ancient art,
the present language and literature of Greece,
the constitution and laws of the Hellenic kingdom,
attending courses of lectures at the University,
and in visiting the common schools and gymna-
sia. Returning from Greece to Italy, he revisited
the principal cities, especially Naples, Rome, and
Florence, studying anew the splendid collections
of art and antiquities. Having pursued a similar
course in France and England, he returned to
the United States in May, 1854, and immediately
resumed the duties of the Greek Professorship at
Cambridge.
The professional occupation of Dr. Felton being
that of a public teacher, his studies have embrac-
ed the principal languages and literatures of
modern Europe as well as the ancient, and some-
thing of Oriental literature. His literary occu-
pations have been various. While in college he
was one of the editors and writers of a students'
periodical called the Harvard Register. Of nume-
rous addresses on public occasions, he has publish-
ed an address at the close of the first year of the
Livingston County High School, 1828 ; a discourse
delivered at the author's inauguration as professor
of Greek Literature ; an address delivered at the
dedication of the Bristol County Academy in
Taunton, Mass.; an address at a meeting of the
* There is not one now connected with college who was
connected with it when he was appointed Tutor. In term of
service, though not in years, he is the oldest member of any
department of the University.
401
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
American Academy of Arts and Sciences, on mov-
ing resolutions on the death of Daniel Webster ;
and an oration delivered before the Alumni of
Harvard University.
Mr. Felton's contributions to periodical litera-
ture embrace numerous articles in the North
American Review, and critical notices commenc-
ing with the year 1830; various articles and
notices published in the Christian Examiner from
the same date , numerous reviews and notices
published in Willard's Monthly Review, between
June, 1832, and December, 1833, afterwards in
Buckingham's New England Magazine; and
occasional contributions to other periodical pub-
lications, such as the Bibliotheca Sacra, the
Methodist Quarterly Review, the Knicker-
'brocker Magazine, the Whig Review, with articles
in various newspapers, among others the Boston
Daily Advertiser, Boston Courier, the Evening
Traveller.
The separate volumes of Dr. Felton, his editions
of the classics, and contributions to general litera-
ture, are hardly less numerous. For the first
series of Sparks's American Biography he wrote
the life of Gen. Eaton. In 1833 he edited the
Iliad of Homer with Flaxman's Illustrations and
English notes, since revised and extended, having
passed through numerous editions. In 1840, he
translated Menzel's work on German literature,
published in three volumes in Ripley's Specimens
of Foreign Literature. In 1840, he published a
Greek reader, selections from the Greek authors
in prose and poetry, with English notes and a
vocabulary — which has been since revised and
passed through six or seven editions. In 1841,
lie edited the Clouds of Aristophanes, with an
introduction and notes in English, since revised
and republished in England. In 1843, in con-
junction with Professors Sears and Edwards, he
prepared a volume entitled Classical Studies,
partly original and partly translated. The
greater part of the biographical notices, some of
the analyses, as those of the Heldenbuch, and the
more elaborate one of the Xiebelungenlied,
together with several poetical translations in
Longfellow's Poets and Poetry of Europe, pub-
lished in lb45, were from his pen. In 1847, he
edited the Panegyricus of Isocrates and the
Agamemnon of xEschylus, with introductions and
notes in English. A second edition of the former,
revised, appeared in 1854.
In 184'J, he prepared a volume entitled, Earth
and Man, being a translation of a course of
lectures on Comparative Physical Geography, in
its relation to the History of Mankind, delivered
in French in Boston, hy Professor Arnold &iiyot.
This work has gone through numerous editions
in this country, has been reprinted in at least
four independent editions in England, and lias
been widely circulated on the Continent, having
been translated into German.
In 1S49, he edited the Birds of Aristophanes,
with introduction and notes in English, repub-
lished in England; in 1852, a Memorial of Profes-
sor Popkin, consisting of a selection of his lectures
and sermons, to which is prefixed a biographical
sketch of eighty-eight pages. InlS52, he published
selections from the Greek historians, arranged in
the order of events. In 1855, a revised edition of
Smith's History of Greece, with preface, notes,
additional illustrations, and a continuation from
the Roman conquest to the present time; the
latter embracing a concise view of the present
political condition, the language, literature, and
education in the kingdom of Hellas, together with
metrical translations of the popular poetry of
modern Greece. His latest work has been the
preparation of an edition of Lord Carlisle's Diary
iu Turkish and Greek waters, with a Preface,
notes, and illustrations. He has also published
selections from modern Greek authors in prose
and poetry, including History, Oratory, Histori-
cal Romance, Klephtic Ballads, Popular Poems
and Anacreontics.
As Professor, besides teaching classes in the
Text books, he has delivered many courses of
lectures on Comparative Philology and History
of the Greek language and literature through the
classical periods, the middle ages, and to the
present day.
Outside of the University, besides numerous lec-
tures delivered before Lj-ceums, Teachers' Insti-
tutes, and other popular bodies, Dr. Felton has de-
livered three courses before the Lowell Institute in
Boston. The first (in the winter of 1851-2), of
thirteen lectures on the History and Criticism of
Greek Poetry ; the second (in 1853), of twelve
lectures on the Life of Greece; the third, in the
Autumn of 1854, on the Downfall and Resurrec-
tion of Greece.
To these extended literary labors, Dr. Feiton
has brought a scholar's enthusiasm. He has not
confined his attention to the technicalities of his
profession, but illustrated its learned topics in a
liberal as well as in an acute literal manner,
while he lias found time to entertain in his writ-
ings the current scientific and popular literature
of the da}-. As an orator he is skilful and elo-
quent in the disposition and treatment of his sub-
jects. We have already alluded* to his elevated
composition on the approaching death of Webster,
and as a further indication of his manner, we
may cite a passage from his address before the
Association of the Alumni of Harvard in 1854.
EOME A:> 7- GREECE EN' AMEETr ! .
An ancient orator, claimi. g for his beloved
Athens the leadership among the states of Greece,
rests his argument chiefly on her pre-eminence in
those intellectual graces which embellish the present
life of man, and her inculcation of those doctrines
which gave to the initiated a sweeter hope of a life
beyond the present. Virgil, in stately hexameters,
by the shndowy lips of father Anchises in Elysium,
calls on the Roman to leave these tilings to
others : —
Excudent alii spirantia mollius a?ras ;
Credo equidem ; vivos ducent de marmore vultus;
Orabunt causas melius, ccelique meatus
Doacribent radio et surgenlia sidera discent.
Tu regere impcrio populos. Roirjaoe, memento,
Hse tibi erunt artes; pacisqne imponere morem,
Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos.
These lines strike the key-notes to Greek and Roman
character, — Greek and Roman history. During
the long existence of the Atiienian Republic, amidst
the interruptions of foreign and domestic wars. — her
territory overrun by Hellenic and Barbarian armies,
her forests burned, her fields loid waste, her temples
* Ante, p. 31.
ELIZABETH MARGARET CHANDLER.
465
levelled in the dust, — in those tumultuous ages of
her democratic existence, the fire of her creative
genius never smouldered. She matured and per-
fected the art of historical composition, of political
and forensic eloquence, of popular legislation, of
lyric and dramatic poetry, of music, painting, archi-
tecture, and sculpture; she unfolded the mathema-
tics, theoretically and practically and clothed the
moral and metaphysical sciences in the brief senten-
tious wisdom of the myriad-minded Aristotle, and
the honeyed eloquence of Plato. Rome overran the
world with her arms, and though slie did not always
spare the subject, she beat down the proud, and laid
her laws upon the prostrate nations. Greece fell
before the universal victor, but she still asserted her
intellectual supremacy, and, as even the Roman,
poet confessed, the conquered became the teacher1
and guide of the conqueror. At the present moment,
the intellectual dominion of Greece — or rather of
Athens, the school of Greece — is more absolute than
ever. Her Plato is still the unsurpassed teacher of
moral wisdom; her Aristotle has not been excelled
as a philosophic observer ; her ^Esehvlus and
Sophocles have been equalled only b}r Shakespeare.
On the field of Marathon, we call up the shock of
battle and the defeat of the Barbarian host; but
with deeper interest still we remember that the
great dramatic poet fought for his country's freedom
in that brave muster. As we gaze over the blue
waters of Salamis, we think not only of the clash of
triremes, the sliout of the onset, the psean of victory ;
but of the magnificent lyrical drama in which the
martial poet worthily commemorated the naval
triumph which he had worthily helped to achieve.
All these things suggest lessons for us, even now.
"We have the Roman passion for universal empire,
under the names of Manifest Destiny and Annexa-
tion. I do not deny the good there is in this, nor
the greatness inherent in extended empire, bravely
and fairly won. But the empire of science, letters,
and art, is honorable and enviable, because it is
gained by no unjust aggression on neighboring
countries; by no subjection of weaker nations to
the rights of the stronger; by no stricken fields,
reddened with the blood of slaughtered myriads.
No crimes of violence or fraud sow the seed of dis-
ease, which must in time lay it prostrate in the dust ;
its foundations are as immovable as virtue, and its
structure as imperishable as the heavens. If we
must add province to province, let us add realm to
realm in our intellectual march. If we must enlarge
our territory till the continent can no longer contain
us, let us not forget to enlarge with equal step the
boundaries of science and the triumphs of art. I
confess I would rather, for human progress, that the
poet of America gave a new charm to the incanta-
tions of the Muse ; that the orator of America spoke
In new and loftier tones of civic and philosophic
eloquence; that the artist of America overmatched
the godlike forms, whose placid beauty looks out
upon us from the great past, — than annex to a
country, already overgrown, every acre of desert
land, from ocean to ocean and from pole to pole.
If we combine the Roman character with the Greek,
the Roman has had its sway long enough, and it is
time the Greek should take its turn. Vast extent is
something, but not everything. The magnificent
civilization of England, and her imperial sway over
the minds of men, are the trophies of a realm,
geographically considered, but a satellite to the con-
tinent of Europe, which you cau traverse in a single
day. An American in London pithily expressed the
feeling naturally excited in one familiar with our
magnificent spaces and distances, when he told an
English friend he dared not go to bed at night, for
VOL. II. — 30
! fear of falling overboard before morning. The
states of Greece were of insignificant extent. On
the map of the world they fill a scarcely visible
I space, and Attica is a microscopic dot. From the
I heights of Parnassus, from the Aerocorinthos, the
j eye ranges over the whole land, which has filled the
I universe with the renown of its mighty names.
! From the Acropolis of Athens we trace the scenes
; where Socrates conversed, and taught, and died;
where Demosthenes breathed deliberate valor into
the despairing hearts of his countrymen ; where the
dramatists exhibited their matchless tragedy and
comedy; where Plato charmed the hearers of the
Academy with the divinest teaching of Philosophy,
while the Ccphissus murmured by under the shadow
of immemorial olive groves ; where St. Paul taught
the wondering but respectful sages of the Agora,
and the Hill of Mars, the knowledge of the living-
j God, and the resurrection to life eternal. There
stand the ruins of the Parthenon, saluted and trans-
figured b}' the rising and the setting sun, or the
unspeakable loveliness of the Grecian night, — beau-
tiful, solemn, pathetic. In that focus of au hour's
easy walk, the lights of ancient culture condensed
| their burning rays; and from this centre they have
; lighted all time and the whole world.
ELIZABETH MAEGAEET CHANDLER
Elizabeth Margaret, the daughter of Thomas
Chandler, a Quaker farmer in easy circumstances,
was born at Centre, near Wilmington, Delaware,
December 24, 1807. She was educated at the
Friends' schools in Philadelphia, and at an early
; age commenced writing verses. At eighteen
I she wrote a poem, The Slave Ship, which gain-
: ed a prize offered by the Casket, a monthly ma-
gazine. She next became a contributor to the
j Genius of Universal Emancipation, an anti-slavery
periodical of Philadelphia, in which most of her
subsequent productions appeared.
In 1830, Miss Chandler removed with her aunt
and brother (she had been left an orphan at an
early age) to the territory of Michigan. The fa-
mily settled, near the village of Tecumseh, Lena-
wee county, on the river Raisin ; the name of
Hazlebank being given to their farm by the poetess.
She continued her contributions from this place
in prose and verse on the topic of Slavery until
she was attacked in the spring of 1834 by a re-
mittent fever; under the influence of which she
gradually sank until her death on the twenty-
second of November of the same year.
In 1836, a collection of The Poetical Works of
Elizabeth Margaret Chandler, with a Memoir of
' her Life and Character, by Benjamin Lundy, the
editor of the journal with which she was connect-
I ed, appeared at Philadelphia. The. volume also
j contains a number of Essays, Philanthropical and
I Moral, from the author's pen.
Miss Chandler's poems are on a variety of sub-
jects ; but whatever the theme, it is in almost
every instance (brought to bear on the topic of
Slavery. Her compositions are marked by spirit,
fluency, and feeling.
JOHN WOOLMAN.
Meek, humble, sinless as a very child,
Such wert thou, — and, though unbeheld, I seem
Oft-times to gaze upon thy features mild,
Thy grave, yet gentle lip, and the soft beam
Of that kind eye, that knew not how to shed
A glance of aught save love, on any human head.
466
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Servant of Jesus ! Christian! not alone
In name and creed, -with practice differing wide,
Thou didst not in thy conduct fear to own
His self-denying precepts for thy guide.
Stern only to thyself, all others felt
Thy strong rebuke was love, not meant to crush, but
melt.
Thou, who didst pour o'er all the human kind
The gushing fervor of thy sympathy !
E'en the unreasoning brute failed not to find
A pleader for his happiness in thee.
Thy heart was moved for every breathing tiling,
By careless man exposed to needless Buffering.
But most the wrongs and sufferings of the slave,
Stirred the deep fountain of thy pitying heart ;
And still thy hand was stretched to aid and save,
LTntil it seemed that thou hadst taken a part
In their existence, and eouldst hold no more
A separate life from them, as thou hadst done before.
How the sweet pathos of thy eloquence,
Beautiful in its simplicity, went forth
Entreating for them! that this vile orienee,
So unbeseeming of our country's worth,
Might be removed before the threatening cloud,
Thou saw'st o'erhanging it, should burst iu storm and
blood.
So may thy name be reverenced, — thou wert one
Of those whose virtues link us to our kind,
By our best sympathies ; thy day is done,
But its twilight lingers still behind,
In thy pure memory; and we bless thee yet,
For the example fair thou hast before us set.
LAUGHTON OSBORNE.
Tite only account which we have met with of
this gentleman, a member of a New York fa-
mily, is in the late Mr. Poe's " Sketches of the
Literati," and that furnishes little more than a re-
cognition of the genius of the author, which is in
some respects akin to that of his critic. Mr.
Osborne has published anonymously, and all of
his books have been of a character to excite
attention. They are bold, discursive, play some
tricks with good taste and propriety ; and upon
the whole are not less remarkable for their keen-
ness of perception than for their want of judg-
ment in its display. With more skill and a .just
proportion, the writer's powers would have made
a deeper impression on the public. As it is, he
has rather added to the curiosities of literature
than to the familiar companions of the library.
Mr. Osborne was a graduate of Columbia Col-
lege, of the class of 1827.
His first book, Sixty Years of the Life of Je-
remy Levis, was published in New York in 1831,
in two stout duodecimo volumes. It is a ram-
bling Shandean autobiography ; grotesque, humor-
ous, sentimental, and satirical, though too crude
and unfinished to hold a high rank for any of
those qualities.
Mr. Poe mentions its successor, The Dream of
Alla-ad-Deen, from the Romance of Anastasia, by
Charles Erskine White, D.D., a pamphlet of thirty-
two small pages, the design of which he states to
be, " to reconcile us to death and evil on the
somewhat unphilosophipal ground that compara-
tively we are of little importance in the scale of
creation."
The Confessions of a Poet appeared in Phila-
delphia in 1835. Its prefatory chapter, announc-
ing the immediate suicide of the Nero, prepares
! the reader for tlte passionate romance of the in-
tense sol ool which follows.
In 1838 a cmious anomalous satire was pub-
lished at Boston, in a full-sized octavo volume,
j of noticeable typographical excellence, The Yi-
' sion of Rnbeta, an Epic Story of the Island of
I Manhattan, with Illustrations done on Stone. In
1 the relation of text and notes, and a certain air
of learning, it bore a general resemblance to Ma-
thias's " Pursuits of Literature." The labor was
' out of all proportion to the material. The par-
ticular game appeared to be the late Col. Stone,
j and his paper the Commercial Advertiser. The
contributors to the New York American, the
j New York Review, and other periodicals of the
time, also came in for notice ; but the jest was a
■ dull one, and the book failed- to be read, notwith-
standing its personalities. Among its other
humors was a rabid attack on Wordsworth, the
question of whose genius had by that time been
settled for the rest of the world ; and something
of this was resumed in the author's subsequent
volume, in 1841, published by the Appletons, en-
titled Arthur Carryl, a Novel by the Author of
the Vision of Rubcta, Cantos first and second.
Odes ; Epistles to Milton, Pope, Juvenal, and the
Demi; Epigrams ; Parodies of Horace ; Eng-
land as she is; and other minor Poems, by the
same. This is, upon the whole, the author's be^t
volume. The critical prefaces exhibit his scho-
larship to advantage ; the Odes, martial and ama-
tory, are ardent and novel in expression ; the
Epistles to Milton, Pope, Juvenal — severally imi-
tations of the blank verse, the couplet, and the
hexameters of the originals — are skilful exercises;
while the chief piece, Arthur Carryl, a poem of
the Don Juan class, has many felicitous passages;
of personal description, particularly of female
beauty.
The next production of Mr. Osborne, indica-
tive of the author's study and accomplishments
as an artist, was of a somewhat different charac-
ter, being an elaborate didactic Treatise on Oil
Painting, which was published by Wiley and
Putnam. It was remarkable for its care and ex-
actness, and was received as a useful manual to
the profession.
The author's notes and illustrations exhibit his
acquaintance with art, and show him to be a tra-
veller, " a picked man of countries." From a
poetic fragment, entitled "England as she is," ha
appears to have been a resident of that country
in 1S33. His permanent home is, we believe,
New York.
60NNF.T — TITE KEPEOACH OF VENTS.
The Queen of Rapture hovered o'er my bed,
Borne on the wings of Silence and the l\ight:
She touched with hers my glowing lips and said,
■While my blood tingled with the keen delight,
" And is the spirit of thy youth then fled,
That made thee joy in other 'themes more bright?
EDWARD S. GOULD.
467
For satire only must thine ink be shed,
And none but boys arid fools my praises write ?"
" 0, by these swimming eyes," I said, and sighed,
" And by this pulse, which feels and fears thine art,
Thou know'st, enchantress, and thou seest with pride,
Thou of my being art the dearest part?
Let those sing love to whom love is denied ;
But I, 0 queen, I chant thee in my heart."
TO JUVENAL.
Lord of the iron harp I thou master of diction
satiric.
Who, with the scourge of song, lashed vices in mo-
narch and people,
And to the scoff of the age, and the scorn of all ages
succeeding,
Bared the rank ulcers of sin in the loins of the Mis-
tress of Nations !
I, who have touched the same chords, but with an
indifferent finger,
Claim to belong to the quire, at whose head thou
art seated supernal.
More, I have read thee all through, from the first
to the ultimate spondee, —
Therefore am somewhat acquaint with thy spirit
and manner of thinking.
Knowing thee, then, I presume to address without
more introduction
Part of this packet to thee, and, out of respect to
thy manes, —
Owing not less unto thine than I rendered to Pope's
and to Milton's, —
Whirl my brisk thoughts o'erthe leaf, on the wheels
of thy spondees and dactyls.
Doubtless, by this time at least, thou art fully con-
versant with English ;
But, shouldst thou stumble at all, Io ! Pope close at
hand to assist thee.
Last of the poets of Rome ! thou never wouldst
dream from what region
Cometh this greeting to thee ; no bard of thy kind
hath yet mounted
Up to the stars of the wise, from the bounds of the
Ocean Atlantic.
Green yet the world of the West, how should it
yield matter for satire ?
Hither no doubt, from thy Latium, the stone-eating
husband of Rhea
Fled from the vices of men, as thou in thy turn,
rather later,
Went to Pentapolis. Here, the Saturnian age is
restored :
Witness Astrfea's own form on the dome of the pa-
lace of justice!
Here, in bis snug little cot, lives each one content
with his neighbor,
Envy, nor Hatred, nor Lust, nor any bad passion,
triumphant ;
Avarice known not in name, — for devil a soul hath
a stiver.
How then, you ask, do we live ? 0, nothing on
earth is more simple !
A. has no coat to his back ; or B. is deficient in
breeches;
C. makes them both without charge, and comes upon
A. for his slippers,
While for his shelterless head B. gratefully shapes
him a beaver,
T is the perfection of peace I social union most fully
accomplished !
Man is a brother to man, not a rival, or slave, or op-
pressor.
Nay, in the compact of love, all creatures are joy-
ful partakers.
THE DEATH OF GENERAL PIKE.
'Twos on the glorious day
When our valiant triple band*
Drove the British troops away
From their strong and chosen stand;
When the city York was taken,
And the Bloody Cross hauled down
From the walls of the town
Its defenders had forsaken.
The gallant Pike had moved
A hurt foe to a spot
A little more removed
From the death-shower of the shot ;
And he himself was seated
On the fragment of an oak,
And to a captive spoke,
Of the troops he had defeated.
He was seated in a place,
Not to shun the leaden rain
He had been the first to face,
And now burned to brave again,
But had chosen that position
Till the officer's return
The truth who 'd gone to learn
Of the garrison's condition.
When suddenly the ground
With a dread convulsion shook,
And arose a frightful sound,
And the sun was hid in smoke ;
And huge stones and rafters, driven
Athwart the heavy rack.
Fell, fatal on their track
As the thunderbolt of Heaven.
Then two hundred men and more,
Of our bravest and our best,
Lay all ghastly in their gore,
And the hero with the rest.
On their folded arms they laid him ;
But he raised his dying breath:
"On, men, avenge the death
Of your general !" They obeyed him.
They obeyed. Three cheers they gave,
Closed their scattered ranks, and on.
Though their leader found a grave,
Yet tiie hostile town was won.
To a vessel straight they bore him
Of the gallant Chauncey's fleet,
And, the conquest complete,
Spread the British flag before him.
O'er his eyes the long, last night
Was already falling fast ;
But came back again the light
For a moment ; 't was the last.
With a victor's joy they fired,
'Neath his head by signs lie bade
The trophy should be laid ;
And, thus pillowed, Pike expired.
EDWAED S. GOULD.
Edward S. Gould, a merchant of New York,
whose occasional literary publications belong to
several departments of literature, is a son of the
late Judge Gouklt of Connecticut, and was born at
* The troops that landed to the attack were In three divi-
sions.
t James Gould (1770-16SS) was the descendant of an English
family which early settled in America. He was educated at
Yale; studied with Judge Reeve at the law school at Litch-
field ; and on his admission to the bar, became associated with
him in the conduct of that institution. The school became
highly distinguished by the acumen and ability of its chief in-
structors and the many distinguished pupils who went forts
468
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Litchfield in that state May 11, 1808. As a writer
of Tales and Sketekes,he was one of the early con-
tributors to the Knickerbocker Magazine, and has
since frequently employed his pen in the newspa-
per and periodical literature of the times ; in Mr.
Charles King's American in its latter days, where
his signature of " Cassio" was well known ; in the
New World, the Mirror, the Literary World, and
other journals. In 183(i, he delivered a lecture
before the Mercantile Library Association of New
York, " American Criticism on American Litera-
ture," in which he opposed the prevalent spirit of
ultra-laudation as injurious to the interests of the
country. In 1S39, he published a translation
of Dumas's travels in Egypt and Arabia Petrtea ;
in 1841, the Progress of Democracy by the same
author; and in 1842-3, he published through the
enterprising New World press, Translations of
Dumas's Impressions of Travel in Switzerland; I
Balzac's Eugenie Grandet and Father Goriot; Vic-
tor Hugo's Handsome Pecopin and A. Roj'er's
Charles de Bourbon.
In 1843, he also published The Sleep Eider, or
the Old Boy in the Omnibus, by the Man in the
Claret- Colored Coat; a designation which grew
out of an incident at the City Arsenal during the
exciting election times of 1834. A riot occurred
in the sixth ward, which tiie police failed to sup-
press, and certain citizens volunteered to put it
down. They took forcible possession of the Ar-
senal and supplied themselves with arms against
the opposition of Gen. Arcularius, the keeper.
Gen. A. made a notable report of the assault to
the legislature, in which an unknown individual
in a claret-colored coat was the hero : and the
term, the man in the claret-colored coat, imme-
diately becamea bj'-word. Mr.Gould wrote for the
Mirror a parody on the report, purporting to come
from the celebrated "Man in Claret," which made a
great hit in literary circles. The Sleep Eider is a
clever book of Sketches, a series of dramatic and
colloquial Essays, presented after the runaway
fashion of Sterne.
As a specimen of its peculiar manner, we may
cite a brief chapter, which has a" glance at the
novelist.
. . jiction.
Munchausen.
I have ever sympathized deeply with the writer
of fiction ; the novelist, that is, et id genus omne.
He sustains a heavier load of responsibility
I beg pardon, my dear sir. I know you are nice
in the matter of language ; and that word was not
English when the noblest works in English litera-
ture were written. But sir, though I dread the
principle of innovation, I do feel that "responsibili-
ty" is indispensable at the present day : it saves a
circumlocution, in expressing a common thought,
and there is no other word that performs its exact
duty. Besides, did not the immortal Jackson use it
and lake it?
I say, then, He sustains a heavier load of respon-
from it, including John C. Calhoun, John M. Clayton, JohD T.
Mason, Levi Woodbury, Francis L. Hawks. Judge Theron
Metcnlf, James G. KiDg, Daniel Lord, William C. Wetmore,
and George Grithn, of the bar of New York. In lSlti, Mr.
Gould was appointed Judge of the Superior Court and Su-
preme Court of Errors of Connecticut. His legal reputation
survives in his well known law book, Treatise on tlte Prin-
ciples of pleading in Ciril Actions.
There is a memoir of Judge Gould in the second volume of
Mr. G. H. Hollister's History of Connecticut, 1856.
Bibility than any other man. First of all, he must
invent his plot — a task which, at, this time of the
world, and after the libraries that have been written,
is no trifle. Then, he must create a certain number
of characters for whose principles, conduct, and fate,
he becomes answerable. He must employ them ju-
diciously; he must make them all — from a cabin-
boy to a King — speak French and utter profound
wisdom on every imaginable and unimaginable sub-
ject— taking special care that no one of them, by
any chance, shall feel, think, act, or speak as any
human being, in real life, ever did or would or could
feel, think, act, or speak ; and in the meantime, and
during all time, he must, by a process at once natu-
ral, dexterous, and superhuman, relieve these people
from all embarrassments and quandaries into which,
in his moments of fervid inspiration, he has inadver-
tently thrown them.
Sow, my dear sir, when you come to reflect on it
this is a serious business.
The historian, on the other hand, has a simple task
to perform. His duty is light. He has merely to
tell the truth. His wisdom, his invention, his dexte-
rity, all go for nothing. I grant you, some histori-
ans have gained a sort of reputation — but how can
they deserve it when all that is true in their books
is borrowed; and all that is original, is probably
false!
I was led into this train of reflection — which, in
good sooth, is not very profound, though perhaps
not the less useful on that account — while mending
my pen : and I felicitated myself that I was no dealer
in fiction. For, said I, had I invented this narrative
and rashly put nine people into a magnetic slumber
in an omnibus, how should I ever get them out
again ?
Fortunately, I stand on smooth ground here. I
am telling the truth. I am relating events as they
occurred. I am telling you, my dear sir, what ac-
tually took place in this omnibus, and I hope to in-
form you, ere long, what took place out of it. In
short, I am a historian, whose simple duty is to pro-
ceed in a direct line.
And now, haying mended my pen, I will get on as
fast as the weather and the state of the roads per-
mit
The same year Mr. Gould published an Abridg-
ment of Alison's II atoiy of Europe in a single
octavo volume,* which from the labor and care
bestowed upon it has claims of its own to con-
sideration. The entire work of Alison was con-
densed from the author's ten volumes, and entire-
ly re-written, every material fact being preserved,
while errors were .corrected ; a work the more
desirable in consequence of the diffuse style and
occasional negligence of the original author. The
numerous editions which the book has since pass-
ed through, afford best proof of its utility and
faithful execution.
In 1850, Mr. Gould published TJie Very Agef
a comedy written for the stage. The plot turns
on distinctions of fashionable life, and the as-
* History of Europe, from the Commencement of the French
Revolution in 1769 to the restoration of the Bombons in 1S15,
by Archibald Alison, F.E.S.E., Advocate, abridged from the
last London edition, fur the use of general readers, colleges,
academies, and other seminaries ot learning, by Edward 3.
Gould. 4th ed. New York. A. S. Barnes & Co. 1846. 6vo. pp.
682.
t " The Very Age," a comedy in five acts — " to hold as
'twere the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own fea-
ture, scorn her own image, and the vt-ry aye and body of the
time his form and pressure." — Hamlet. Bv Edward S. Gould.
New York. D. Appleton & Co. 1660. 16m"o. pp. 153.
JOHN W. GOULD.
409
sumption by one of the characters of the favorable
position in the intrigue of a foreign Count; while
a serious element is introduced iri the female re-
venge of a West Indian, who had been betrayed
in her youth by the millionaire of the piece.
John W. Gould, a brother of the preceding,
was born at Litchfield, Conn., Nov. 14, 1814. He
was a very successful writer of tales and sketches
of the sea ; his fine talents having been directed
to that department of literature by one or more
long voyages undertaken for the benefit of bis
health. He died of consumption, at sea, in the
twenty-fourth year of his age, Oct. 1, 1838.
His writings were originally published in de-
tached numbers of the New York Mirror and the
Knickerbocker Magazine in the years 1834-5 ;
and after his death, in 1838, were collected
in a handsome volume, containing also a bio-
graphical sketch and his private journal of the
voyage on which he died. This volume was
issued by his brothers for private circulation
only.* The tales and sketches of the volume,
under the title of Forecastle Yarns, were pub-
lished by the New World press in 1843, and in a
new edition by Stringer & Townsend, New York,
1854.
An unfinished story found among his papers
after his death, will convey a correct impression
of Mr. Gould's descriptive powers. The frag-
ment is entitled
MAN OVERBOARD.
" Meet her, quartermaster ! " hailed the officer of
the deck ; " hold on, everybody ! "
Torn from my grasp upon the capstan by a moun-
tain-wave which swept us in its power, I was borne
over the lee-bulwarks ; and a rope which I grasped
in my passage, not being belayed, unrove in my
hands, and I was buried in the sea.
" Man overboard ! " rang along the decks. "Cut
away the life-buoy ! "
Stunned and strangling, I rose to the surface, and
instinctively struck out for the ship; while, clear
above the roar of the storm and the dash of the cold,
terrible sea, the loud thunder of the trumpet came
full on my ear :
"Man the weather main and maintop-sail braces ;
slack the lee ones ; round in ; stand by to lower
away the lee-quarter boat ! "
My first plunge for the ship, whose dim outline I
could scarcely perceive in the almost pitchy dark-
ness of the night, most fortunately brought me
within reach of the life-buoy grating. Climbing
upon this, I used the faithless rope, still in my hand,
to lash myself fast; and, thus freed from the fear of
immediate drowning, I could more quietly watch
and wait for rescue.
The ship was now hidden from my sight ; but,
being to leeward, I could with considerable dis-
tinctness make out her whereabout, and judge of the
motions on board. Directly, a signal-lantern glanced
at her peak ; and oh ! how brightly shone that soli-
tary beam on my straining eye ! — for, though res-
cued from immediate peril, what other succor could
I look for, during that fearful swell, on which no
boat could live a moment? What could I expect
save a lingering, horrid death ?
* John W. Gould's Private .Journal of a Voyage from Now
York to Rio Janeiro ; together with a brief sketch of his life,
aud his Occasional Writings, edited by his brothers. Printed
fur private circulation only. New York. 1S39. 8vo. pp. 207.
TiVithin a cable's length, lay my floating home,
where, ten minutes before, not a lighter heart than
mine was inclosed by her frowning bulwarks ; and,
though so near that I could hear the rattling of her
cordage and the rustling thunder of her canvas, I
could also hear those orders from her trumpet which
extinguished hope.
"Belay all with that boat!" said a voice that I
knew right well ; " she can't live a minute ! "
My heart died within me, and I closed my eyes
in despair. Next fell upon my ear the rapid notes
of the drum beating to quarters, writh all the clash,
and tramp, and roar of a night alarm; while I could
also faintly hear the mustering of the divisions,
which was done to ascertain who was missing.
Then came the hissing of a rocket, which, bright
and clear, soared to heaven ; and again falling, its
momentary glare was quenched in the waves.
Drifting from the ship, the hum died away : but
see — that sheet of flame ! — the thunder of a gun
boomed over the stormy sea. Now the blaze of a
blue-light illumines the darkness, revealing the
tall spars and white canvass of the ship, still
near me!
" Maintop there ! " came the hail again, " do you
see him to leeward ? "
" No, sir ! " was the chill reply.
The ship now remained stationary, with her
light aloft ; but I could perceive nothing more for
some minutes ; they have given me up for lost.
That I could see the ship, those on board well
knew, provided I had gained the buoy: but their
object was to discover me, and now several blue-
lights were burned at once on various parts of
the rigging. How plainly could I see her roll-
ing in the swell! — at one moment engulfed, and
in the next rising clear above the wave, her bright
masts and white sails glancing, the mirror of hope,
in this fearful illumination; while I, covered with
the breaking surge, was tossed wildly about, now
on the crest, now in the trough of the sea.
"There he is, Sir! right abeam! " shouted twenty
voices, as I rose upon a wave.
" Man the braces ! " was the quick, clear, and joy-
ous reply of the trumpet : while, to cheer the forlorn
heart of the drowning seaman, the martial tones of
the bugle rung out, "Boarders, awaif!" and the
shrill call of the boatswain piped, "Haul taut aud
belay ! " and the noble ship, blazing with light, fell
off before the wind.
A new danger now awaited me; for the immense
hull of the sloop-of-war came plunging around,
bearing directly down upon me; while her increased
proximity enabled me to discern all the minutiae of
the ship, and even to recognise the face of the first
lieutenant, as, trumpet in hand, lie stood on the fore-
castle.
Nearer yet she came, while I could move only as
the wave tossed me; and now, the end of her flying-
jib-boom is almost over my head!
"Hard a-port! " hailed the trumpet at this criti-
cal moment ; "round in weather main-braces ; right
the helm ! "
The spray from the bows of the ship, as she came
up, dashed over me, and the increased swell buried
me for an instant under a mountain-wave ; emerging
from which, there lay my ship, hove-to, not her
length to windward !
" Garnet," hailed the lieutenant from the lee-
gangway, " are 3Tou there, my lad ? "
" Ay, ay, Sir! " I shouted in reply ; though I
doubted whether, in the storm, the response could
reach him; but the thunder-toned cheering which,
despite the discipline of a man-of-war, now rung
from the decks and rigging, put that fear at rest,
470
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
and my heart bounded -with rapture in the joyous
hope of a speedy rescue.
"All ready?" hailed the lieutenant again:
"heave!" and four ropes, with small floats at-
tached, were thrown from the ship and fell around
me. None, however, actually touched me ; and for
this reason the experiment failed ; for I could not
move my unwieldy grating, and dared not leave it ;
as by so doing, I might in that fearful swell miss the
rope, be unable to regain my present position, and
drown between the two chances of escape.
I was so near to the ship that I could recognise the
faces of the crew on her illuminated deck, and hear
the officers as they told me where the ropes laj- ;
but the fearful alternative I have mentioned, caused
me to hesitate, until I, being so much lighter
than the vessel, found myself fast drifting to lee-
ward. I then resolved to make the attempt, but as
I measured the distance of the nearest float with my
eye, my resolution again faltered, and the precious
and final opportunity was lost ! Now, too, the
storm which, as if in compassion, had temporarily
lulled, roared again in full fury; and the safety
of the ship required that she should be put upon her
course.
ASA GEEENE.
Asa Geeexe was a physician of New England,
who came to New York about 1830, and finally
established himself as a bookseller in Beekman
street. He was the author of The Travels of Ex-
Barber Fribbleton, a satire on Fidler and other
scribbling English tourists; The Life and Adven-
tures if Dr. Dodirrms Duckworth, A.N.Q., to which
is added the History of a Steam Doctor, a semi-
mock-heroic biography of a spoiled child, who
grows up to b ! an aw k ward clown, ! ut is gradually
rounded off into a country practitioner of repute.
The incidents of the story are slight, and the
whole is in the style of the broadest farce, but
possesses genuine humor. This appeared in 1833.
In 1834 he published The Perils of Pearl Street,
including a Taste of the Dangers of Wall Street,
by a Late Merchant, a narrative of the fortunes
or misfortunes of a country lad, who comes to
New York in search of wealth, obtains a clerk-
ship, next becomes a dealer on his own account,
fails, and after a few desperate shifts, settles down
as a professor of book-keeping, and, by the venture
of the volume before us, of book-making.
The Perils of Pearl street is in a quieter tone
than Dodimus Duckworth, but shares in its
humor. Peter Funks and drumming, shinning
and speculations, with the skin-flint operations of
boarding-house keepers, are its chief topics.
Greene was also the author of another volume,
A Glance at New York, which bears his imprint
as publisher in 1837, and was for some time
editor of the Evening Transcript, a pleasant daily
paper of New York. He was found dead in his
store one morning in the year 1837.
PETEE FtTNK.
The firm of Smirk, Quirk & Co. affected a great
parade and bustle in the way of business. They
employed a large number of clerks, whom they
boarded at the different hotels, for the convenience
of drumming ; besides each member of the firm
boarding in like manner, and for a similar purpose.
They had an immense pile of large boxes, such as
are used for packing dry-goods, constantly before
their door, blocking up the side-walk so that it was
nearly impossible to pass. They advertised largely
in several of the daily papers, and made many
persons believe, what they boasted themselves,
that they sold more dry-goods than any house in the
city.
But those who were behind the curtain, knew
better. They knew there was a great deal of vain
boast and empty show. They knew that Peter Funk
was much employed about the premises, and putting
the best possible face upon every thing.
By the by, speaking of Peter Funk, I must give a
short history of that distinguished personage. When,
or where, he was born, 1 cannot pretend to say.
Neither do I know who were his parents, or what
was his bringing up. He might have been the child
of thirty-six fathers for aught I know ; and instead
of being brought up, have, as the vulgar saying is,
come up himself
One thing is certain, he has been known among
merchants time out of mind ; and though he is des-
pised and hated by some, he is much employed and
cherished by others. He is a little, bustling, active,
smiling, bowing, scraping, quizzical fellow, in a pow-
dered wig, London-brown coat, drab kerseymere
breeches, and black silk stockings.
This is the standing portrait of Peter Funk, — if a
being, who changes his figure every day, every hour,
and perhaps every minute, may be said to have any
sort of fixed or regular form. The truth is, Peter
Funk is a very Proteus; and those who behold him
in one shape to-day, may, if they will watch bis
transformations, behold him in a hundred different
forms on the morrow. Indeed there is no calculating,
from his present appearance, in what shape he will
be likely to figure next. He changes at will, to suit
the wishes of his employers.
His mind is as flexible as his person. He has no
scruples of conscience. He is read)- to be employed
in all manner of deceit and deviltry ; and he cares
not who his employers are, if they only give him
plenty of business. In short, he is the most active,
industrious, accommodating, dishonest, unprincipled,
convenient little varlet that ever lived.
Besides all the various qualities I have mentioned,
Peter Funk seems to be endowed with ubiquity — or
at least with the faculty of being present in more
places than one at the sam3 time. If it were notso,
how could he serve so many masters at once? How
could he be seen in one part of Pearl street buying
goods at auction ; in another part, standing at the
door with a quill behind each year; and in a third,
figuring in the shape of a box of goods, or cooped
up on the shelf, making ashow of merchandise where
all was emptiness behind?
With this account of Peter Funk, my readers have
perhaps, by this time, gathered some idea of his
character. If not, I must inform them that he is the
very imp of deception ; that his sole occupation is to
deceive; and that he is ordy employed for that pur-
pose. Indeed, sucli being his known character in
the mercantile community, his name is sometimes
used figuratively to signify any thing which is em-
ployed for the purpose of deception — or as the sharp
ones say, to gull the fiats.
Such being the various and accommodating cha-
racter of Peter Funk, it is not at all surprising that
his services should be in great demand. Accordingly
he is very much employed in Pearl street, sometimes
under one name, and sometimes under another— for
I should have mentioned, as a part of his character,
that he is exceedingly apt to change names, and has
as many aliases as the most expert rogue in Bride-
well or the Court of Sessions. Sometimes he takes
"WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER.
471
the name of John Smith, sometimes James Smith,
and sometimes simply Mr. Smith. At other times lie
is called Roger Brown, Simon White, Bob Johnson,
or Tommy Thompson. In short, he has an endless
variety of names, under which he passes before the
world for so many different persons. The initiated
only know, and every body else is gulled.
Peter Funk is a great hand at auctions. He is
constantly present, bidding up the goods as though
he was determined to buy everything before him.
He is wed known for bidding higher than any body
else; or at all events running up an article to the
very highest notch, though he finally lets the oppos-
ing bidder take it, merely, as he says, to accommo-
date him — ir, not particularly wanting the article
himself, he professes to have bid upon it solely be-
cause he thought it a great pity so fine a piece of
goods should go so very far beneath its value.
It is no uncommon tiling to see the little fellow
attending an auction in his powdered wig, his
brown coat, his drab kerseys, as fat as a pig, as
sleek as a mole, and smiling with the most happy
countenance, as if he were about to make his fortune.
It is no uncommon thing, to see him standing near
the auctioneer, and exclaiming, as he keeps bobbing
his head iu token of bidding — "A superb piece of
goods! a fine piece of goods! great pity it should
go so cheap — 1 don't want it, but I'll give another
twenty-five cents, rather than it should go for
nothing." The opposite bidder is probably some no-
vice from the country— some honest Johnny Raw,
who is shrewd enough iu what he understands, but
has never in hi-) life heard of Peter Funk. Seeing
so very knowing and respectable a looking man,
bidding upon the piece of goods and praising it up
at every nod, he naturally thinks it must be a great
bargain, and he is determined to have it, let it cost
what it will. The result is, that he gives fifty per
cent, more for the article than it is worth , and the
auctioneer and Peter Funk are ready to burst with
laughter at the prodigious gull they have made of
the poor countryman.
By thus running up goods, Peter is of great ser-
vice to the auctioneers, though he never pays them
a cent of money. Indeed it is not his intention to
purchase, nor is it that of the auctioneer that he
should. Goods nevertheless are frequently struck
off to him; and then the salesman cries out the name
of Mr. Smith, Mr. Johnson, or some other among the
hundred aliases of Peter Funk, as the purchaser.
But the goods, on such occasions, are always taken
back by the auctioneer, agreeably to a secret under-
standing between him and Peter.
In a word, Peter Funk is the great nndvr-bidder at
all the auctions, and might with no little propriety
be styled the under-bidder general. But this sort
of characters are botli unlawful and unpopular — not
to say odious — and hence it becomes necessary for
Peter Funk, alias the under-bidder. to have so
many aliases to his name, in order that he may not
be detected in the underhanded practice of under-
bidding.
To avoid detection, however, he sometimes resorts
to other tricks, among which one is, to act the part
of a ventriloquist, ami appear to be several different
persons, bidding in' different places. He has the
knack of changing his voice at will, and counterfeit-
ing that of sundry well-known persons ; so that
goods are sometimes knocked off to gentlemen who
have never opened their mouths.
But a .very common trick of Peter's, is, to con-
ceal himself in the cellar, from whence, through a
convenient hole near the auctioneer, his voice is
heard bidding for goods; and nobody, but those
in the secret, know from whence the sound pro-
ceeds. This is acting the part of Peter Funk in the
cellar.
But Peter, for the most part, is fond of being seen
in some shape or other ; and it matters little what,
so that he can aid his employers in carrying on a
system of deception. He will figure in the shape
of a box, bale, or package of goods ; he will ap-
pear iu twenty different places, at the same time, on
the shelf of a jobber — sometimes representing a
specimen of English, French, or other goods — but
being a mere shadow, and nothing else — a phan-
tasma — a show without the substance. Iu this manner
it was, that lie often figured in the service of Smirk,
Quirk &, Co. ; and while people were astonished at
the prodigious quantity of goods they had in their
store, two thirds at least of the show was owing to
Peter Funk.
WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER.
WilliamD. Gallagher, one of theleadjngwriters
of the West, was born at Philadelphia in 1808.
His father was a native of Ireland, who emigrated
to this country after the failure of the Rebellion of
1798, iu which he had taken a prominent part on
the popular side.
After his death his widow, removed in 1810
to Ohio, and settled at Cincinnati, where the
sou became a printer. As with many others
of the same craft, the setting of type was
after a while exchanged for the production of
" copy." Mr. Gallagher became editor of a lite-
rary periodical, the Cincinnati Mirror, which he
continued for sometime, contributing to its pages
from his own pen a number of prose tales and
poems, which attracted much attention. The
enterprise, as is usually the case with pioneer
literary efforts, was pecuniarily unsuccessful.
During a portion of its career, Mr. Gallagher also
edited the Western Literary Journal, published at
Cincinnati, a work which closed a brief existence
in 1836. He has since been connected with the
Hesperian, a publication of a similar character,
and of a similarly brief duration.
The first production of Mr. Gallagher which
attracted general public attention was a poem
published anonymously in one of the periodicals,
entitled The Wreck of the Hornet. This was re-
printed in the first collection of his poems, pub-
lished in a thin volume in 1835, entitled Errato.
The chief poem of this collection is the Penitent,
a Metrical Tale.
A second part of Errato appeared in the fall of
1835. ft opens with The Conqueror, a poem of
six hundred and sixty lines on Napoleon. The
third and concluding number of the series ap-
j peared in 1837, and contained a narrative poem
entitled Cadwallen, the incidents of which are
drawn from the Indian conflicts of our frontier
history.
The chief portions of Errato are occupied by a
number of poems of description and reflection,
with a few lyrical pieces interspersed, all of which
possess melody, and have won a favorable recep-
tion throughout the country.
In 1841 Mr. Gallagher edited a volume entitled
Select ions from the Poetical Literature of the West,
a work peculiarly appropriate for one who had
done so much by his labors in behalf of literature,
as well as his own contributions to the common
stock, to foster and honor the necessarily arduous
pursuit of literature in a new country.
4:72
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
AUGUST.
Dust on thy mantle ! dust,
Bright Summer, on thy livery of green I
A tarnish, as of rust,
Dims thy late brilliant sheen :
And thy young glories — leaf, and bud, ar,d flower-
Change cometh over them with every hour.
Thee hath the August sun
Looked on with hot, and fierce, and brassy face:
And still and lazily run,
Scarce whispering in their pace.
The half-dried rivulets, that lately sent
A shout of gladness up, as on they wc.it.
Flame-like, the long mid-day —
With not so much of sweet air as hath stirred
The down upon the spray,
Where rests the panting bird,
Dozing away the hot and tedious noon,
With fitful twitter, sadly out of tuue.
Seeds in the sultry air,
And gossamer web-work on the sleeping trees I
E'en the tall pines, that rear
Their plumes to catch the breeze,
The slightest breeze from the unfreshening west,
Partake the general languor, and deep rest.
Happy, as man may be,
Stretched on his back, in homely bean-vine bower,
While the voluptuous bee
Robs each surrounding flower,
And prattling childhood clambers o'er his breast,
The husbandman enjoys his noon-day rest.
Against the hazy sky,
The thin and fleecy clouds, unmoving, rest.
Beneath them far, yet high
In the dim, distant west,
The vulture, scenting thence its cnrrion-fare,
Sails, slowly circling in the sunny air.
Soberly, in the shade,
Repose the patient cow, and toil-worn ox ;
Or in the shoal stream wade,
Sheltered by jutting rocks :
The fleecy flock, fly-scourged and restless, rush
Madly from fence to fence, from bush to bush.
Tediously pass the hours,
And vegetation wilts, witli blistered root —
And droop the thirsting flowers,
Where the slant sunbeams shoot ;
But of each tall old tree, the lengthening line,
Slow-creeping eastward, marks the day's decline.
Faster, along the plain,
Moves now the shade, and on the meadow's edge :
The kine are forth again,
_ The bird flits in the hedge.
Now in the molten west sinks the hot sun.
Welcome, mild eve!— the sultry day is done.
Pleasantly comest thou,
Dew of the evening, to the crisped-up grass ;
And the curled corn-blades bow,
As the light breezes pass,
That their parched lips may feel thee, and expand,
Thou sweet reviver of the fevered land.
So, to the thirsting soul.
Cometh the dew of the Almighty's love;
And the scathed heart, made whole,
Turneth in joy above,
To where the spirit freely m:iy expand,
And rove, untrammelled, in that "better land."
THE LABORER.
Stand up erect ! Thou hast the form
And likeness of thy God! — who more?
A soul as dauntless 'mid the storm
Of daily life, a heart as warm
And pure as breast e'er wore.
What then ? — Thou art as true a man
As moves the human mass among ;
As much a part of the Great Plan
That with Creation's dawn began,
As any of the throng.
Who is thine enemy? — the high
In station, or in wealth the chief?
The great, who coldly pass thee by,
With proud step, and averted eye?
Nay 1 nurse not such belief.
If true unto thyself thou wast,
What were the proud one's scorn to thee?
A feather, which thou mightest cast
Aside, as idly as the blast
The light leaf from the tree.
No : — uncurbed passions — low desires —
Absence of noble self-respect —
Death, in the breast's consuming fires,
To that high nature which aspires
For ever, till thus checked :
These are thine enemies — thy worst:
They chain thee to thy lowly lot —
Thy labor and thy life accurst.
Oh, stand erect ! and from them burst I
And longer suffer not !
Thou art thyself thine enemy !
The great! — what better they than thonf
As theirs, is not thy will as free ?
Has God with equal favors thee
Neglected to endow ?
True, wealth thou hast not : it is but dust !
Nor place: uncertain as the wind!
But that thou hast, which, with thy crust
And water, may despise the lust
Of both — a noble mind.
With this, and passions under ban,
True faith, and holy trust in God,
Thou art the peer of any man.
Look up, then — that thy little span
Of life may be well trod !
JOHN GEEENLEAF WHITTIEB
Is of a Quaker family, established, in spite of old
Puritan persecutions, on the banks of the Mem-
mack, where, at the homestead in the neighbor-
hood of Haverhill, Massachusetts, the poet was
born in 1808. Until his eighteenth year lie lived
at home, working on the farm, writing occasional
verses for the Haverhill Gazette, and turning his
hand to a little shoemaking, one of the industrial
resources with which the New England farmer
sometimes ekes out the family subsistence.* Then
came two years of town academy learning, when
* In a petii.il article on Mr. Whittier from the pen of Mr.
W. S. Thayer in the North American Eevkw for July, 1854, to
which we are under obligations for several facts in the present
notice, there is this explanation of the shoemaking incident : — ■
" Indeed, upon the strength of this, ' the gentle craft of lea-
ther' have laid an especial claim to him as one of their own
poets; tut we are afraid that mankind would go barefooted if
St. Crispin had never had a more devoted disciple. It is cha-
racteristic of the thrift of Now England farmers to provido
extra occupation for a rainv dnv. and duringthe winter season,
or when the weather is too inclement for out-of-door work, the
farmer and his sons turn an honest pennv by giving their at-
tention to some employment equally remunerative. ~ For this
purpose they have near the farm-house a small shed stocked
with the appropriate implements of labor. But from what wo
know or Wliittier's life, it conld not have been long before ho
violated the Horatian precept which forbids the shoemaker to
go beyoad his last."
JOHN GREENLEAF "WHITTIER.
473
ho became editor, in 1829, at Boston, of the
American Manufacture, a newspaper in the tariff
interest. In 1830 he became editor of the paper
which had been conducted by Brainard at Hart-
ford, and when the " Remains" of that poet were
published in 1832, he wrote the prefatory memoir.
In 1831 appeared, in a small octavo volume, at
Hartford, his Legends of New England, which re-
presents a taste early formed by him of the
quaint, Indian and colonial superstitions of the
country, and which his friend Brainard had deli-
cately touched in several of his best poems. The
Supematuralism of New England, which he pub-
lished in 1847, may be considered a sequel to this
volume. There was an early poem published by
Whittier, Moll Pitcher, a tale of a witch of Na-
hant, which may be classed with these produc-
tions, rather poetical essays in prose and verse on
a favorite subject than, strictly speaking, poetical
creations.
Kindred in growth to these, was his Indian
story, Mogg Megone, which appeared in 1836, and
has its name from a leader among the Saco In-
dians in the war of 1(377. It is a spirited ver-
sion, mostly in the octosyllabic measure, of In-
dian affairs and character from the old narratives,
with a lady's story of wrong and penitence, which
introduces the rites of the Roman Church in con-
nexion with the Indians. The Bridal of Penna-
cooh is another Indian poem, with the skeleton of
a story out of Morton's New England's Canaan,
which is made the vehicle for some of the author's
finest ballad writings and descriptions of nature.
Another reproduction of this old period is the
Leaves from Marga/nt Smith's Journal, written in
the antique style brought into vogue by the clever
Lady Willougtiby's Diary. The fair journalist,
with a taste for nature, poetry, and character, and
fully sensitive to the religious influences of the
spot, visits New England iu 1678, and writes her
account of the maimers and influences .of the
time to her cousin iu England, a gentleman to
C^y^^^^
<^-tt_>-
whom she is to be married. In point of delicacy
and happy description, this work is full of beau-
ties ; though the unnecessary tediousness of its
form will remain a permanent objection to it.
Returning to the order of our narrative, from
these exhibitions of Whittier's early tastes, we
find him, after a few years spent at home in farm-
ing, and representing his town in the state legisla-
ture, engaged in the proceedings of the American
Anti-Slavery Society, of which he was elected a
secretary in 1836, and in defence of its principles
editing the Pennsylvania Freeman in Philadelphia.
The Voices of Freedom, which form a section of
his poems in the octavo edition of his writings,
afford the best specimens of these, numerous effu-
sions.* The importance attached to them by the
abolition party has probably thrown into the
shade some of the finer qualities of his mind.
In 18A0 Mr. Whittier took up his residence in
Amesbury, Massachusetts, where his late pro-
ductions have been written, and whence he for-
wards his contributions to the National Era at
AVashington ; collecting from time to time hi-;
articles in books.
In 1850 appeared his volume, Old Portraits
and Modern Sketches, a series of prose essays on
Bunyan, Baxter, Ellwood, Nayler, Andrew Mar-
veil, the Quaker John Roberts, for the ancients ;
and the Americans, Leggett, the abolition writer
Rogers, and the poet Dinsmore for the moderns.
In the same year he published Songs of Labor
and other Poems, in which he seeks to dignify
and render interesting the mechanic arts by the
associations of history and fancy. The Chapel
of the Hermits, and other Poems, was pub-
lished in 1853. The chief poem commemorates
an incident in the lives of Rousseau and St.
Pierre, when they were visiting a hermitage, and
while waiting for the monks, Rousseau — as the
anecdote is recorded in the " Studies of Nature,"
— proposed some devotional exercises. Whittier
illustrates by this his Quaker argument for the
spiritual independence of the soul, which will
find its owii nutriment for itself.
Mr. Whittier has written too frequently on oc-
casional topics of local or passing interest, to claim
for all his verses the higher qualities of poetry.
Many of them are purely didactic, and serve the
purposes of forcible newspaper leaders. In others
he has risen readily to genuine eloquence, or tem-
pered his poetic fire by the simplicity of true
pathos. Like' most masters of energetic expres-
sion, he relies upon the strong Saxon elements of
the language, the use of which is noticeable in his
poems.
THE NEW WIFE AND THE OLD.t
Dark the halls, and cold the feast —
Gone the bridemaids, gone the priest!
All is over — all is done,
Twain of yesterday are one !
Blooming girl and manhood grey,
Autumu ia the arms of Jlay !
Hushed within and hushed without,
Dancing feet and wrestlers' shout ;
* Boston : Mussey and Co., 1S50, with illustrations by Bil-
lings.
tThis Ballad is founded upon one of the marvellous legends
connected with the famous Gen. M.. of Hampton, N.II.^who
was regarded by his neighbors a3 a Yankee Faust, in league
with the adversary. I give the story as 1 heard it when a
child from a venerable family visitant.
ili
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
L>ie3 the bonfire on the hill;
All is dark and all is still,
Save the starlight, save the breeze
Moaning through the grave-yard trees ;
And the great sea-waves below,
Like the night's pulse, beating slow.
From the brief dream of a bride
She hath wakened, at his side.
With'half uttered shriek and start —
Feels she not his beating heart?
And the pressure of his arm,
And his breathing near and warm?
Lightly from the bridal bed
Springs that fair dishevelled head, I
And a feeling, new, intense,
Half of shame, half innocence,
Maiden fear and wonder speaks
Through her lips and changing cheeks.
From the oaken mantel glowing
Faintest light the lamp is throwing
On the mirror's antique mould,
High-backed' chair, and wainscot old.
And, through faded curtains stealing,
His dark sleeping face revealing.
Listless lies the strong man there,
Silver-streaked his careless hair ;
Lips of love have left no trace
On that hard and haughty face;
And that forehead's knitted thought
Love's soft hand hath not unwrought.
'■' Yet," she sighs, " he loves me well,
More than these calm lij« will tell
Stooping to my lowly state,
He hath made me rich and great,
And I bless him, though he be
Hard and stem to all save me!"
While she speaketh, falls the light
O'er her fingers small and white;
Gold and gem, and costly ring
Back the timid lustre fling —
Love's selectest gifts, and rare,
His proud hand had fastened there.
Gratefully she marks the glow
From those tapering lines of snow ;
Fondly o'er the sleeper bending
His black hair with golden blending,
In her soft and light caress,
Cheek and lip together press.
Ha! — that start of horror ! — Why
That wild stare and wilder cry,
Full of terror, full of pain i
Is there madness in her brain ?
Hark ! that gasping, hoarse and low:
" Spare me — spare me — let me go !"
God have mercy !— Icy cold
Spectral hands her own enfold,
Drawing silently from them
Love's fair gifts of gold and gem,
"Waken! save me!" still as death
At her side he slumbereth.
Ring and bracelet all are gone,
And that ice-cold hand withdrawn;
But she hears a murmur low,
Full of sweetness, full of woe,
Half a sigh and half a moan :
" Fear not ! give the dead her own !"
Ah ! — the dead wife's voice she knows !
That cold hand whose pressure froze,
Once in wannest life had borne
Gem and band her own hath worn
" Wake thee ! wake thee !" Lo, his eye?
Open with a dull surprise.
In his arms the strong man folds her,
Closer to his breast he holds her ;
Trembling limbs his own are meeting.
And he feels her heart's quick beating-.
" Nay, my dearest, why this fear ?"
" Hush !" she saith, " the dead is here 1"
"Nay, a dream — an isle dream."
But before the lamp's pale gleam
Tremblingly her hand she raises. —
There no more the diamond blazes,
Clasp of pearl, or ring of gold, —
" Ah 1" she sighs, " her hand was cold !"
Broken words of cheer he saith,
But his dark lip quivereth,
And as o'er the past he thinketh,
From his young wife's arms he shrinketh ;
Can those soft arms round him lie,
Underneath his dead wife's eye ?
She her fair young head can rest
Soothed and child-like on his breast,
And in trustful innocence
Draw new strength and courage thence ;
He, the proud man, feels within
But the cowardice of sin !
She can murmur in her thought
Simple prayers her mother taught,
And His blessed angels call,
Whose great love is over all ;
He, alone, in prnyerless pride,
Meets the dark Past at her side.
One, who living shrank with dread
From his look, or word, or tread,
Unto whom her early grave
Was as freedom to the slave,
Moves him at this midnight hour,
With the dead's unconscious power 1
Ah, the dead, the unforgot !
From their solemn homes of thought,
Where the cypress shadows blend
Darkly over foe and friend,
Or in love or sad rebuke,
Back upon the living look.
And the tenderest ones and weakest,
Who their wrongs have borne the meekest,
Lifting from those dark, still places,
Sweet and sad-remembered faces,
O'er the guilty hearts behind
An unwitting triumph find.
A DREAM OF SUMMER.
Bland as the morning breath of June
The southwest breezes play ;
And, through its haze, the winter noon
Seems warm as summer's day.
The snow-plumed Angel of the North
Has dropped his icy spear;
Again the mossy earth looks forth,
Again the streams gush clear.
The fox his hill-side cell forsakes,
The muskrat leaves Ids nook,
The bluebird in the meadow brakes
Is singing with the brook.
" Bear up, oh mother Nature !" cry
Bird, breeze, and streamlet free;
" Our winter voices prophesy
Of summer days to thee 1"
So, in those winters of the soul,
By bitter blasts and drear
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER,
475
O'erswept from Memory's frozen pole,
Will sunny days appear.
Reviving Hope and Faith, they show
The soul its living powers,
And how beneath the winter's snow
Lie germs of summer flowers !
The Night is mother of the Day,
The Winter of the Spring,
And ever upon old Decay
The greenest mosses eling.
Behind the cloud the Btar-light lurks,
Through showers the sunbeams fall ;
For God, who loveth all His works,
Has left His Hope with all !
PALESTINE.
Blest land of Judea! thrice hallowed of song.
Where the holiest of memories pilgrim-like throng ;
In the shade of thy palms, by the shores of thy sea,
On the hills of thy beauty, my heart is witli thee.
With the eye of a spirit I look on that shore,
AVhere pilgrim and prophet have lingered before ;
With the glide of a spirit I traverse the sod
Made bright by the steps of the angels of God.
Blue sea of the hills ! — in my spirit I hear
Thy waters, Genesaret, chime on my ear ;
Where the Lowly and Just with the people sat down,
And thy spray on the dust of His sandals was thrown.
Beyond are Bethulia's mountains of green,
And the desolate hills of the wild Gadarene;
And I pause on the goat-crags of Tabor to see
The gleam of thy waters, 0 dark Galilee !
nark, a sound in the valley! where swollen and
strong,
Thy river, O Kishon, is sweeping along ;
Where the Canaanite strove with Jehovah in vain.
And thy torrent grew dark with the blood of the
slain.
There down from bis mountains stern Zebulon came,
And Nupthali's stag, with his eye-balls of flame,
And the chariots of Jabin rolled harmlessly on,
For the arm of the Lord was Abinoam's son !
There sleep the still rocks and the caverns which
rang
To the song which the beautiful prophetess sang.
When the princes of Issachar stood by her side,
And the shout of a host in its triumph replied.
Lo, Bethlehem's hill-site before me is seen,
With the mountains around, and the valleys between;
There rested the shepherds of Judah, and there
The songs of the angels rose sweet on the air.
And Bethany's palm trees in beauty still threw
Their shadows at noon on the ruins below ;
But where are the sisters who hastened to greet
The lowly Redeemer, and sit at His feet?
I tread where the twelve in their way-faring trod ;
I stand where they stood with the chosen of God —
Where His blessing was beard and His lessons were
taught,
Where the blind were restored and the healing was
wrought.
Oh, here with His flock the sad Wanderer came —
These hills He toiled over in grief, are the same —
The founts where He drank by the wayside still flow,
And the same airs are blowing which breathed on
His brow !
And throned on her hills sits Jerusalem yet,
But with dust on her forehead, and chains on her
feet;
For the crown of her pride to the mocker hath gone,
And the holy Shechinah is dark where it shone.
But wherefore this dream of the earthly abode
Of Humanity clothed in the brightness of God?
Where my spirit but turned from the outward and
dim,
It could gaze, even now, on the presence of Him !
Not in clouds and in terrors, but gentle as when,
In love and in meekness, He moved among men ;
And the voice which breathed peace to the waves of
the sea,
In the hush of my spirit would whisper to me!
And what if my feet may not tread where He stood,
Nor my ears hear the dashing of Galilee's flood,
Nor my eyes see the cross which He bowed him to
bear,
Nor my knees press Gethsemane's garden of prayer.
Yet loved of the Father, Thy Spirit is near
To the meek, and the lowly, and penitent here ;
And the voice of Thy love is the same even now,
As at Bethany's tomb, or on Olivet's brow.
Oh, the outward hath gone ! — but in glory ami
power,
The spirit surviveth the things of an hour ;
Unchanged, undecaying, its Pentecost flame
On the heart's sacred altar is burning the samel
GONE.
Another hand is beckoning us,
Another call is given ;
And glows once more with Angel-steps
The jiath which reaches Heaven.
Our young and gentle friend whose smile
Made brighter summer hours,
Amid the frosts of autumn time
Has left us, with the flowers.
No paling of the cheek of bloom
Forewarned us of decay ;
No shadow from the Silent Lain!
Fell around our sister's way.
The light of her young life went down,
As sinks behind the hill
The glory of a setting star —
Clear, suddenly, and still.
As pure and sweet, her fair brow seemed —
Eternal as the sky ;
And like the brook's low song, her voice —
A sound which could not die.
And half we deemed she needed not
The changing of her sphere,
To give to Heaven a Shining One,
Who walked an Angel here.
The blessing of her quiet life
Fell on us like the dew ;
And good thoughts, where her footsteps pressed,
Like fairy blossoms grew.
Sweet promptings unto kindest deeds •
Were in her very look ;
We read her face, as one who reads
A true and holy book :
The measure of a blessed hymn,
To which our hearts could move ;
The breathing of an inward psalm ;
A canticle of love.
We miss her in the place of prayer,
And by the hearth-tire's light ;
We pause beside her door to hear
Once more her sweet " Good night I"
476
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
There seems a shadow on the day,
Her smile iio longer cheers ;
A dimness on the stars of night,
Like eyes that look through tears.
Alone unto our Father's will
One thought hath reconciled ;
That He whose love exceedeth ours
Hath taken home His child.
Fold her, oh Father ! in thine arms,
And let her henceforth be
A messenger of love between
Our human hearts and Thee.
Still let her mild rebuking stand
Between us and the wrong,
And her dear memory serve to make
Our faith in Goodness strong.
And, grant that she who, trembling, here
Distrusted all her powers,
May welcome to her holier home
The well beloved of ours.
CHARLES FENNO HOEEMAN.
Chapxes Fexxo Hoffmajt is the descendant of
a family which established itself in the State of
New York during its possession by the Dutch.
His maternal grandfather, from whom he derived
the name of Fenno, was an active politician
and writer of the federal party during the admi-
nistration of Washington. His father, Judge
Hoffman, was an eminent member of the bar of
the United States. He pleaded and won his first
cause at the age of seventeen, and at twenty-one
filled the place previously occupied by his father
in the New York Legislature. One of his sons
is Ogden Hoffman, who has long maintained a
high position as an eloquent pleader.
Charles Fenno Hoffman, the son of Judge Hoffman
by a second marriage, was born in the city of New
York in 1 806. At the age of six years he was placed
at a Latin Grammar School in the city, and three
years after was sent to the Poughkeepsie Academy,
a celebrated boarding-school on the Hudson.
Owing, it is said, to harsh treatment, he ran away.
His father not wishing to coerce him unduly, in-
stead of sending him back, placed him in the
charge of a Scottish gentleman in a village of New
Jersey. "While on a visit home in 1817 an acci-
dent occurred, an account of which is given in a
paragraph quoted from the New York Gazette in
the Evening Post of October 25, from which it
appears that " he was sitting on Courtlandt-street
Dock, with his legs hanging over the wharf, as the
steamboat was coming in, which caught one of
his legs and crushed it in a dreadful manner." It
was found necessary to amputate the injured limb
above the knee. Its place was supplied by a cork
substitute, which seemed to form no impediment
to the continuance of the out-door life and athletic
exercises in which its wearer was a proficient.
At the age of fifteen he entered Columbia College,
where he was more distinguished in the debating
society than in the class. He left College during
his junior year, but afterwards received the hono-
rary degree of Master of Arts from the institution.
He next studied law with the late Harmanus
Bleecker, at Albany, at the age of twenty-one
was admitted to the bar, and practised for three
years in New York. He then abandoned a pro-
fessional for a literary life, having already tried
his pen in anonymous contributions while a clerk
to the Albany newspapers, and while an attorney
to the New York American, in the editorship of
which he became associated with Mr. Charles
King. A series of articles by him, designated by
a star, added to the literary reputation of the
journal.
In 1833 Mr. Hoffman madeatourto the Prairies
for the benefit of his health. He contributed a
series of letters, descriptive of its incidents, to the
American, which were collected and published in
1834, in a couple of volumes bearing the title
A Winter in the West, which obtained a wide
popularity in this country and England. His
second work, Wild Scenes in the Forest and the
Prairie, appeared in 1837. It was followed by
the romance of Greyslaer, founded on the cele-
brated Beauchamp murder case in Kentucky.
The Knickerbocker Magazine was commenced
in 1833 under the editorship of Mr. Hoffman. It
was conducted by him with spirit, but after the
issue of a few numbers passed into the hands
of Timothy Flint. He was subsequently connected
with the American Monthly Magazine, and was
for a while engaged in the editorship of the New
York Mirror. His continuous novel of Vanderlyn
was published in the former in 1837. His poetical
writings, which had long before become widely
and favorably known, were first collected in a
volume entitled The Vigil of Faith and Other
Poems, in 1842. The main story which gave the
book a title is an Indian legend of the Adirondaeh,
which we take to be a pure invention of the author,
— a poetic conception of a bride slain by the rival
of her husband, who watches and guards the life
of his foe lest so hated an object should intrude
upon the presence of his mistress in the spirit
world. It is in the octosyllabic measure, and in
a pathetic, eloquent strain.
In 1844 a second poetical volume, including
numerous additions, appeared with the title, Bor-
rowed Notes for Home Circulation — suggested
by an article which had recently been published in
the Foreign Quarterly Review on the Poets and
CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN.
477
Poetry of America, which was then attracting
considerable attention. A more complete collec-
tion of his poems than is contained in either of
these volumes appeared in 1845. '
During 1846 and 1847 Mr. Hoffman edited for
about eighteen months the Literary World. After
his retirement he contributed to that journal a
series of essays and tales entitled Sketches of So-
ciety, which are among his happiest prose efforts.
One of these, The Man in the Reservoir, detailing
the exj>eriences of an individual who is supposed
to have passed a night in that uncomfortable
lodging-place of water and granite, became, like
the author's somewhat similar narrative of The
Man in the Boiler, a favorite with the public.
This series was closed in December, 1848. Dur-
ing the following year the author was attacked
by a mental disorder, which unhappily has perma-
nently interrupted a brilliant and useful literary
career.
The author's fine social qualities are reflected in
his writing-. A man of taste and scholarship, in-
genious in speculation, with a healthy love of out-
of-door life and objects, he unites the sentiment
of the poet and the refinements of the thinker to
a keen perception of the humors of the world in
action. His conversational powers of a high
order ; his devoted pursuit of literature ; his
ardent love of Americanism in art and letters; his
acquaintance with authors and artists; a certain
personal chivalry of character ; — .ire so many
elements of the regard in which he is held by
his friends, and they may all be found perceptibly
imparting vitality to his writings. These, whether
in the department of the essay, the critique, the
song, the poem, the tale, or novel, are uniformly
stamped by a generous nature.
6PAF.KLIN'G AND BRIGnT.
Sparkling and bright in liquid light,
Does the wine our goblets gleam in,
With hue as red as the rosy bed
Which a bee would choose to dream in.
Then rill to-night with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.
Oh! if Mirth might arrest the flight
Of Time through Life's dominions,
We here awhile would now beguile
The grey-beard of his pinions
To drink to-night with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.
But since delight can't tempt the wight,
Nor fond regret delay him,
Nor Love himself can hold the elf,
Nor sober Friendship stay him,
We'll drink to-night with hearts as light,
To loves as gay and fleeting
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim,
And break on the lips while meeting.
THE .MINT JULEP.
'Tis said that the gods, on Olympus of old
(And who the bright legend profanes with a
doubt),
One night, 'mid their revels, by Bacchus were told
That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out !
But determined to send round the goblet once more,
They sued to the fairer junoi-tals for aid
In composing a draught, which till drinking were
o'er,
Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade.
Grave Ceres herself blithely yielded her corn,
And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain,
And which first had its birth from the dew of the
morn,
Was taught to steal out in bright dewdrops again,
Pomona, whose choicest of fruits on the board
Were scattered profusely in every one's reach,
When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard,
Expressed the mild juice of the delicate peach.
The liquids were mingled while Venus looked on
AVith glances so fraught with sweet magical
power,
That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone,
Has never been missed in the draught from that
hour.
Flora then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook
And with roseate fingers pressed down in the bowl,
| All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook,
The herb whose aroma should flavor the whole.
The draft was delicious, and loud the acclaim,
Though something seemed wanting for all to be-
wail ;
But Juleps the drink of immortals became,
When Jove himself added a handful of hail.
ROOM, BOVB, ROOM.
There was an old hunter camped down by the rill,
Who fished in this water, and shot on that hill.
The forest for him had no danger nor gloom,
For all that he wanted was plenty of room !
Says he, " The world's wide, there is room for us all ;
Room enough in the greenwood, if not in the hall.
Room, boys, room, by the light of the moon,
For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room ? "
He wove his own nets, and his shanty was spread
With the skins he had dressed and stretched out over-
head ;
Fresh branches of hemlock made fragrant the floor,
For his bed, as he sung when the daylight was o'er,
" The world's wide enough, there is room for us all ;
Room enough in the greenwood, if not iu the hall.
Room, boys, room, by the light of the moon,
For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room? "
That spring now half choked by the dust of the
road,
Under boughs of old maples once limpidly flowed ;
By the rock whence it bubbles his kettle was hung,
Which their sap often filled while the hunter he sung,
"The world's wide enough, there is room for us all ;
Room enough in the greenwood, if not in the hall.
Room, boys, room, by the light of the moon,
For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room? "
And still sung the hunter — when one gloomy day,
lie saw in the forest what saddened his lay, —
A heavy wheeled wagon its black rut nail made,
Where fair grew the greensward in broad forest.
glade —
" The world's wide enough, there is room for us all ;
Room enough in the greenwood, if not in the hall,
Room, boys, room, by the light of the moon,
For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room?"
He whistled to his dog, and says he, " We can't stay ;
I must shoulder my rifle, up traps, and away ;"
Next day, 'mid those maples the settler's axe rung,
While slowdy the hunter trudged off as he sung,
478
CYCLOP/EDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
" The world's wide enough, there is room for us all;
Room enough in the greenwood, if not in the hall.
Room, boys, room, by the light of the moon,
For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room f "
BIO BEAVO — A MEXICAN LAMENT.*
Rio Bravo ! Rio Bravo,
Saw men ever such a sight?
Since the field of Roneesvalles
Sealed the fate of many a knight.
Dark is Palo Alto's story,
Sad Resaca Palma's rout,
On those fatal fields so gory,
Many a gallant life went out.
There our best and bravest lances,
Shivered 'gainst the Northern steel,
Left the valiant hearts that couched them
'Neath the Northern charger's heel.
Rio Bravo ! Rio Bravo !
Minstrel ne'er knew such a fight,
Since the field of Roneesvalles
Sealed the fate of many a knight.
Rio Bravo, fatal river,
Saw ye not while red with gore,
Torrejon all headless quiver,
A ghastly trunk upon thy shore!
Heard you not the wounded coursers,
Shrieking on your trampled banks,
As the Northern winged artillery
Thundered oil our shattered ranks I
There Arista, best and bravest,
There Raguena tried and true,
On the fatal field thou lavest,
Nobly did all men could do.
Vainly there those heroes rally,
Castile on Montezuma's shore,
" Rio Bravo" — " Roneesvalles,"
Ye are names blent evermore.
Weepest thou, lorn lady Inez,
For thy lover mid the slain,
Brave La Vega's trenchant falchion,
Cleft his slayer to the brain.
Brave La Vega who all lonely,
By a host of foes beset,
Yielded up his sabre only,
When his equal there he met.
Other champions not less noted,
Sleep beneath that sullen wave,
Rio Bravo, thou hast floated
An army to an ocean grave.
On they came, those Northern horsemen,
On like eagles toward the sun,
Followed then the Northern bayonet,
And the field was lost and won.
Oh ! for Orlando's horn to rally,
His Paladins on that sad shore,
" Rio Bravo" — " Roneesvalles,"
Ye are names blent evermore.
THE MAN IN THE EESEP.V0IE— A FANTASLE PIECE.
You may see some of the best society in New
York on the top of the Distributing Reservoir, any
of these fine October mornings. There were two
or three carriages in waiting, and half a dozen sena-
* This originally appeared in the Colnrrsbian Magazine, with
the following lines of introduction. " Such of the readers of
the Columbian as have seen the Vera Cruz Journal containing
the original of the Rio Bravo Lament, by the popular Mexican
poet, Don Jose Maria Joacquin du Ho Axce de Saitillo. wil!
perhaps not find the following hasty translation unacceptable."
torial-looking mothers with young children, pacing
the parapet, as we basked there the other day in
the sunshine — now watching the pickerel that glide
along the lucid edges of the black pool within, and
now looking off upon the scene of rich and won-
drous variety that spreads along the two rivers on
either side.
" They may talk of Alpheus and Arethusa." mur-
mured an idling sophomore, who had found his way
thither during recitation hours, " but the Croton in
passing over an arm of the sea at Spuyten-duyvil,
and bursting to sight again in this truncated pyra-
mid, beats it all hollow. By George, too, the bay
yonder looks as blue as ever the j£gean Sea to
Byron's eye, gazing from the Acropolis I But the
painted foliage on these crags! — the Greeks must
have dreamed of such a vegetable phenomenon in
! the midst of their greyish olive groves, or they never
! would have supplied the want of it in their landscape
! by embroidering their marbie temples with gay colors.
i " Did you see that pike break, iir? "
"I did not."
"Zounds I his silver fin flashed upon the black
Acheron, like a restless soul that hoped yet to mount
from the pooL"
"The place seems suggestive of fancies to you?"
we observed in reply to the rattlepate.
" It is, indeed, for I have done up a good deal of
anxious thinking within a circle of a few yards where
that fish broke just now. '
" A singular place for meditation — the middle of
the reservoir!"
" You look incredulous, Sir — but it's a fact. A fel-
low can never tell, until he is tried, in what situa-
tion his most earnest meditations may be concentrated.
I am boring you, though? "
"Not at all. But you seem so familiar with the
spot, I wish you could tell me why that ladder lead-
ing down to the water is lashed against the stone-
work in yonder corner '( "
" That ladder," said the young man, brightening
at the question, " why the position, perhaps the very
existence of that ladder, resulted from my meditations
in the reservoir, at which you smiled just now.
Shall I tell you all about them? "
" Pray do."
Well, you have seen the notice forbidding any one
to fish in the reservoir. Now when I read that
warning, the spirit of the thing struck me at once,
as inferring nothing more than that one should not
sully the temperance potations of our citizens by
steeping bait in it, of any kind ; but you probably
know the common way of taking pike with a slip-
noose of delicate wire. I was determined to have a
touch at the fellows with this kind of tackle.
I chose a moonlight night ; and an hour before the
edifice was closed to visitors, I secreted myself with-
in the walls, determined to pass the night on the top.
All went as I could wish it. The night proved
cloudy, but it was only a variable drift of broken
clouds which obscured the moon. I had a walking
cane-rod with me which would reach to the margin
of the water, and several feet beyond if necessary.
To this was attached the wire about fifteen inches
in length.
I prowled along the parapet for a considerable
time, but not a single fish could I see. The clouds
made a flickering light and shade, that wholly foiled
my steadfast gaze. I was convinced that should
they come up thicker, my whole night's adventure
would be thrown away. " Why should I not des-
cend the sloping wall and get nearer on a level with
the fish, for thus alone can I hope to see one ? " The
question had hardly shaped itself in my mindbefore
1 had one leg over the iron railing.
CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN.
479
If you loot afound you will see now that there
are some half dozen weeds growing here and there,
amid the fissures of the solid masonry. In one of
the fissures from whence these spring, I planted a
foot, and began my descent. The reservoir was
fuller than it is now, and a few strides would have
carried me to the margin of the water. Holding on
to the cleft above, I felt round with one foot for a
place to plant it below me.
In that moment the flap of a pound pike made me
look round, and the roots of the weed upon which I
partially depended, gave way as I was in the act of
turning. Sir, one's senses are sharpened in deadly
peril; as I live now, I distinctly heard the bells of
Trinity chiming midnight, as I rose to the surface the
next instant, immersed in the stone cauldron, where
I must swim for my life heaven only could tell how
long!
I am a capital swimmer ; and this naturally gave
me a degree of self-possession. Falling as I had, I
of course had pitched out some distance from the
sloping parapet. A few strokes brought me to the
edge. I really was not yet certain but that I could
clamber up the face of the wall anywhere. I hoped
that I could. I felt certain at least there was some
spot where I might get hold with my hands, even if
I did not ultimately ascend it.
I tried the nearest spot. The inclination of the
wall was so vertical that it did not even rest m.e to
lean against it. I felt with my hands and with my
feet. Surely, I thought, there must be some fissure
like those in which that ill-omened weed had found
a place for its root !
There was none. My fingers became sore in bu-
sying themselves with the harsh and inhospitable
stones. My feet slipped from the smooth and slimy
masonry beneath the wa':er; and several times my
face came in rude contact with the wall, when my
foothold gave way on the instant that I seemed to
have found some diminutive rocky cleet upon which
I could stay myself.
Sir, did you ever see a rat drowned in a half-filled
hogshead? how he swims round, and round, and
round; and after vainly trying the sides again and
again with his paws, fixes his eyes upon the upper
rim as if he would look himself out of his watery
prison.
I thought of the miserable vermin, thought of him
as I had often watched thus his dying agonies, when
a cruel urchin of eight or ten. Boys are horribly
cruel, sir ; boys, women, and savages. All child-
like things are cruel; cruel from a want of thought
andfrom perverse ingenuity, although by instinct each
of these is so tender. You may not have observed
it, but a savage is as tender to its own young as a
boy is to a favorite puppy — the same boy that will
torture a kitten out of existence. I thought, then,
I say, of the rat drowning in a half-filled cask of
water, and lifting his gaze out of the vessel as he
grew more and more desperate, and I flung myself on
my back, and floating thus, fixed my eyes upon the
face of the moon.
The moon is well enough, in her way, however
you may look at her ; but her appearance is, to say
the least of it, peculiar to a mati floating on 1 1 is back
in the centre of a stone tank, with a dead wall of
some fifteen or twenty feet rising squarely on every
side of him (the young man smiled bitterly as he said
this, and shuddered once or twice before he went on
musingly) ! The last time I had noted the planet
with any emotion she was on the wane. Mary was
with me, I had brought her out here one morning to
look at the view from the top of the Reservoir. She
saiil little of the scene, but as we talked of our old
childish loves, I saw that its fresh features were in-
corporating themselves with tender memories of the
past, and I was content.
There was a rich golden haze upon the landscape,
and as my own spirits rose amid the voluptuous
atmosphere, she pointed to the waning planet, dis-
cernible like a faint gash in the welkin, and won-
dered how long it would be before the leaves would
fall ! Strange girl, did she mean to rebuke my joy-
ous mood, as if we had no right to be happy while
nature withering in her pomp, and the sickly moon
wasting in the blaze of noontide, were there to re-
mind us of "the-gone-for-ever? " "They will all
renew themselves, dear Mary," said I, encouragingly,
" and there is one that will ever kqep tryste alike
with thee and Nature through all seasons, if thou
wilt but be true to one of us, and remain as now a
child of nature."
A tear sprang to her eye, and then searching her
pocket for her card-case, she remembered an engage-
ment to be present at Miss Lawson's opening of fall
| bonnets, at two o'clock 1
And yet, dear, wild, wayward Mary, I thought of
her now. You have probably outlived this sort of
thing, sir; but I, looking at the moon, as I floated
there upturned to her yellow light, thought of the
loved being whose tears I knew would flow when
she heard of my singular fate, at once so grotesque,
yet melancholy to awful ness.
And how often we have talked, too, of that Carian
shepherd who spent his damp nights upon the hills,
gazing as I do on the lustrous planet! who will revel
with her amid those old super titi ins! Who, from
our own unlegended woods, will evoke their yet un-
detected, haunting spirits ? Who peer with her in
prying scrutiny into nature's laws, and challenge the
whispers of poetry from the voiceless throat of
matter? Who laugh merrily over the stupid guess-
work of pedants, that never mingled with the infi-
nitude of nature, through love exhaust.less and all-
embracing, as we have? Poor girl, she will be
companionless.
Alas! companionless for ever — save in the excit-
ing stages of some brisk flirtation. She will live
hereafter by feeding other hearts with love's lore
she has learned from me, and then, Pygmalion-like,
grow fond of the images she has herself endowed
with semblance of divinity, until they seem to
breathe back the mystery the soul can truly catch
from only one.
How anxious she will be lest the coroner shall have
discovered any of her notes in my pocket ?
I felt chilly as this last reflection crossed my mind.
Partly at thought of the coroner, partly at the idea
of Mary being unwillingly compelled to wear mourn-
ing for me, in case of such a disclosure of our engage-
ment. It is a provoking thing for a girl of nineteen
to have to go into mourning for a deceased lover,
at the beginning of her second winter in the me-
tropolis.
The water, though, with my motionless position,
must have had something to do with my chilliness.
I see, sir, you think that I tell my story with great
levity ; but indeed, indeed I should grow delirious
did I venture to hold steadily to the" awfulness of
my feelings the greater part of that night. I think
indeed, I must have been most of the time hysterical
with horror, for the vibrating emotions I have re-
capitulated did pass through my brain even as I have
detailed them.
But as I now became calm in thought, I summon-
ed up again some resolution of action.
I will begin at that corner (said I), and swim
around the whole enclosure. I will swim slowly and
again feel the sides of the tank with my feet. If
die I must, let me perish at least from well directed
480
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
though exhausting effort, Tiot sink from mere boot-
less weariness in sustaining myself till the morning
shall bring relief.
The sides of the place seemed to grow higher as I
now kept my watery course beneath them. It was
not altogether a dead pull. I had some variety of
emotion in making my circuit. When I swam in the
shadow it looked to me more cheerful beyond in the
moonlight When I swam in the moonlight I had
the hope of making some discovery when I should
again reach the shadow. I turned several times on
my back to rest just where those wavy lines would
meet. The stars looked viciously bright to me from
the bottom of that well ; there was such a company
of them; they were so glad in their lustrous revel-
ry; and they had such space to move in ? I was
alone, sad to despair, in a strange element, prisoned,
and a solitary gazer upon their mocking chorus.
And yet there was nothing else with which I could
hold communion ?
I turned upon my breast and struck out almost
frantically, once more. The stars were forgotten,
the moon, the very world of which I as yet formed
a part, my poor Mary herself was forgotten. I
thought only of the strong man there perishing; of
me in nvy lusty manhood, in the sharp vigor of my
dawning prime, with faculties illimitable, with senses
all alert, battling there with physical obstacles which
men like myself hadbroughttogetherfor my undoing.
The Eternal could never have willed this thing ! I
could not and I would not perish thus. And I grew
strong in insolence of self-trust ; and I laughed
aloud as I dashed the sluggish water from side to
side.
Then came an emotion of pity for myself — of wild,
wild regret ; of sorrow, oh, infinite for a fate so de-
solate, a doom so dreary, so heart-sickening. You
may laugh at the contradiction if you will, sir, but
I felt that I could sacrifice my own life on the in-
stant, to redeem another fellow creature from such a
place of horror, from an end so piteous. My soul and
my vital spirit seemed in that desperate moment to
be separating ; while one in parting grieved over the
deplorable fate of the other.
And then I prayed !
I prayed, why or wherefore I know not. It was
not from fear. It could not have been in hope. The
days of miracles are passed, and there was no natu-
ral law- by whose providential interposition I coidd
be saved. / did not pray; it prayed of itself, my
soul within me.
Was the calmness that I now felt, torpidity? the
torpidity that precedes dissolution, to the strong
swimmer who, sinking from exhaustion, must at last
add a bubble to the wave as he suffocates beneath
the element, which now denied his mastery ? If it
were so, how fortunate was it that my floating rod
at that moment attracted my attention as it dashed
through the water by me. I saw on the instant that
a fish had entangled himself in the wire noose. The
rod quivered, plunged, came again to the surface, and
rippled the water as it shot in arrowy flight from
side to side of the tank. At last driven towards the
southeast corner of the Reservoir, the small end
seemed to have got foul somewhere. The brazen
butt, which, every time the fish sounded, was thrown
up to the moon, now sank by its own weight, show-
ing that the other end must be fast. But the cor-
nered fish, evidently anchored somewhere by that
short wire, floundered several times to the surface,
before I thought of striking out to the spot.
The water is low now and tolerably clear. You
may see the very ledge there, sir, in yonder corner,
on which the small end of my rod rested when I
secured that pike with my hands. I did not take
him from the slip-noose, however ; but standing upon
the ledge, handled the rod in a workmanlike
manner, as I flung that pound pickerel over the iron-
railing upon the top of the parapet. The rod, as I
have told you, barely reached from the railing to the
water. It was a heavy, strong bass rod which I had
borrowed in "the Spirit of the Times" office; and
when I discovered that the fish at the end of the
wire made a strong enough knot to prevent me from
drawing my tackle away from the railing around
which it twined itself as I threw, why, as you can
at once see, I had but little difficulty in making my
way up the face of the wall with such assistance.
The ladder winch attracted your notice is, as you
see, lashed to the iron railing in the identical spot
where I thus made my escape ; and for fear of simi-
lar accidents they have placed another one in the
corresponding corner of the other compartment of
the tank ever since my remarkable night's adventure
in the Reservoir.
We give the above singular relation veibatim as
heard from the lips of our chance acquaintance; and
although strongly tempted to "work it up" after
the fantastic style of a famous German namesake,
prefer that the reader should have it in its Ameri-
can simplicity.
LUCEETIA MARIA AND MAEGAEET MILLEE DA-
TID.SON.
The sisters Lucretia Maria and Margaret Mil-
ler, were the daughters of Dr. Oliver Davidson,
and Margaret Miller his wife. The parents were
persons of education and refinement; and the mo-
ther, herself a poetess, had enjoyed the instruc-
tions of the celebrated Isabella Graham at New
York. She was sensitive in body as well as mind,
and subject to frequent attacks of sickness. Her
daughter Lucretia was born at Plattsburgh, on the
shore of Lake Champlain, September 27, 1808.
Her infancy was sickly, and in her second year an
attack of t3Tphus fever threatened her life. She
recovered from this, however, and with it the
lesser disorders with which she had been also
troubled, disappeared. At the age of four she was
sent to school and soon learned to read and form
letters in sand. She was an unwearied student
of the little, story books given her, neglecting for
these all the ordinary plays of her age. We soon
hear of her making books of her own. Her mother
one day, when preparing to write a letter, missed
a quire of paper; expressing her wonder, the lit-
tle girl came forward and said, "Mamma, I have
used it." Her mother, surprised, asked her how ?
Lucretia burst out crying and said, "she did not
like to tell." She was not pressed to do so, and
paper continued to disappear. Lucretia was often
found busy with pen and ink, and in making little
blank books ; but would only cry and rim away if
questioned.
When she was six years old, these little books
came to light on the removal of a pile of linen on a
closet shelf, behind which they were hidden. "At
first," says her biographer Miss Sedgwick, "the
hieroglyphics seemed to baffle investigation. On
one side of the leaf was an artfully sketched pic- .
ture; on the other, Roman letters, some placed
upright, others horizontally, obliquely, or back-
wards, not formed into words, nor spaced in any
mode. Both parents pored over them till they
ascertained the letters were poetical explanations
in metre and rhyme of the picture in the reverse.
LUCRETIA MARIA AND MARGARET MILLER DAVIDSON.
481
The little books were carefully put away as lite-
rary curiosities. Not long' after this, Lueretia
came running to her mother, painfully agitated,
her face covered with her hands, and tears trick-
ling down between her slender fingers — ' Oh,
Mama! mama!' she cried, sobbing, 'how could
you treat me so ? You have not used me well !
My little books! you have shown them to papa,
— Anne — Eliza, I know you have. Oh, what
shall I do?' Her mother pleaded guilty, and tried
to soothe the child by promising not to do so
again; Lucretia's face brightened, a sunny smile
played through her tears as she replied, ' Oh. ma-
ma, I am not afraid you will do so again, for I
have burned them all ;' and so she had ! This re-
serve proceeded from nothing cold or exclusive in
her character; never was there a more loving or
sympathetic creature. It would be difficult to
say which was most rare, her modesty, or the
genius it sanctified."
She soon after learned to write in more legible
fashion, and in her ninth year produced the fol-
lowing lines, the earliest- of her compositions
which has been preserved : —
ON THE DEATH OF MY nOBHT.
Underneath this turf doth lie
A little bird which ne'er could fly,
Twelve large angle worms did fill
This little bird, whom they did kill.
Puss! if you should chance to smell
My little bird from his dark cell,
Oh ! do be merciful, my cat,
And not serve him as you did my rat.
She studied hard at school, and when needle-
work was given her as a preventive against this
undue intellectual effort, dashed through the task
assigned her with great rapidity, and studied
harder than before. Her mother very properly
took her away from school, and the child's health
improved in consequence. She now frequently
brought short poems to her mother, who always
received them gladly, and encouraged her intel-
lectual efforts. The kind parent has given us a
glimpse of her daughter, engaged in her eleventh
year in composition. " Immediately after break-
fast she went to walk, and not returning to din-
ner, nor even when the evening approached, Mr.
Town send set forth in search of her. lie met her,
and as her eye encountered his, she smiled and
blushed, as if she felt conscious of having been a
little ridiculous. She said she had called on a
friend, and, haying found her absent, had gone to
her library, where she had been examining some
volumes of an Encyclopaedia to aid her, we believe,
in the oriental story she was employed upon. She
forgot her dinner and her tea, and had remained
reading, standing, and with her hat on, till the
disappearance of daylight brought'her to her senses.
A characteristic anecdote is related of her
"cramming" for her long poem, Amir Khan.
" I entered her room — she was sitting with
scarcely light enough to discern the characters
she was tracing ; her harp was in the window,
touched by a breeze just sufficient to rouse the
spirit of harmony; her comb had fallen on the
iloor, and her long dark ringlets hung in rich pro-
fusion over her neck and shoulders, her cheek glow-
ed with animation, her lips were half unclosed, her
full dark eye was radiant with the light of genius,
vol. ir. — 31
and beaming with sensibility, her head rested on
her left hand, while she held her pen in her right
— she looked like the inhabitant of another sphere;
she was so wholly absorbed that she did not ob-
serve my entrance. I looked over her shoulder
and read the following lines : — ■
AYhat heavenly music strikes my ravished ear,
So soft, so melancholy, and so clear ?
And do the tuneful nine then touch the lyre,
To fill each bosom with poetic fire ?
Or does some angel strike the sounding strings
Who caught from echo the wild note he sings?
But ah ! another strain, how sweet ! how wild !
Now rushing low, 'tis soothing, soft, and mild.
"The noise I made in leaving the room roused
her, and she soon after brought me her 'Lines to
an vEolian Harp.' "
In 1S24, an old friend of her mother and a fre-
quent visitor, the Hon. Moss Kent, happened to
take up some of Lucretia's MS. poems which had
been given to his sister. Struck with their merit
he went to the mother to see more, and on his
way met the poetess, then a beautiful girl of six-
teen ; much pleased with her conversation, he
proposed to her parents, after a further examina-
tion of her poems, to adopt her as his own daugh-
ter. They acquiesced in his wishes so far as to
consent to his sending her to Mrs. Willard's semi-
nary at Troy* to complete her education.
She was delighted with the opportunity afford-
ed her of an improved literary culture, and on
the 2-lth of November, 1824, left home in good
health, which was soon impaired by her severe
study. The chief mischief, however, appears to
have been done by her exertions in preparing for
the public examination of the school. Miss Da-
vidson fell sick, Mrs. Willard sent for Dr. Rob-
bins, who bled, administered an emetic, and allow-
ed his patient, after making her still weaker, to
resume her preparation for examination, for which
she "must study morning, noon, and night, and
rise between two and four every morning." The
great event came off, "in a room crowded almost
to suffocation," on the 12th of February.
* Emma, the dauglitor of Samuel Hart, and a descendant
from Thomas Hooker, the founder of Hartford, was born at
, New Berlin, Conn., in February, 17ST. At the age of sixteen,
she commenced the career to which her life has been devoted
I as the teacher of the. district school of iier native town.
After filling in succession the post of principal of several
academies, she took charge of an institution of the kind at Mid-
dlebufv, Vermont, where in 1S09 she married Dr. John Wil-
lard of that state.
In 1S19, Mrs. Willard, at the invitation of Governor Clinton,
and other distinguished men of the state of New York, remov-
[ cd to Watel'ford to take charge of an institution for female edu-
cation, incorporated, and in part supported, by the legislature.
In consequence of being unable to secure an appropriate
building at Waterford, Mrs. Willard accepted an invitation to
I establish a school at Troy, and in 1821 commenced the institu-
I tion which has long been celebrated as the Troy Female Semi-
! nary, and with which she remained connected until 1833.
In 1830, Mrs.Willardmadea tour in Europe.andon her return
published her Travels, devoting her share of the proceeds of
the sale to the support of a school in Greece, founded mainly
by her exertions, for the education of female teachers.
Mrs. Willard has, since her retirement from Troy, resided at,
Hartford, where she has written and published several address-
es on th ■ subject of Female Education, especially asconnected
with the common-school system. She is also the author of a
Manual of American History, A Treatise on Ancient Geo-
■ graph//, and other works which have had an extensive school
i circulation. In 1880 she published a small volume of poems,
and in 184/> A Treatise an Via Motive Powers whic7i produce
th-' Circulation of the Blood, a work which attracted much at-
tention on its appearance ; and in 1849, Last leaves of Ameri-
can History, a continuation of her " Manual."
4S2
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
k. faD 01 It- Cf^r^p^itrf
In the spring vacation she returned home.
Her mother was alarmed at the state of her
health, hut the physician called by her father to
aid him in the treatment of her case recommend-
ing a change of scene and air, she was allowed
to follow her wishes and return to school, the
establishment of Miss Gibson at Albany being at
this time selected. She had been there but a few
weeks when her disease, consumption, assumed
its worst features. Her mother hurried to her,
and removed her home in July. It is a touching
picture that of her last journey. " She shrunk
painfully from the gaze her beauty inevitably
attracted, heightened as it was by that disease
which seems to delight to deck the victim for its
triumph." She reached home. " To the last
she manifested her love of books. A trunk
filled with them had not been unpacked. She
requested her mother to open it at her bed-.^ide,
and as each book was given to her, she turned
over the leaves, kissed it, and desired to have it
placed on a table at the foot of her bed. There
they remained to the last day, her eye often
fondly resting on them." She wrote while con-
fined to her bed her last poem : —
There is a something which I dread,
It is a dark and fearful thing ;
It steals along with withering tread,
Or sweeps on wild destruction's wing.
That thought comes o'er me in the hour
Of grief, of sickness, or of sadness:
'Tis not the dread of death ; 'tis more —
It is the dread of madness.
Oh ! may these throbbing pulses pause,
Forgetful of their feverish course;
May this hot brain, which, burning glows
With all a fiery whirlpool's force,
Be cold and motionless, and still
A tenant of its lowly bed ;
But let not dark delirium steal —
[Unfinished.]
The fear was a groundless one, for her mind
was calm, collected, and tranquil during the
short period that intervened before her death, on
the 27th of August, 1825, one month before her
seventeenth birthday.
THE WIDE WORLD IS DEEAE.
(Written in her sixteenth year.)
Oh say not the wide world is lonely and dreary I
Oh say not that life is a wilderness waste !
There's ever some comfort in store for the weary,
And there's ever some hope for the sorrowful
breast.
There are often sweet dreams which will steal o'er
the soul,
Beguiling the mourner to smile through a tear,
That when waking the dew-drops of mem'ry may
fall,
And blot out for ever, the wide world is drear.
There is hope for the lost, for the lone one's relief,
Which will beam o'er his pathway of danger and
fear ;
There is pleasure's wild throb, and the calm "joy
of grief,"
Oh then say not the wide world is lonely and
drear !
There are fears that are anxious, yet sweet to the
breast,
Some feelings, which language ne'er told to the
ear,
Which return on the heart, and there lingering rest,
Soft whispering, this world is not lonely and
drear.
'Tis true, that the dreams of the evening will fade,
When reason's broad sunbeam shines calmly and
clear;
Still fancy, sweet fancy, will smile o'er the shade,
And say that the world is not lonely and drear.
Oh, then mourn not that life is a wilderness waste!
That each hope is illusive, each prospect is drear,
But remember that man, undeserving, is blest,
And rewarded with smiles for the fall of a tear.
KIXDAR BTJEIAL 6ERV1CE — VERSIFIED.
We commend our brother to thee, oh earth !
To thee he returns, from thee was his birth !
Of thee was he formed, he was nourished by thee;
Take the bod}', oh earth ! the spirit is free.
Oh air ! he once breathed thee, thro' thee he sur-
vived,
And in thee, and with thee, his pure spirit lived;
That spirit hath fled, and we yield him to thee;
His ashes be spread, like his soul, far and free.
Oh fire! we commit his dear reliques to thee,
Thou emblem of purity, spotless and free;
May his soul, like thy flames, bright and burning
arise,
To its mansion of bliss, in the star-spangled skies.
Oh water! receive him ; without thy kind aid
lie had parched "ueath the sunbeams or mourned in
the shade ;
Then take of .his body the share which is thine,
For the spirit hath fled from its mouldering shrine.
Margaret Miller Davidsox, at the time of
her sister's death, was in her third year, having
been born March 26, 1823. Her life seems in
almost every respect a repetition of that of her
departed sister. The same precocity was early
developed. When she was six years old she
read the English poets with " enthusiastic de-
light." While standing at the window with her
mother she exclaimed —
LUCRETIA MARIA AND MARGARET MILLER DAVIDSON.
483
See those lofty, those gram! trees ;
Their high tops waving in the breeze;
They oust their shadows on the ground,
And sDread their fragrance all around.
At her mother's request she wrote down the
little impromptu, but committed it to paper in. a
consecutive sentence, as so much prose. The
act was, however, the commencement of her lite-
rary career, and she every day, for some time
after, brought some little scrap of rhyme to her
parent. She was at the same time delighting
the children of the neighborhood by her impro-
vised stories, which she would sometimes extend
through a whole evening.
Her education was conducted at home, under
her mother's charge. She advanced so rapidly
in her studies that it was necessary to check her
ardor, that over exertion might not injure her
health. When about seven years old, an English
gentleman who had been much interested in the
poems of Lucretia Davidson, visited her mother,
in order to learn more concerning an author he
so much admired. While the two were convers-
ing, Margaret entered with a copy of Thom-
son's Seasons in her hand, in which she had
marked the passages which pleased her. The
gentleman, overcoming the child's timidity by his
gentleness, soon became as much interested in
the younger as in the elder sister, and the little
incident led to a friendship which lasted through
life.
During the summer she passed a few weeks at
Saratoga Springs and New York. She enjoyed
her visit to the city greatly, and returned home
with improved health. In the winter she re-
moved with her mother to the residence of a
married sister in Canada. The tour was under-
taken for the health of her parent, but with ill
success, as an illness followed, which confined
her for eighteen months to her bed, during which
her life was often despaired of. The mother re-
covered, but in January, 1833, the daughter was
attacked by scarlet fever, from which she did not
become free until April. In May the two conva-
lescents proceeded to New York. Margaret re-
mained here several months, and was the life and
soul of the household of which she was the guest.
It was proposed by her little associates to act a
play, provided she would write one. This she
agreed to do, and in two days " produced her
drama, The Tragedy of Aleihia. It was not
very voluminous," observes Mr. Irving, " but it
contained within it sufficient of high character
and astounding and bloody incident to furnish out
a drama of five times its size. A king and queen
of England resolutely bent upon marrying their
daughter, the Princess Alethia, to the Duke of
Onnond. The Princess most perversely and
dolorously in love with a mysterious cavalier,
who figures at her father's court under the name
of Sir Percy Lennox, but who, in private truth,
is the Spanish king, Rodrigo, thus obliged to
maintain an incognito on account of certain
hostilities between Spain and England. The
odious nuptials of the princess with the Duke of
Ormond proceed : she is led, a submissive victim,
1 to the altar; is on the point of pledging her irre-
vocable word ; when the priest throws off his
sacred robe, discovers himself to be Rodrigo, and
plunges a dagger into the bosom of the king.
Alethia instantly plucks the dagger from her fa-
ther's bosom, throws herself into Rodrigo's arms,
and kills herself. Rodrigo flies to a cavern, re-
nounces England, Spain, and his royal throne,
and devotes himself to eternal remorse. The
queen ends the play by a passionate apostrophe
to the spirit of her daughter, and sinks dead on
the floor.
" The little drama lies before us, a curious spe-
cimen of the prompt talent of this most ingeni-
ous child, and by no means more incongruous in
its incidents than many current dramas by vete-
ran and experienced playwrights.
" The parts were now distributed and soon
learnt ; Margaret drew out a play-bill in theatri-
cal style, containing a list of the dramatis per-
some, and issued regular tickets of admission.
The piece went oft' with universal applause ;
Margaret figuring, in a long train, as the princess,
and killing herself in a style that would not have
disgraced an experienced stage heroine."
In October she returned home to Ballston, the
family residence having been changed from
Pittsburgh, as the climate on the lake had
been pronoun -ed too trying for her constitution.
She amused .he family, old and young, during
the winter, by writing a weekly paper called The
Juvenile Aspirant. Her education was still con-
ducted by her mother, who was fully compe-
tent to the task, and unwilling to trust her at
a boarding-school. She studied Latin with her
brother, under a private tutor. When she was
eleven her delicate frame, rendered still more
sensitive by a two months' illness, received a
severe shock from the intelligence of the death
of her sister, re.-ident in Canada. A change of
scene being thought desirable, she paid another
visit to New York, where she remained until
June. In December she was attacked by a liver
complaint, which confined her to her room until
Spring. "During this fit of illness her mind had
remained in an unusual state of inactivity ; but
with the opening of spring and the faint return
of health, it broke forth with a brilliancy and a
restless excitability that astonished and alarmed.
' In conversation,' says her mother, ' her sallies
of wit were dazzling. She composed and wrote
incessantly, or rather would have done so, had I
not interposed my authority to prevent this un-
ceasing tax upon both her mental and physical
strength. Fugitive pieces were produced every
day, such as The Shunamite, Behhazzafs Feast,
The Nature of Mind, Boabdil el C'hico, &c. She
seemed to exist only in the regions of poetry.'
We cannot help thinking that these moments of
intense poetical exaltation sometimes approached
to delirium, for we are told by her mother that
' the image of her departed sister Lucretia min-
gled in all her aspirations; the holy elevation of
Lucretia's character had taken deep hold of her
imagination, and in her moments of enthusiasm
she felt that she had close and intimate commu-
nion with her beautiful spirit.' "
In the autumn of 1835 the family removed to
a pleasant residence, " Rnremont," near the Shot
Tower, on Long Island Sound, below Hell Gate.
Here Mrs. Davidson received a letter from her
English visitor, inviting Margaret and herself to
pass the winter with him and the wife he had
recently married at Havana.
484
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
ts^t&^j n*
■t cdA- . -Jac^A^ 0
ctA^t. 0 iyt.
The first winter at the new home was a mourn-
ful one, for it was marked by the death of her
little brother Kent. Margaret's own health was
also rapidly failing — the fatal symptoms of eon-
sumption having already appeared. The accu-
mulated grief was too much for the mother's
feeble frame. " For three weeks,'' she says, " I
hovered upon the borders of the grave, and
when I arose from this bed of pain — so feeble
that I could not sustain my own weight, it was
to witness the rupture of a blood-vessel in her
lung, caused by exertions to suppress a cough."
" Long and anxious were the days and nights
spent in watching over her. Every sudden
movement or emotion excited the hemorrhage.
' Not a murmur escaped her lips,' says her mo-
ther, ' during her protracted sufferings. " How
are you, my love ? how have you rested during
the night ?" " Well, dear mamma ; I have slept
sweetly." I have been night after night beside
her restless couch, wiped the cold dew from her
brow, and kissed her faded cheek in all the agony
of grief, while she unconsciously slept on; or if
she did awake, her calm sweet smile, which
seemed to emanate from heaven, has, spite of my
reason, lighted my heart with hope. Except
when very ill, she was ever a bright dreamer.
Her visions were usually of an unearthly cast :
about heaven and angels. She was wandering
among the stars; her sainted sisters were her
pioneers; her cherub brother walked hand in
liand with her through the gardens of paradise!
I was always an early riser, but after Margaret
began to decline I never disturbed her until time
to rise for breakfast, a season of social intercourse
in which she delighted to unite, and from which
she was never willing to be absent. Often when
I have spoken to her she would exclaim, " Mo-
ther, you have disturbed the brightest visions
that ever mortal was blessed with ! " I was in the
midst of such scenes of delight ! Cannot I have
time to finish my dream ?" And when I told
her how long it was until breakfast, " it will do,"
she would say, and again lose herself in her
bright imaginings; for I considered these as mo-
ments of inspiration rather than sleep. She told
me it was not sleep. I never knew but one
except Margaret, who enjoyed this delightful and
mysterious source of happiness — that one was her
departed sister Lucretia. When awaking from
these reveries, an almost ethereal light played
about her eye, which seemed to irradiate her
whole face. A holy calm pervaded her manner,
and in truth she looked more like an angel who
had been communing with kindred spirits in the
world of light, than anvthing of a grosser na-
ture.' "
It was during this illness that Margaret became
acquainted with Miss Sedgwick. The disease un-
expectedly yielding to care and skill, the invalid
was enabled during the summer to make a tour
to the western part of New York. Soon after
her return, in September, the air of the river
having been pronounced unfavorable for her
health, the family removed to New York. Mar-
garet persevered in the restrictions imposed by
her physicians against composition and study for
six months ; but was so unhappy in her inac-
tive state, that with her mother's consent she re-
sumed her usual habits. In May, 1837, the family
returned to Ballston. In the fall an attack of
bleeding at the lungs necessitated an order from
her physicians that she should pass the winter
within doors. The quiet was of service to her
health. We have a pleasant and touching picture
of her Christmas, in one of her poems written at
the time.
TO MY MOTHER AT CHRISTMAS.
Wake, mother, wake to hope and glee,
The golden sun is dawning !
Wake, mother, wake, and hail with me
This happy Christmas morning !
Each eye is bright with pleasure's glow,
Each lip is laughing merrily ;
A smile hath passed o'er winter's brow,
And the very snow looks cheerily.
Hark to the voice of the awakened day.
To the sleigh-bells gaily ringing,
While a thousand, thousand happy hearts
Their Christmas lays are singing.
'Tis a joyous hour of mirth and love,
And my heart is overflowing!
Come, let us raise our thoughts above,
While pure, and fresh, and glowing.
'Tis the happiest day of the rolling year.
But it comes in a robe of mourning,
Nor light, nor life, nor bloom is here
Its iey shroud adorning.
It comes when all around is dark,
'Tis meet it so should be,
For its joy is the joy of the happy heart,
The spirit's jubilee.
It does not need the bloom of spring,
Or summer's light and gladness,
For love has spread her beaming wing.
O'er winter's brow of sadness.
Twas thus he came, beneath a cloud
His spirit's light concealing,
No crown of earth, no kingly robe
His heavenly power revealing.
His soul was pure, his mission love,
His aim a world's redeeming;
To raise the darkened soul above
Its wild and sinful dreaming.
With all his Father's power and love,
The cords of guilt to sever ;
To ope a sacred fount of light,
Which flows, shall flow for ever.
EMMA C. EMBURY.
485
Then we shall hail the glorious day,
The spirit's new creation,
And pour our grateful feelings forth,
A pure and warm libation.
Wake, mother, wake to chastened joy,
The golden sun is dawning!
Wake, mother, wake, and hail with me
This happy Christmas morning.
Tho winter was occupied by a course of read-
ing in history, and by occasional composition.
In May the family removed to Saratoga. Margaret
fancied herself, under tho balmy influences of the
season, much better — but all others bad abandoned
hope. It is a needless and painful task to trace
step by step the progress of disease. The clos-
ing scene came on the 25th of the following No-
vember.
The poetical writings of Lucretia Davidson,
which have been collected, amount in all to two
hundred and seventy-eight pieces, among which
are five of several cantos each. A portion of
the>e were published, with a memoir by Profes-
sor S. B. F. Morse, in 1829. The volume was
well received, and noticed in a highly sympa-
thetic and laudatory manner by Southey, in the
Quarterly Review.* The poems were reprinted,
with a life by Miss Sedgwick, which had pre-
viously appeared in Sparks's American Biography.
Margaret's poems were introduced to the world
under the kind auspices of Washington Irving.
Revised editions of both were published in 1850
in one volume, a happy companionship which
will doubtless be permanent.
A volume of Selections from the Writings of
Mrs. Margaret M. D ividson, the Mother of Lu-
cretia Maria and Margaret M. Davidson, with
a preface by Muss G. M. Sedgwick, appeared in
1844. It contains a prose tale, A Few Eventful
Days in 1814; a poetical version of Ruth' and of
Ossian's McFingal, with a few Miscellaneous
Poems.
Lieutenant L. P. Davidson, of the U. S. army,
the brother of Margaret and Lucretia, who also
died young, wrote verses with elegance and
ease.t
EMMA C EMBTJET.
Mrs. Embury, the wife of Mr. Daniel Embnry, a
gentleman of wealth and distinguished by his intel-
lectual and social qualities, a resident of Brooklyn,
New York, is the daughter of James R. Manly, for
a long while an eminent New York physician.
She early became known to the public as a writer
*The following lines were addressed from Greta Hall, in
1842. by Caroline Southey, "To the Mother of Lucretia and
Margaret Davidson."
Oh, lady ! greatly favored ! greatly tried !
Was ever glory, ever grief like thine,
Since her'S,— the mother of the Man divine —
The perfect one— the crowned, the crucified?
Wonder and joy, high hopes and chastened pride
Thrilled thee; intently watching, hour by hour,
The fast unfolding of each human flower,
In hues of more than earthly brilliance dyed —
And then, the blight — the fading — the first fear —
The sickening hope — the doom — the end of all ;
Heart-withering, if indeed all ended here.
But from the dust, the coffin, and the pall,
> Mother bereaved ! thy tearful eyes upraise — ■
Mother of angels! join their songs of praise.
t Some lines from his pen, entitled Longings for ike West,
are printed in the South Lit. Mess, for Feb. 1S43.
of verses in the columns of tho New York Mirror
and other journals under the signature of "Ian-
the." In the year ] 828 a volume from her pen
was published, Guido, and Other Poems, by lan-
the. This was followed by a volume on Female
Education, and a long series of tales and sketches
in the magazines of the day, which were received
with favor for their felicitous sentiment and ease
in composition. Constance Latimer is one of
these, which lias given title to a collection of the
stories, The Blind Girl and Other Tales. Her
Pictures of Early Life, Glimpses of Home Life
or Causes and Consequences, are similar volumes.
In 1845 she contributed the letter-press, both prose
and verse, to an illustrated volume in quarto, Na-
ture's Gems, or American Wild Flowers. She
has also written a volume of poems, Love's Tolcen-
F lowers, in which these symbols of sentiment
are gracefully interpreted. In 1848 appeared her
volume, The Waldorf Family, or Grandfathers
Legends, in which the romantic lore of Brittany
is presented to the young.
These writings, which exhibit good sense and
healthy natural feeling, though numerous, are
to.be taken rather as illustrations of domestic life
and retired sentiment than as the occupation of a
professed literary career.
Of her poetry, her songs breathe an air of na-
ture, with much sweetness.
BALLAD.
The maiden sat at her busy wheel,
Her heart was light and free,
And ever in cheerful song broke forth
Her bosom's harmless glee ;
Her song was in mockery of love,
And oft I heard her say,
" The gathered rose and the stolen heart
Can charm but for a day."
I looked on the maiden's rosy cheek,
And her lip so full and bright,
And I sighed to think that the traitor love
Should conquer a heart so light :
But she thought not of future dajTs of woe,
While she carolled in tones so gay —
" The gathered rose and the stolen heart
Can charm but for a day."
A year passed on, and again I stood
By the humble cottage door ;
The maid sat at her busy wheel,
But her look was blithe no more;
The big tear stood in her downcast eye,
And with sighs I heard her say,
" The gathered rose and the stolen heart
Can charm but for a day."
Oh, well I knew what had dimmed her eye,
And made her cheek so pale :
The maid had forgotten her early song,
While she listened to love's soft tale ;
She hail tasted the sweets of his poisoned cup.
It had wasted her life away —
And the stolen heart, like the gathered rose,
Had charmed but for a day.
486
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
LINES SUGGESTED BY THE MORAVIAN BURIAL-GROUND AT
BETHLEHEM.
When in the shadow of the tomb
This heart shall rest,
Oh ! lay me "where spring flow'rets bloom
On earth's bright breast.
Oh ! ne'er in vaulted chambers lay
My lifeless form ;
Seek not of such mean, -worthless prey
To cheat the worm.
In this sweet city of the dead
I fain would sleep,
"Where flowers may deck my narrow bed,
And night dews weep.
But raise not the sepu" jhral stone
To mark the spot ;
Enough, if by thy heart alone
'Tis ne'er forgot.
Come to me, lore ; forget each sordid duty
That chains thy footsteps to the crowded mart,
Come, look with me upon earth's summer beauty,
And let its influence cheer thy weary heart.
Come to me, love!
Come to me, love ; the voice of song is swelling
From nature's harp in every varied tone,
And many a voice of bird and bee is telling
A tale of joy amid the forests lone.
Come to me, love!
Come to me, love ; my heart can never doubt thee,
Yet for thy sweet companionship I pine ;
Oh, never more can joy be joy without thee,
My pleasures, even as my life, are thine.
Come to me, love !
Oil 1 TELL ME NOT OF LOFTY FATE.
Oh ! tell me not of lofty fate,
Of glory's deathless name ;
The bosom love leaves desolate,
Has naught to do with fame.
Vainly philosophy would soar —
Love's height it may not reach ;
The heart soon learns a sweeter lore
Than ever sage could teach.
The cup may bear a poisoned draught,
The altar may be cold,
But yet the chalice will be quaffed —
The shrine sought as of old.
Man's sterner nature turns away
To seek ambition's goal !
Wealth's glittering gifts, and pleasure's ray,
May charm his weary soul ;
But woman knows one only dream —
That broken, all is o'er ;
For on life's dark and sluggish stream
Hope's sunbeam rests no more.
CAEOLINE LEE HENTZ.
Mrs. Hentz is a daughter of General John
Whiting, and a native of Lancaster, Massachu-
setts. She married, in 1825, Mr. N. M. Hentz,
a French gentleman, at that time associated with
Mr. Bancroft in the Round Hill School at Nor-
thampton. Mr. Hentz was soon after appointed
Professor in the college at Chapel Hill, North
Carolina, where he remained for several years.
They then removed to Covington, Kentucky,
and afterwards to Cincinnati and Florence, Ala-
bama. Here they conducted for nine years a
prosperous female Academy, which in 1843 was
removed to Tuscaloosa, in 1845 to Tuskegee, and
in 1848 to Columbus, Georgia.
While at Covington, Mrs. Hentz wrote the
tragedy of Be Lara, or the Moorish Bride, for
the prize of $500, offered by the Arch Street
Theatre, of Philadelphia. She was the successful
competitor, and the play was produced, and per-
formed for several nights with applause. It was
afterwards published.
In 1843 she wrote a poem, Human and Divine
Philosophy, for the Erosophic Society of the
University of Alabama, before whom it was deli-
vered by Mr. A. W. Richardson.
In 1846 Mrs. Hentz published Aunt Patty's
Scrap Bag, a collection of short stories which. she
had previously contributed to the magazines.
This was followed by The Mob Cap, 1848 ;
Linda, or the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole,
1850; Eena, or the Snow Bird, 1851; Marcus
Warland, or the Long Moss Spring ; Eoline, or
Magnolia Vale, 1852; Wild Jack; Helen and
Arthur, or Miss Thma?8 Spinning Wheel, 1853;
The Planters Northern Bride, two volumes, the
longest of her novels, in 1854.
Mrs. Hentz has also written a number of fugi-
tive poems which have appeared in various peri-
odicals. Her second tragedy, Lamorah, or the
Western Wilds, an Indian play, was performed,
and published in a newspaper at Columbus. The
scenes and incidents of her stories are for the
most part drawn from the Southern states, and
are said to be written in the midst of her social
circle, and in the intervals of the ordinary avo-
cations of a busy life.
THE SNOW FLAKES.
Ye're welcome, ye white and feathery flakes,
That fall like the blossoms the summer wind shako3
From the bending spray — Oh! say do ye come.
With tidings to me, from my far distant home ?
" Our home is above in the depths of the sky —
In the hollow of God's own hand we lie —
We are fair, we are pure, our birth is divine —
Say, what can we know of thee, or of thine?"
I know that ye dwell in the kingdoms of air —
I know ye are heavenly, pure, and fair ;
But oft have I seen ye, far travellers roam,
By the cold blast driven, round my northern home.
" We roam over mountain, and valley, and sea,
We hang our pale wreaths on the leafless tree:
The herald of wisdom and mercy we go,
And perchance the far home of thy childhood we
know.
" We roam, and our fairy track we leave,
While for nature a winding sheet we weave —
A cold, white shroud that shall mantle the gloom,
Till her Maker recalls her to glory and bloom."
Oh ! foam of the shoreless ocean above!
I know thou descendest in mercy and love :
All chill as thou art, yet benign is thy birth,
As the dew that impearls the green bosom of
Earth.
And I've thought as I've seen thy tremulous spray.
Soft curling like mist on the branches lay,
In bright relief on the dark blue sky,
That thou meltest in grief when the sun came nigh.
" Say, whose is the harp whose echoing song
Breathes wild on the gale that wafts us along?
SARAH HELEN "WHITMAN.
487
The moon, the flowers, the blossoming tree,
Wake the minstrel's lyre, they are brighter than
we."
The flowers shed their fragrance, the moonbeams
their light.
Over scenes never veiled by your drap'ry of white ;
But the clime where I first saw your downy flakes
fall,
My own native clime is far dearer than all.
Oh ! fair, when ye clothed in their wintry mail,
The elms that o'evshadow my home in the vale,
Like warriors they looked, as they bowed in the
storm,
With the tossing plume and the tow-ering form.
Ye fade, ye melt — I feel the warm breath
Of the redolent South o'er the desolate heath —
But tell me. ye vanishing pearls, where ye dwell,
When the dew-drops of Summer bespangle the
dell ?
" We fade, — we melt into crystalline spheres —
We weep, for we pass through a valley of tears ;
But onward to glory — away to the sky —
In the hollow of God's own hand we lie."
SAP.AII HELEN WHITMAN.
Mrs. Whitman is a daughter of Mr. Nicholas
Power, of Providence, a direct descendant of a
follower of Roger Williams in his banishment.
She was married at an early ago to Mr. John
Winslow Whitman, a descendant of Governor
Winslow, with whom she removed to Boston,
where her husband practised law with eminent
success. Ho was soon after attacked by a dis-
ease which in a brief period closed his life. His
widow returned to her native city of Providence,
where she has since resided.
c?^w ^-^ a^jl*,. ys^L^c^z^.
Mrs. Whitman published in 1853 Hours oj Life
and Other Poems, a few of which are translations
from the German. She is also the author of three
ballads founded on the fairy stories of the Golden
Ball, the Sleeping Beauty, and Cinderella, por-
tions of which are from the pen of her sister,
Miss Anna Marsh Power; and of several elaborate
critical articles on German and other authors of
modern Europe, in the chief languages of which
she is a proficient.
Mrs. Whitman's volume of poems is a book of
a rare passionate beauty, marked by fine mental
characteristics. The chief poem, " Hours of Life,"
is a picture of the soul in its progress through
time, and its search out of disappointment and
experience for peace and security. Its learned
philosophical spirit is not less remarkable than
its tenderness and spiritual melody.
The volume also contains numerous descriptions
of scenery and poems of sentiment, in which pas-
sion is intimately blended with nature. Several
of these are devoted to the memory of the late
Edgar A. Poe, whose wild poetic creations and
melancholy career have awakened in the author's
mind a peculiar sympathy and imaginative in-
terest.
QTTEST OF THE SOUI. — FKOM THE HOURS OF LTFE.
O'erwearied with life's restless change
From extacy to agony,
Its fleeting pleasures born to die,
The mirage of its phantasie,
Its worn and melancholy range
Of hopes that could no more estrange
The married heart of memory,
Doomed, while we drain life's perfumed wine,
For the dull Lethean wave to pine,
And, for each thrill of joy, to know
Despair's slow pulse or sorrow's throe — ■
I sought some central truth to span
These wide extremes of good and ill —
I longed with one bold glance to scan
Life's perfect sphere, — to rend at will
The gloom of Lrebus, — dread zone —
Coiled like a serpent round the throne
Of heaven, — the realm where Justice veils
Her heart and holds her even scales, —
Where awful Nemesis awaits
The doomed, by Pluto's iron gates.
In the long noon-tide of my sorrow,
I questioned of the eternal morrow ;
I gazed in sullen awe
Far through the illimitable gloom
Down-deepening like the swift maelstroom,
The doubting soul to draw
Into eternal solitudes,
Where unrelenting silence broods
Around the throne of Law.
I questioned the dim chronicle
Of ages gone before —
I listened for the triumph songs
That rang from shore to shore,
Where the heroes and the conquerors wrought
The mighty deeds of yore —
Where the foot-prints of the martyrs
Had bathed the earth in gore,
And the war-horns of the warriors
Were heard from shore to shore.
Their blood on desert plains was shed —
Their voices on the wind had fled —
They were the drear and shadowy Dead !
Still, through the storied past, I sought
An answer to my sleepless thought ;
In the cloisters old and hoary
Of the mediaeval time —
In the rude ancestral story
Of the ancient Runic rhyme.
I paused on Grecian plains, to trace
Some remnant of a mightier race,
Serene in sorrow and in strife,
Calm conquerors of Death and Life,
Types of the god-like forms that shone
Upon the sculptured Parthenon.
But still, as when Prometheus bare
From heaven the fiery dart,
I saw the " vulture passions" tear
The proud Caucasian heart —
The war of destiny with will
Still conquered, yet conflicting still.
I heard loud Hallelujas
From Israel's golden lyre,
And I sought their great Jehovah
In the cloud and in the fire.
I lingered by the stream that flowed
" Fast by the oracle of God" —
I bowed, its sacred wave to sip —
488
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Its waters fled ray thirsting lip.
The serpent trail was over all
Its borders, — and its palms that threw
Aloft their waving coronal,
Were blistered by a poison dew.
Serener elements I sought,
Sublimer altitudes of thought,
The truth Saint John and Plato saw,
The mystic light, the inward law ;
The Logos ever found and lost,
The aureola of the Ghost.
I hailed its faint auroral beam
In many a Poet's delphic dream,
On many a shrine where faith's pure flame
Through fable's gorgeous oriel came.
Around the altars of the god,
In holy passion hushed, I trod,
Where once the mighty voice of Jove
Rang through Dodona's haunted grove.
No more the dove with sable plume?*
Swept through the forest's gorgeous glooms
The shrines were desolate and cold,
Their pteans hushed, their story told,
In long, inglorious silence lost,
Like fiery tongues of Pentecost
No more did music's golden surge
The mortal in immortal merge :
High canticles of joy and praise
Died with the dream of other days ;
I only heard the Stanad's wail,
That shriek that made the orient pale :
Evohe ! — ah evohe !
The mystic burden of a woe
"Whose dark enigma none may know ; +
The primal curse — the primal throe.
Evohe ! — ah — evohe !
Nature shuddered at the cry
Of that ancient agony .
Still the fabled Python bound me —
Still the serpent coil en wound me —
Still I heard the Maenad's cry,
Evohe ! — ah — evohe !
********
"Wearied with man's discordant creed,
I sought on Nature's page to read
Life's history, ere yet she shrined
Her essence in the incarnate mind ;
Intent her secret laws to trace
In primal solitudes of space,
From her first, faint atomic throes,
To where her orbed splendor glows
In the vast, silent spheres that roll
For ever towards their unknown goal.
I turned from dull alchemic lore
Writh starry Chaldeans to soar,
And sought, on fancy's wing, to roam
That glorious galaxy of light
Where mingling stars, like drifting foam,
* " The priestesses of Dodona assert that two black pigeons
flew from Thebes in Egypt; one of which settled in Lybia,
the other among themselves: which latter, resting on a beech-
tree, declared with a human voice that here was to be the
oracle of Jove." — Herodotus. Boole II. ch. 52.
t "The Mfenads, in their wild incantations, carried serpents
in their hands, and with frantic gestures, cried out Eva ! Eva I
Epiphanius thinks that this invocation related to the mother
of mankind; but I am inclined to believe that itwas the word
Epha or Opha, rendered by the Greeks, Ophis, a serpent. I
take Abaddon to have been the name of the same ophite God
whose worship has so long infected the world. Tho learned
Heinsius makes Abaddon the same as the serpent Python.11 —
Jacob Bryant's Analysis of Ancient Mythology.
"While Maenads cry aloud Evoe Evoet
That voice that is contagion to the world.
Shelley's Prometheus.
Melt on the solemn shores of night ;
But still the surging glory chased
The dark through night's chaotic waste,
And still, within its deepening voids,
Crumbled the burning asteroids.
Long gloating on that hollow gloom,
Methought that in some vast mselstroom,
The stars were hurrying to their doom, — -
Bubbles upon life's boundless sea,
Swift meteors of eternity,
Pale sparks of mystic fire, that fall
From God's unwaning coronal.
Is there, I asked, a living woe
In all those burning orbs that glow
Through the blue ether? — do the3T share
Our dim world's anguish and despair —
In their vast orbits do they fly
From some avenging destiny —
And shall their wild eyes pale beneath
The dread anathema of Death?
Our own fair earth — shall she too drift,
For ever shrouded in a weft
Of stormy clouds, that surge and swirl
Around her in her dizzy whirl : —
For ever shall a shadow fall
Backward from Iter golden wall,
Its dark cone stretching, ghast and grey,
Into outer glooms away ? —
From the sad, unsated quest
Of knowledge, how I longed to rest
On her green and silent breast!
I languished for the dews of death
My fevered heart to steep,
The heavy, honey-dews of death,
The calm and dreamless sleep.
I left my fruitless lore apart,
And leaned my ear on Nature's heart,
To hear, far from life's busy throng,
The chime of her sweet undersong.
She pressed her balmy lips to mine,
She bathed me in her sylvan springs ;
And still, by many a lural shrine,
She taught me sweet and holjT things.
I felt her breath my temples fan,
I learned her temperate laws to scan,
Sly sotd, of hers, became a conscious part ;
Her beauty melted through my inmost heart.
Still I languished for the word
Her sweet lips had never spoken,
Still, from the pale shadow-land,
There eame nor voice nor token ;
No accent of the Holy Ghost
"Whispered of the loved and lost ;
No bright wanderer came to tell
If. in worlds beyond the grave,
Life, love, and beauty, dwell.
********
A holy light began to stream
Athwart the cloud-rifts, like a dream
Of heaven ; and lo ! a pale, sweet face,
Of mournful grandeur and imperial grace —
A face whose mystic sadness seemed to borrow
Immortal beauty from that mortal sorrow — ■
Looked on me ; and a voice of solemn cheer
Uttered its sweet evangels on my ear ;
The open secrets of that eldest lore
That seems less to reveal than to restore.
'Pluck thou the Life-tree's golden fruit,
Nor seek to bare its sacred root ;
Live, and in life's perennial faith
Renounce the heresy of death ;
SARAH HELEN "WHITMAN.
489
Believe, find every eweet accord
Of being, to thine ear restored,
Shall sound articulate and clear;
Perfected love shall banish fear,
Knowledge and wisdom shall approve
The divine synthesis of love."
" Royally the lilies grow
On the grassy leas,
Basking in the eun and dew,
Swinging in the breeze.
Doth the wild-fowl need a chart
Through the illimitable air ?
Heaven lies folded in my heart;
Seek the truth that slumbers there ;
Thou art Truth's eternal heir."
" Let the shadows come ami go ;
Let the stormy north wind blow :
Death's dark valley cannot bind thee
In its dread abode ;
There the Morning Star shall find thee,
There the living God.
Sin and sorrow cannot hide thee —
Death and hell cannot divide thee
From the love of God."
In the mystic agony
On the Mount of Calvary,
The Saviour witli his dying eyes
Beheld the groves of Paradise.
"Then weep not by the charnel stone
Nor veil thine eyelids from the sun.
Upward, through the death-dark glides,
The spirit on resurgent tides
Of light and glory on its way :
Wilt thou by the cerements stay ? —
Thou the risen Christ shalt see
In redeemed Humanity.
Though mourners at the portal wept,
And angels lingered where it slept,
The soul but tarried for a night,
Then plumed its wings for loftier flight."
" Is thy heart so lonely ? — Lo,
Ready to share thy joy and woe,
Poor wanderers tarry at thy gate,
The way-worn and the desolate,
And angels at thy threshold wait:
Would'st thou love's holiest guerdon win-
Arise, and let the stranger in."
"The friend whom not thy fickle will,
But the deep heart within thee, still
Yearneth to fold to its embrace,
Shall seek thee through the realms of spac
Keep the image Nature sealed
On thy heart, by love annealed,
Keep thy faith serene and pure;
Her royal promises are sure.
Her sweet betrothals shall endure."
" Hope thou all things and believe ;
And, in child-like trust, achieve
The simplest mandates of the soul,
The simplest good, the nearest goal;
Move but the waters and their pulse
The broad ocean shall convulse."
" When love shall reconcile the will
Love's mystic sorrow to fulfil,
Its fiery baptism to share, —
The burden of its eross to bear, —
Earth shall to equilibrium tend,
Ellipses shall to circles bend,
And life's long agony shall end."
" Then pluck the Life-tree's golden fruit,
No blight can reach its sacred root.
E'en though every blossom fell
Into Hades, one by one,
Love is deeper, far than Hell —
Shadows cannot quench the sun."
" Can the child-heart promise more
Than the father hath in store ? —
The blind shall see — the dead shall live ;
Can the man-child forfeit more
Than the father can forgive?
The Dragon, from his empire driven,
No more shall find his place in Heaven,
'Till e'en the Serpent power approve
The divine potency of love."
"Guard thy faith with holy care, —
Mystic virtues slumber there ;
'Tis the lamp within the soul
Holding genii in control:
Faith shall walk the stormy water —
In the unequal strife prevail —
Nor, when comes the dread avatar
From its fiery splendors quail.
Faith shall triumph o'er the grave,
Love shall bless the life it gave."
THE TRAILING ARBUTUS.
There's a flower that grows by the greenwood tree,
In its desolate beauty more dear to me,
Than all that bask in the noontide beam
Through the long, bright summer by fount and
stream.
Like a pure hope, nursed beneath sorrow's wing,
Its timid buds from the cold moss spring,
Their delicate hues like the pink sea-shell,
Or the shaded blush of the hyacinth's bell,
Their breath more sweet than the faint perfume
That breathes from the bridal orange-bloom.
It is not found by the garden wall.
It wreathes no brow in the festal hall,
But it dwells in the depths of the shadowy wood,
And shines, like a star, in the solitude.
Never did numbers its name prolong,
Ne'er hath it floated on wings of song,
Bard and minstrel have passed it by,
And left it, in silence and shade, to die.
But with joy to its cradle the wild-bees come,
And praise its beauty with drony hum,
And children love, in the season of spring,
To watch for its earliest blossoming.
In the dewy morn of an April day,
When the traveller lingers along the way,
When the sod is sprinkled with tender green
Where rivulets water the earth, unseen,
When the floating fringe on the maple's crest
Rivals the tulip's crimson vest,
And the budding leaves of the bireh-trees throw
A trembling shade on the turf below,
When my flower awakes from its dreamy rest
And yields its lips to the sweet south-west,
Then, in those beautiful days of 6pring,
With hearts as light as the wild-bird's wing,
Flinging their tasks and their toys aside,
Gay little groups through the wood-paths glide,
Peeping and peering among the trees
As they scent its breath on the passing breeze,
Hunting about, among lichens grey,
And the tangled mosses beside the way,
Till they catch the glance of its quiet eye,
Like light that breaks through a cloudy sky.
Forme, sweet blossom, thy tendrils cling
Round my heart of hearts, as in childhood's spring,
And thy breath, as it floats on the wandering air,
Wakes all the music o. memory there.
Thou recallest the time when, a fearless child.
490
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
I roved all day through the wood-walks wild,
Seeking thy blossoms by back and brae
Wherever the snow-drifts had melted away.
Now as I linger, 'mid crowds alone,
Haunted by echoes of music flown,
When the shadows deepen around my way
And the light of reason but leads astray,
When affections, nurtured with fondest care
In the trusting heart, become traitors there,
When, weary of all that the world bestows,
I turn to nature for calm repose,
How fain my spirit, in some far glen,
Would fold her wings, 'mid thy flowers again !
A CTILL DAT UN AUTUMN.
I love to wander through the woodlands hoary.
In the soft gloom of an autumnal day,
When Summer gathers up her robes of glory
And, like a dream of beauty, glides away.
How through each loved, familiar path she lingers.
Serenely smiling through the golden mist,
Tinting the wild grape with her dewy fingers,
Till the cool emerald turns to amethyst, —
Kindling the faint stars of the hazel, shining
To light the gloom of Autumn's mouldering halls,
With hoary plumes the clematis entwining,
Where, o'er the rock, her withered garland falls.
Warm lights are on the sleepy uplands waning
Beneath dark clouds along the horizon rolled,
Till the slant sunbeams through their fringes rain-
ing,
Bathe all the hills in melancholy gold.
The moist winds breathe of crisped leaves and flow-
ers,
In the damp hollows of the woodland sown,
Mingling the freshness of autumnal showers
With spicy airs from eedarn alleys blown.
Beside the brook and on the umbered meadow,
Where yellow fern-tufts fleck the faded ground,
With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow,
The gentian nods, in dewy slumbers bound.
Upon those soft, fringed lids the bee sits brooding
Like a fond lover loth to say farewell ;
Or, with shut wings, through silken folds intruding,
Creeps near her heart his drowsy tale to tell.
The little birds upon the hillside lonely,
Flit noiselessly along from spray to spray,
Silent as a sweet, wandering thought, that only
Shows its bright wings and softly glides away.
The scentless flowers, in the warm sunb'ght dream-
ing.
Foiget to breathe their fulness of delight, —
And through the tranced woods soft airs are stream-
ing,
Still as the dew-fall of the summer night.
So, in my heart, a sweet, unwonted feeling
Stirs, like the wind in ocean's hollow shell,
Through all its secret chambers sadly stealing.
Yet finds no words its mystic charm to tell.
BLOOMS NO MORE.
Oh primavera, gioventu dell' anno,
Bella madre di fiori,
Tu torni ben. ma teco
Non tnrnanoi sereni
E fortUDati dl delle mie gioie.
Guaeinl
I dread to see the summer sun
Come glowing up the sky,
And early pansies, one by one,
Opening the violet eye.
Again the fair azalia bows
Beneath her snowy crest ;
In yonder hedge the hawthorn Hows,
The robin builds her nest ;
The tulips lift their proud tiars,
The lilac waves her plumes ;
And, peeping through my lattice bars,
The rose-acacia blooms.
But she can bloom on earth no more,
Whose early doom I mourn ;
Nor Spring nor Summer can restore
Our flower, untimely shorn.
She was our morning glory,
Our primrose, pure and pale,
Our little mountain daisy,
Our lily of the vale.
Now dim as folded violets,
Her eyes of dewy light;
And her rosy lips have mournfully
Breathed out their last good-nighf.
'Tis therefore that I dread to see
The glowing Summer sun ;
And the balmy blossoms on the tree,
Unfolding one by one.
HENEY EEED.
Hexet Reed, the late Professor of Literature and
Moral Philosophy in the University of Pennsylva-
nia, whose sudden death among the passengers of
the steamer Arctic cast a shade over the intelli-
gent circle in which he moved, belonged to an old
and honored family in the state. His grandfather
was Joseph Reed, the President of Pennsylvania,
the secretary and confidant of Washington, and
the incorruptible patriot, whose memorable an-
swer to a munificent proposal of bribery and cor-
ruption from the British commissioners in 1778,
is among the oft-repeated anecdotes of the Revo-
lution : — " I am not worth purchasing, but, such
as I am, the king of Great Britain is not rich
enough to do it."
The wife of this honored lawyer and civilian
also holds a place in the memoirs of the Revolu-
tion. Esther de Berdt, as she appears from the
correspondence and numerous anecdotes in the
biography prepared by her grandson, the subject
of this notice,* was a lady of marked strength of
character and refined disposition. She was the
daughter of Dennis de Berdt, a London merchant
much connected with American affrrrs, and the
predecessor of Dr. Franklin as agent or the Pro-
vince of Massachusetts. Having become ac-
quainted with Mr. Reed in the society of Ameri-
cans in which her father moved, she became his
wife under circumstances of mournful interest,
after the death of her parent, when removing to
America she encountered the struggle of the Re-
volution, snstaining her family with great forti-
tude during the necessary absence of her husband
on public duties. After acting well her part of a
mother in America in those troublous times, and
receiving the congratulations of Washington, she
died in Philadelphia before the contest was
closed, in 1780. The memoir by her grandson is
a touching and delicate tribute to her memory,
* The Life of Esther De Berdt, afterwards Esther Reed, of
Pennsylvania. Privately printed. Philadelphia : C. Sherman,
Printer, 1S53.
HENRY REED.
491
and a valuable contribution to the historical litera-
ture of the country.
Henry Reed was born in Philadelphia, July 11,
1808. He received his early education in the
classical school of James Ross, a highly esteemed
teacher of his day in Philadelphia. Passing to
the University of Pennsylvania, he attained his
degree of Bachelor of Arts in 1825. He then
pursued the study of the law in the office of
John Sargent, and was admitted to the bar in
1820. After a short interval, he was, in the year
1831, elected Assistant Professor of English Li-
terature in his University, and shortly after As-
sistant Professor of Moral Philosophy. In 1835
he was elected Professor of Rhetoric and English
Literature. It was on a leave of absence from
these college duties, that, in the spring of 1854, he
left America for a summer visit to Europe, a pil-
grimage which he had long meditated; and it
was on his return in the ill-fated Arctic that he
perished in the wreck of that vessel, September
27 of the same year. He had thus passed one-
half of his entire period of life in the literary
duties of his college, as professor.
When we add to these few dates, Professor
Reed's marriage in 1834 to Elizabeth White
Bronson, a grand-daughter of Bishop White, we
have completed the external record of his life,
save in the few publications which he gave to the
world. A diligent scholar, and of a thoroughbred
cultivation in the best schools of English litera-
ture and criticism, of unwearied habits of indus-
try, he would probably, as life advanced, have
further served his country by new offerings of the
fruits of his mental discipline and studies.
The chief compositions of Professor Reed were
several courses of lectures which he delivered to
the public at the University of Pennsylvania, and
of which a collection has been published since his
death, by his brother, Mr. William B. Reed, with
the title, Lectures on English Literature, from
Chaucer to Tennyson. The tastes, mental habits,
and associations of the writer, are fully exhibited
in these productions, which cover many topics of
moral and social philosophy, besides the criticism
of particular authors. As a scholar and thinker,
Mr. Reed belonged to a school of English writers
who received their first impulses from the genius
of Wordsworth and Coleridge. It is character-
ized by its sound conservatism, reverential spirit,
and patient philosophical investigation. lie was
early brought into communication with Words-
worth, whom he assisted by the supervision and
arrangement of an American edition of his poems.
The preface to this work, and an elaborate article
in the New York Review, of January, 1839,
which appeared from his pen, show his devotion
to this master of modern poetry. After the death
of the poet, he superintended the publication of
the American edition of the memoirs by Dr.
Christopher Wordsworth.
With the Coleridge family, he maintained a
similar correspondence and intimate relation. A
memoir which he prepared of Sara Coleridge for
the Literary World,* though brief, was so care-
fully and characteristically executed, that it ap-
peared not long after reprinted entire among tne
obituaries of the Gentleman's Magazine.
A passage, referring to his foreign tour, "from
the personal introductory notice prefixed to the
Lectures, will exhibit this relation to his English
friends.
No American, visiting the Old World as a private
citizen, ever received a kinder or more discriminat-
ing welcome. The last months of his life were pure
sunshine. Before he landed in England, his friends,
the family of Dr. Arnold, whom he had only known
by correspondence, came on board the ship to re-
ceive him ; and his earliest and latest hours of Euro-
pean eoJDurn were passed under the roof of the
great poet whose memory he most revered, and
whose writings had interwoven themselves with his
intellectual and moral being. " I do not know," he
said in one of his letters to his family, " what I have
ever done to deserve all this kindness." And so it
was throughout. In England he was at home in
every sense ; and scenes, which to the eye were
strange, seemed familiar by association and study.
His letters to America were expressions of grateful
delight at what he saw and heard in the land of his
forefathers, and at the respectful kindness with
which he was everywhere greeted : and yet of
earnest and loj'al yearning to the land of his birth
— his home, his family, and friends. It is no viola-
tion of good taste here to enumerate some of the
friends for whose kind welcome Mr. Reed was so
much indebted; I may mention the Wordsworths,
Southeys, Coleridges, and Arnolds, Lord Mahon,Mr.
Baring, Mr. Aubrey De Vere, Mr. Babbage, Mr.
Henry Taylor, and Mr. Thackeray — names, one and
all, associated with the highest literary or political
distinction.
He visited the Continent, and went, by the ordi-
nary route, through France and Switzerland, as far
south as Milan and Venice, returning by the Tyrol
to Inspruck and Munich, and thence down the
Rhine to Holland. But his last associations were
with the cloisters of Canterbury (that spot, to my
eye, of matchless beauty), the garden vales of De-
vonshire, the valley of the Wye, and the glades of
Rydal. His latest memory of this earth was of beau-
tiful England in her summer garb of verdure. The
last words he ever wrote were in a letter of the 20th
September to his venerable friend, Mrs. AVordsworth,
thanking her and his English friends generally for
all she and they had done for him.
Professor Reed edited several books in coi>
* No. 290, Aug. 21, 1852.
492
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
nexion with his courses of instruction. In 1845
he prepared an edition of Alexander Reid's Dic-
tionary of the English Language, and in 1847
edited "with an introduction and illustrative au-
thorities," G. F. Graham's English Synonymes
— the series of poetical citations added hy him,
beiflg confined to Shakespeare, Milton, andWords-
worth. He also edited American reprints of
Thomas Arnold's Lectures on Modern History,
and Lord Mahon's History of England from the
Peace of Utrecht to the Peace of Paris.
In 1851 he edited the Poetical Works of Thomas
Gray, for which he prepared a new memoir,
written with his accustomed judgment and pre-
cision. An Oration en a True' Education was de-
livered by him before the Zelosophic Society of
the University of Pennsylvania in 1848. To this
enumeration is to be added a life of his grand-
father, Joseph Peed, published in Mr. Sparks's
series of American biography.*
The life and correspondence of Joseph Reed
have been given to the public at length by Mr.
William B. Reed, who is also the author of several
published addresses and pamphlets, chiefly on his-
torical subjects. Among them are A Letter on
American History in 1847, originally written for
circulation among a few friends interested in the
organization of a department of that study in
Girard College ; an Address before the Historical
Society in Pennsylvania in 1848; an Address
before the Alumni of the University of Pennsyl-
vania in 1849; and a Reprint of the original
Letters from Washington to Joseph Reed, in con-
nexion with the Sparks and Lord Mahon con-
troversy.f
POETICAL AND PEOSE READING-t
It is a good practical rule to keep one's reading
well proportioned in the two great divisions, prose
and poetry. This is very apt to be neglected, and
the consequence is a great loss of power, moral and
intellectual, and a loss of some of the highest enjoy-
ments of literature. It sometimes happens that some
readers devote themselves too much to poetry; this
is a great mistake, and betrays an ignorance of the
true use of poetical studies. When this happens, it
is generally with those whose reading lies chiefly in
the lower and merely sentimental region of poetry,
for it is hardly possible for the imagination to enter
truly into the spirit of the great poets, without
having the various faculties of the mind so awakened
and invigorated, as to make a knowledge of the great
prose writers also a necessity of one's nature.
The disproportion lies usually in the other direc-
tion— prose reading to the exclusion of poetry. This
is owii.g chiefly to the want of proper culture, for al-
though there is certainly a groat disparity of imagina-
tive endowment, still the imagination is part of the
universal mind of man, and it is a work of education
to bring it into action in minds even the least im-
aginative. It is chiefly to the wilfully unimagina-
tive mind that poetry, with all its wisdom and all
its glory, is a sealed book. It sometimes happens,
however, that a mind, well gifted with imaginative
power, loses the capacity to relish poetry simply by
the neglect of reading metrical literature. This is a
* Life and Correspondence of Joseph Heed, Military Secre-
tary of General Washington at Cambridge, President of the
Executive Council of Pennsylvania, &c. 2 vols. 8vo. Phiia.
1847.
t Antt, vol. i. p. ISO.
% From Professor Eeed's Lectures on English Literature.
sad mistake, inasmuch as the mere reader of prose
cuts himself off from the very highest literary en-
joyments; for if the giving of power to the mind
be a characteristic, the most essential literature is to
be found in poetry, especially if it be such as English
poetry is, the embodiment of the very highest wis-
dom and the deepest feeling of our English race. I
hope to show in my next lecture, in treating the
subject of our language, how rich a source of en-
joyment the study of English verse, considered
simply as an organ of expression and harmony, may
he made ; but to readers who confine themselves to
prose, the metrical form becomes repulsive instead
of attractive. It has been well observed by a living
writer, who has exercised his powers alike in prose
and verse, that there are readers " to whom the
poetical form merely and of itself acts as a sort of
veil to every meaning, which is not habitually met
with under that form, and who are puzzled by a
passag% occurring in a poem, which would be at
once plain to them if divested of its cadence and
rhythm ; not because it is thereby put into language
in any degree more perspicuous, but because prose
is the vehicle they are accustomed to for this par-
ticular kind of matter, and they will apply their
minds to it in prose, and they will refuse their minds
to it in verse."
The neglect of poetical reading is increased by
the very mistaken notion that poetry is a mere
luxury of the mind, alien from the demands of prac-
tical life — a light and effortless amusement. This is
the prejudice and error of ignorance. For look at
many of the strong and largely cultivated minds,
which we know by biography and their own works,
and note how large and precious an element of
strength is their studious love of poetry. Where
could we find a man of more earnest, energetic,
practical cast of character than Arnold 1 — eminent
as an historian, and in other the gravest departments
of thought and learning, active in the cause of edu-
cation, zealous in matters of ecclesiastical, political,
or social reform ; right or wrong, always intensely
practical and single-hearted in his honest zeal ; a
champion for truth, whether in the history of an-
cient politics or present questions of modern sooiety ;
and, with all, never suffering the love of poetry to
be extinguished in his heart, or to be crowded out of
it, but turning it perpetually to wise uses, bringing
the poetic truths of Shakespeare and of Wordsworth
to the help of the cause of truth ; his enthusiasm for
the poets breaking forth, when he exclaims, " What
a treat it would be to teach Shakspeare to a good
class of young Greeks in regenerate Athens; to
dwell upon him line by line and word by word, and
so to get all his pictures and thoughts leisurely into
one's mind, till I verily think one would, after a
time, almost give out light in the -dark, after having
been steeped, as it were, in such an atmosphere of
brilliance! "
This was the constitution not of one man alone,
but of the greatest minds of the race; for if our
Anglo-Saxon character could be analysed, a leading
characteristic would be found to be the admirable
combination of the practical and the poetical in it.
This is reflected in all the best English literature,
blending the ideal and the actual, never severing its
highest spirituality from a steady basis of sober
good sense — philosophy and poetry for ever dis-
closing affinities with each other. It was no false
boast when it was said that " Our great poets have
been our best political philosophers ;" nor would it
be to add, that they have been our best moralists.
The reader, then, who, on the one hand, gives him-
self wholly to visionary poetic dreamings, is false to
his Saxon blood ; and equally false is he who divor-
HENRY REED.
493
ces himself from communion with the poets. There
is no great philosopher in our language in whose
genius imagination is not an active element; where is
no great poet in whose character the philosophic
element Joes not largely enter. This should teach
us a lesson in our studies of English literature.
For the combination of prose and poetic reading,
a higher authority is to be found than the predomi-
nant characteristic of the Saxon intellect as dis-
played in our literature. In the One Book, which,
given for the good of all mankind, is supernatural!}'
fitted for all phases of humanity and all conditions
of civilization, observe that the large components of
it are history and poetry. How little else is there
in the Bible ! In the Old Testament all is chronicle
and song, and the high-wrought poetry of prophecy.
In the New Testament are the same elements, with
this difference, that the actual ami the imaginative
are more interpenetrated — narrative and parable,
fact and poetry blended in matchless harinoi|y ; and
even in the most argumentative portion of holy
Writ, the poetic element is still present, to be fol-
lowed by the vision and imagery of the Apocalypse.
Such is the unquestioned combination of poetry
and prose in sacred Writ — the best means, we must
believe, for the universal and perpetual good of man ;
and if literature have, as I have endeavored to
prove, a kindred character, of an agency to build up
our incorporeal being, then does it follow that we
should take this silent warning from the pages of
Revelation, and combine in our literary culture the
same elements of the actual and the ideal or imagi-
native.
COMPANIONSHIP OF THE SEXF.9 IN THE STUDY OF LITERA-
TURE.
All that is essential literature belongs alike to
mind of woman and of man ; it demands the same
kind of culture from each, and most salutary may
the companionship of mind be found; giving reci-
procal help by the diversity of their power. Let us
see how this will be. In the first place, a good
habit of reading, whether in man or woman, may
be described as the combination of passive recipiency
from the book and the mind's reaction upon it; this
equipoise is true culture. But, in a great deal of
reading, the passiveness of impression is well nigh
all, for it is luxurious indolence, and the reactive
process is neglected. With the habitual novel-
reader, for instance, the luxury of reading becomes
a perpetual stimulant, with no demand on the mind's
own energy, and slowly wearing it away. The true
enjoyment of books is when there is a co-operating
power in the reader's mind — an active sympathy
with the book ; and those are the best books which
demand that of you. And here let me notice how
unfortunate and, indeed, mischievous a term is the
word " taste" as applied in intercourse with litera-
ture or art; a metaphor taken from a passive sense,
it fosters that lamentable error, that literature,
which requires the strenuous exertion of action and
sympathy, may be left to mere passive impressions.
The temptation to receive an author's mind unre-
flectingly and passively is common to us all, but
greater, I believe, for women, who gain, however,
the advantages of a readier sympathy and a more un-
questioning faith. The man's mind reacts more on
the book, sets himself more in judgment upon it,
and trusts less to his feelings ; but, in all this, he is
in more danger of bringing his faculties separately
into action ; he is more apt to be misled by our im-
perfect systems of metaphysics, which give us none
but the most meagre theories of the human mind,
and which are destined, I believe, to be swept away,
if ever a great philosopher should devote himself to
the work of analysing the processes of thought.
That pervading error of drawing a broad line of
demarcation between our moral and intellectual
nature, instead of recognising the intimate inter-
dependence of thought and feeling, is a fallacy that
scarce affects the workings of a woman's spirit. If
a gifted and cultivated woman take a thoughtful in-
terest in a book, she brings her whole being to bear
on it, and hence there will often be a better assur-
ance of truth in her conclusions than in man's more
logical deductions, just as, by a similar process, she
often shows finer and quicker tact in the discrimina-
tion of character. It has been justly remarked,
that, with regard " to women of the highest intel-
lectual endowments, we feel that we do them the
utmost injustice in designating them by such terms
as 'clever,' 'able,' 'learned,' 'intellectual;' they
never present themselves to our minds as such.
There is asweetness, or a truth, or a kindness — some
grace, some charm, some distinguishing moral charac-
teristic which keeps the intellect in due subordina-
tion, and brings them to our thoughts, temper, mind,
affections, one harmonious whole."
A woman's mind receiving true culture and pre-
serving its fidelity to all womanly instincts, makes
her, in our intercourse with literature, not only a
companion, but a counsellor and a helpmate, fulfilling
in this sphere the purposes of her creation. It is in
letters as in life, and there (as has been well said)
the woman " who praises and blames, persuades and
resists, warns or exhorts upon occasion given, and
carries her love through all with a strong heart, and
not a weak fondness — she is the true helpmate."
Cowper, speaking of one of his female friends,
writes, "She is a critic, by nature and not by rule,
and has a perception of what is good or bad in com-
position, that I never knew deceive her; insomuch
that when two sorts of expressions have pleaded
equally for the precedence in my own esteem, and I
have referred, as in such cases I always did, the de-
cision of the point to her, I never knew her at a loss
for a just one."
His best biographer, Southey, alluding to himself,
and to the influence exerted on Wordsworth's mind
by the genius of the poet's sister, adds the comment,
" Were I to say that a poet finds his best advisers
among his female friends, it would be speaking from
my own experience, and the greatest poet of the
age would confirm it by his. But never was any
poet more indebted to such friends than Cowper.
Had it not been for Mrs. Unwin, he would probably
never have appeared in his own person as an author ;
had it not been for Lady Austin, he never would
have been a popular one."
The same principles which cause the influences
thus salutary to authorship, will carry it into read-
ing and study, so that by virtue of this companion-
ship the logical processes in the man's mind shall be
tempered with more of affection, subdued to less of
wilfulness, and to a truer power of sympathy; and
the woman's spirit shall lose none of its earnest, con-
fiding apprehensiveness in gaining more of reason-
ing and reflection ; and so, by reciprocal influences,
that vicious divorcement of our moral and intel-
lectual natures shall be done away with, and the
powers of thought and the powers of affection be
brought into that harmony which is wisdom. The
woman's mind must rise to a wiser activity, the
man's to a wiser passiveness; each true to its nature,
they may consort in such just companionship that
strength of mind shall pass from each to each ; and
thus chastened and invigorated, the common hu-
manity of the sexes rises higher than it could be
carried by either the powers peculiar to man or the
powers peculiar to woman.
±9i
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAS LITERATURE.
Now in proof of this, if wc were to analyse the
philosophy which Coleridge employed in his judg-
ment on books, and by which he may be said to
have made criticism a precious deportment of litera-
ture— raising it into a higher and purer region than
was ever approached by the contracted and shallow
dogmatism of the earlier schools of critics — it would,
I think, be proved that he differed from them in no-
thing more than this, that he cast aside the wilfulness
and self-assurance of the more reasoning faculties ; his
marvellous powers were wedded to a child-like hu-
mility and a womanly eonfidingness, and thus his
spirit found an avenue, closed to feeble and less do-
cile intellects, into the deep places of the souls of
mighty poets ; his genius as a critic rose to its
majestic height, not only by its inborn manly
strength, but because, with woman-like faith, it first
bowed beneath the law of obedience and love.
It is a beautiful example of the companionship of
the manly and womanly mind, that this great critic
of whom I have been speaking proclaimed, by both
principle and practice, that the sophistications which
are apt to gather round the intellects of men, cloud-
ing their vision, are best cleared away by that
spiritual condition more congenial to the souls of
women, the interpenetrating the reasoning powers
with the affections.
Coleridge taught his daughter that there is a spirit
of love to which the truth is not obscured ; that
there are natural partialities, moral sympathies,
which clear rather than cloud the vision of the
mind ; that in our communion with books, ns with
mankind, it is not true that " love is blind." The
daughter has preserved the lesson in lines worthy of
herself, her sire, and the precious truth embodied in
them:
Passion is blind, not love ; her wondrous mirrht
It fi >rrns with three-fold power man's inward tight ;
To her deep glance the soul, at large displayed.
Shows all its mingled mass of light and shade :
Men call her blind, when she. but turns her head,
Nor scan the fault for which her tears ate shed.
Can dull Indifference or Hate's troubled gaze
See through the secret heart's mysterious maze ?
Can Scorn and Envy pierce that "dread abode"
"Where true faults rest beneath the eye of God ?
Not theirs, 'mid inward darkness, to discern
The spiritual splendours, how they shine and burn.
All bright endowments of a noble mind
They, who wilh joy behold them, soonest find;
And better none its stains of frailty know
Than they who fain would see it white as snow.
GEOEGE STILLMAN IIILLAED
"Was born at Macliias, Maine, September 22, 1808.
He was educated at the Boston Latin school, of
which he afterwards published some curious remi-
niscences. He entered Harvard, where his name
appears in the catalogue of graduates in 1828, and
■where, in the senior year of his course, he was
one of the editors of the college periodical, The
Harvard Register. He next passed to the law
school of the college and the office of Charles P.
Curtis, where he pursued his legal studies, and
soon became an accomplished member of the Suf-
folk bar. In 1833 or 1834 Mr. Ilillard was, with
Mr. George Ripley, a conductor of the weekly
(. H-Jbu
.4
Unitarian newspaper, the Christian Register. In
1835 he delivered the anniversary address on the
Fourth of July before the city authorities. He
has been a member of the city council and an in-
fluential representative in both branches of the
State Legislature.
The literary occupations with which Mr. Hil-
lard has varied an active professional life are nu-
merous. He edited in 1839 a Boston edition of
the Poetical Works of Spenser, to which he wrote
a critical introduction. In 1843 he was the Phi
Beta Kappa orator at Cambridge.
In 1847 he delivered twelve lectures, in the
course of the Lowell Institute, on the genius and
writings of John Milton, which remain unpub-
lished. Having made a tour to Europe in the
years 1846 and 1847, he published in 1853, some
time after his return, a record of a portion of his
journey, entitled Six Months in Italy. It is a
book of thoughts, impressions, and careful de-
scription of objects of history, art, and of social
characteristics of a permanent interest; and has
acquired a position with the public seldom ac-
corded to the mere record of personal adventure.
In 1852 Mr. Hillard was chosen by the city
council of Boston to deliver the public eulogy, in
connexion with the procession and funeral ser-
vices of the thirtieth of November, in memory of
Daniel Webster. His address on this occasion
was marked by its ease, dignity, and eloquence.
Besides these writings, Mr. Hillard is the au-
thor of a memoir of Captain John Smith, in Mr.
Sparks's series of American Biography.
As a contributor to the best journals of his
time articles from his pen have frequently ap-
peared on select topics. He was one of the body
of excellent writers attached to Mr. Buckingham's
New England Magazine, where he wrote a series
of Literary Portraits, the articles Selections from
the Papers of an Idler, etc. To the North Ame-
rican Review and Christian Examiner he has oc-
casionally furnished critical articles.* In addi-
tion to the addresses already enumerated we may
mention discourses on Geography and History,
read before the American Institute of Instruction,
Boston, 1846; on the Dangers and Duties of the
Mercantile Profession, before the Mercantile Li-
brary Association of Boston, in 1850; and an
oration before the New England Society of the
Pilgrims of New York, in 1851.
BCINS IK HOME — FF.OM SIX MONTHS TS ITALY.
The traveller who visits Rome with a mind at all
inhabited by images from books, especially if he
come from a country like ours, where all is new, en-
ters it with certain vague and magnificent expecta-
tions on the subject of ruins, which are pretty sure
to end in disappointment. The very name of a ruin
paints a picture upon the fancy. We construct at
once an airy fabric which shall satisfy all the claims
of the imaginative eye. We build it of such mate-
rial that every fragment shall have a beauty of its
own. We shatter it with such graceful desolation
that all the lines shall be picturesque, and every
broken outline traced upon the sky shall at once
charm and sadden the eye. We wreathe it with a
becoming drapery of ivy, and crown its battlements
with long grass, which gives a voice to the wind
* We may refer to his articles in the Xorth American Re-
view on Sebastian Cabot, vol. xxxiv. ; Chief-Justice Marshall,
vol. xlii. ; Prescott's Mexico, vol. lviii. In the Christian Ex-
aminer he has review.-d Ticknor's Spanish Literature, voL
xlviii. ; and Everett's Orations and Speeches, vol. slLx.
GEORGE STILLMAN HILLARD.
49c
that waves it to and fro. ¥e set it in a becoming
position, relieve it with some appropriate back-
ground, and touch it with soft melancholy light —
with the mellow hues of a deepening twilight, or,
better still, with the moon's idealizing rays.
In Rome, such visions, if they exist in the mind,
are rudely dispelled by the touch of reality. Many
of the rums in Rome are not happily placed for effect
upon the eye and mind. They do not stand apart in
solitary grandeur, forming a shrine for memory and
thought, and evolving an atmosphere of their own.
They are often in unfavorable positions, and bear
the shadow of disenchanting proximities. The tide
of population flows now in different channels from
those of antiquity, and in far less volume ; but Rome
still continues a large capital, and Ave can nowhere
escape from the debasing associations of actual life.
The trad of the present is everywhere over the past.
The forum is a cattle-market strewn with wisps of
hay, and animated with bueolical figures that never
played upon the pipe of Tityrus, or taught the woods
to repeat the name of Amaryllis. The pert, villa of
an English gentleman has intruded itself into the
palace of the Cresars — as discordant an object to a
sensitive Idealist as the pink parasol of a lady's-maid,
which put to flight the reveries of some romantic
traveller under the shadow of the great pyramid.
The Temple of Antoninus Pius is turned into the cus-
tom-house. The mausoleum of Augustus is encrusted
"with paltry houses, like an antique coin embedded
in lava, and cannot even be discovered without the
help of a guide. The beautiful columns of the Thea-
tre of Marcellus — Virgil's Mareellus — are stuck upon
the walls of the Orsini Palace, and defaced by dirty
shops at the base. Ancient grandeur is degraded to
sordid modern uses. " Mummy is become merchan-
dise ; Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold
for balsams."
To most men, ruins are merely phenomena, or, at
most, the moral of a tale; but to the antiquary they
are texts. They have a secondary interest, founded
■upon the employment they have given to the mind,
and the learning they have called forth. We value
everything in proportion as it awakens our faculties,
and supplies us with an end and aim. The scholar,
■who finds in a bath or a temple a nucleus for his
vague and divergent reading to gather around, feels
for it something like gratitude as well as attach-
ment ; for though it was merely a point of depart-
ure, yet, without it, the glow and ardor of the chase
would not have quickened his languid energies into
life. Scott, in his introduction to the "Monastery,"
has described with much truth as well as humor the
manner in which Captain Clutterbuck became inte-
rested in the ruins of Kennaqhair — how they sup-
phed him with an object in life, and how his health
of body and mind improved the moment he had
something to read about, think about, and talk
about. Every ruin in Rome has had such devoted
and admiring students, and many of these shapeless
and mouldering fabrics have been the battle-grounds
of antiquarian controversy, in which the real points
at issue have been lost in the learned dust which
the combatants have raised. The books which have
been written upon the antiquities of Rome would
make a large library ; but when we walk down, on
a sunny morning, to look at the Basilica of Constan-
tine or the Temple of Nerva, we do not think of the
folios which are slumbering in the archives, but only
of the objects before us.
THE PICTURESQUE IN ROME — FROM SIX MONTHS IN ITALY.
Every young artist dreams of Rome as the spot
where all his visions may be realized ; and it would
indeed seem that there, in a greater degree than
anywhere else, were gathered those influences which
expand the blossoms, and ripen the fruit of genius.
Nothing can be more delicious than the first experi-
ences of a dreamy and imaginative young man who
comes from a busy and prosaic city, to pursue the
study of art in Rome. He finds himself transported
into a new world, where everything is touched with
finer lights and softer shadows. The hurry and bus-
tle to which he has been accustomed are no longer
perceived. No sounds of active life break the silence
of his studies, but the stillness of a Sabbath morning
rests over the whole city. The figures whom he
meets in the streets move leisurely, and no one has
the air of being due at a certain place at a certain
time. All his experiences, from his first waking
moment till the close of the day, are calculated to
quicken the imagination and train the eye. The
first sound which he hears in the morning, mingling
with his latest dreams, is the dash of a fountain in a
neighboring square. When he opens his window,
he sees the sun resting upon some dome or tower,
grey with time, and heavily freighted witli tradi-
tions. He takes his breakfast in the ground-floor
of an old palazzo, still bearing the stamp of faded
splendor, and looks out upon a sheltered garden, in
which orange and lemon trees grow side by side
with oleanders and roses. While he is sipping his
coffee, a little girl glides in, and lays a bunch of
violets by the side of his plate, with an expression
in her serious black eyes which would make his for-
tune if he could transfer it to canvas. During the
day, his only difficulty is how to employ his bound-
less wealth of opportunity. There are the Vatican
and the Capitol, with treasures of art enough to oc-
cupy a patriarchal life of observation and study.
There are the palaces of the nobility, with their
stately architecture, and their rich collections of
painting and sculpture. Of the three hundred and
sixty churches in Rome, there is not one which does
not contain some picture, statue, mosaic, or monu-
mental structure, either of positive excellence or
historical interest. And when the full mind can
receive no more impressions, and he comes into the
open air for repose, he finds himself surrounded with
objects which quicken and feed the sense of art.
The dreary monotony of uniform brick wans, out of
which doors and windows are cut at regular inter-
vals, ho longer disheartens the eye, but the view
is everywhere varied by churches, palaces, public
buildings, and monuments, not always of positive
architectural merit, but each with a distinctive cha-
racter of its own. The very fronts of the houses
have as individual an expression as human faces in a
crowd. His walks are full of exhilarating surprises.
He comes unawares upon a fountain, a column, or
an obelisk — -a pine or a cypress — a ruin or a statue.
The living forms which he meets are such as he
would gladly pause and transfer to his sketch-book
— ecclesiastics with garments of flowing black, and
shovel-hats upon their heads — capuchins in robes of
brown — peasant girls from Albauo, in their holiday
boddices, with black hair lying in massive braids,
large brown eyes, and broad, low foreheads — beg-
gars with white beards, whose rags flutter pictu-
resquely in the breeze, and who ask alms with the
dignity of Roman senators. Beyond the walls are
the villas, with their grounds and gardens, like land-
scapes sitting for their pictures; and then the infi-
nite, inexhaustible Gampagna, set in its splendid
frame of mountains, with its tombs and aqueducts,
its skeleton cities and nameless ruins, its clouds and
cloud-shadows, its memories and traditions. He
sees the sun go down behind the dome of St. Peter's,
and light up the windows of the drum with his red
blaze, and the dusky veil of twilight gradually ex-
40G
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
tend over the whole horizon. In the moonlight
evenings he walks to the Colosseum, or to the piazza
of St. Peter's, or to the ruins of the Forum, and un-
der a light which conceals all that is unsightly, and
idealizes all that is impressive, may call up the spirit
of the past, and bid the buried majesty of old Rome
start from its tomb.
To these incidental influences which train the
hand and eye of an artist, indirectly, and through
tlie mind, are to be added many substantial and
direct advantages, — such as the abundance of models
to draw from, the facility of obtaining assistance
and instruction, tlie presence of an atmosphere of
art, and the quickening impulse communicated by
constant contact with others engaged in the same
pursuits, and animated with the same hopes. If,
besides all these external influences, the mind of the
young artist be at peace, — if he be exempt from the
corrosion of anxious thoughts, and live in tlie light
of hope, there would seem to be nothing wanting to
devclope every germ of power, and to secure the
amplest harvest of beauty.
HUGH MOOEE,
A self-edttcated man, and practical printer,
was born in Amherst, N. H, Nov. 19, 1808. He
served his time as an apprentice with his
brother-in-law, Elijah Mansur, at Amherst;
published Time's Mirror, a weekly newspaper, at
Concord for a short time, in the autumn of
1828; commenced tlie Democratic Spy at San-
bornton, October, 1829, which was removed to
Gilford in 1830, and discontinued in June, the
same year. He was afterwards editor of the
Burlington Centinel, and at one time connected
with the Custom House in Boston. He died at
Amherst, February 13, 1837.
The New Hampshire Book, which gives two
specimens of his poetical- pieces, which were
written when he was quite young, speaks of his
death as occurring when he was " about entering
upon a station of increased honor and responsi-
bility." .
0L3> WINTER IS COMING.
Old Winter is coming again — alack!
How icy and cold is he!
He cares not a pin for a shivering back —
He's a saucy old chap to white and black —
He whistles Ins chills with a wonderful knack,
For he comes from a cold countree !
A witty old fellow this Winter is —
A mighty old fellow for glee !
He cracks his jokes on the pretty, sweet miss,
Tlie wrinkled old maiden, unfit to kiss,
And freezes the dew of their lips : for this
Is the way with old fellows like he!
Old Winter's a frolicsome blade I wot —
He is wild in his humor, and frees
He'll whistle along, for " the want of thought,"
And set all the warmth of our furs at naught,
And ruffle the laces by pretty girls bought —
A frolicsome fellow is he !
Old winter is blowing his gusts along,
And merrily shaking the tree !
From morning 'till night he will sing his song —
Now moaning, and short — now howling, and long,
His voice is loud — for his lungs are strong —
A merry old fellow is he!
Old Winter's a tough old fellow for blows,
As tough as ever you 6ee !
I He will trip up our trotters, and rend our clothes,
j And stiffen our limbs from our fingera to toes —
He minds not the cries of his friends or his foes —
A tough old fellow is he!
! A cunning old fellow is Winter, they say,
A cunning old fellow is he !
He peeps in the crevices day by day,
To see how we're passing our time away —
And marks all our doings from grave to gay
I'm afraid he is peeping at me !
BPr.ING IS COMING.
Every breeze that passes o'er us,
Every stream that leaps before us,
Every tree in silvan brightness
Bending to the soft winds' lightness;
Every bird and insect humming
Whispers sweetly, " Spring is coming ■"
E,ouse thee, boy! the sun is beaming
Brightly in thy chamber now;
Rouse thee, boy ! nor slumber, dreaming
Of sweet maiden's eye and brow.
See! o'er Nature's wide dominions,
Beauty revels as a bride ;
All the plumage of her pinions
In the rainbow's hues is dyed !
Gentle maiden, vainly weeping
O'er some loved and faithless one ;
Rouse thee ! give thy tears in keeping
To the glorious morning sun !
Roam thou where the flowers are springing,
Where the whirling stream goes by;
Where the birds are sweetly singing
Underneath a blushing sky !
Rouse thee, hoary man of sorrow !
Let thy grief no more subdue ;
God will cheer thee on the morrow,
With a prospect ever new.
Though you now weep tears of sadness,
Like a withered flower bedewed;
Soon thy heart shall smile in gladness
With the holy, just, and good!
Frosty Winter, cold and dreary,
Totters to the arms of Spring,
Like the spirit, sad and weary,
Taking an immortal wing.
Cold the grave to every bosom,
Ab the Winter's keenest breath ;
Yet the buds of joy will blossom
Even in the vale of Death !
B. B. THATCHEE.
Benjamin B. Thatcher was born in the state of
Maine in the year 1809. His father was a dis-
tinguished lawyer, and for many years a repre-
sentative in Congress. The son, on the comple-
tion of his course at Bowdoin College in 1826,
commenced the study of law, and was admitted
to practice at Boston, where he- resided during
the remainder of his life. He was a constant
contributor to the leading literary periodicals of
the day, and in 1832 published a work entitled
Indian Biography, whicli forms two volumes of
Harpers' Family Library. He afterwards pre-
pared two volumes on Indian Traits, for a
juvenile series, "The Boys' and Girls' Library,"
issued by the same house. He also wrote a brief
memoir of Phillis Wlieatley. In 1838 he visited
Europe for the benefit of his health, but returned
after passing nearly two. years in England, in a
worse state than that in which he left home.
HANNAH F. GOULD.
497
He died on the fourteenth of July, 1840. His
poems are numerous, and mostly of a meditative
and descriptive character. They are all brief,
and like most of his prose productions, are scat-
tered over a number of annuals and magazines.
THE LAST REQUEST.
Bury me by the ocean's side —
Oh ! give me a grave on the verge of the deep,
Where the noble tide
When the sea-gales blow, my marble may sweep —
And the glistering turf
Shall burst o'er the surf,
And bathe my cold bosom in death as I sleep !
Bury me by the sea —
That the vesper at eve-fall may ring o'er my grave,
Like the hymn of the bee,
Or the hum of the shell, in the silent wave I
Or an anthem roar
Shall be rolled on the shore
By the storm, like a mighty march of the brave !
Bury me by the deep —
Where a living footstep never may tread ;
And come not to weep —
Oh ! wake not with sorrow the dream of the dead,
But leave me the dirge
Of the breaking surge,
And the silent tears of the sea on my head!
And graye no Parian praise ;
Gather no bloom for the heartless tomb, —
And burn no holy blaze
To flatter the awe of its solemn gloom !
For the holier light
Of the star-eyed night,
And the violet morning, my rest will illume : —
And honors more dear
Than of sorrow and love, shall be strown on my clay
By the young green year,
With the fragrant dews and crimson array.—
Oh ! leave me to sleep
On the verge of the deep,
Till the skies and the seas shall have passed away I
HANNAH F. GOULD.
Hanttati Flags Gould is the daughter of a sol-
dier of the Revolution, who fought in the battle
of Lexington, and served in the army throughout
the war. She was born at Lancaster, Vermont,
but removed soon after to Newburyport, Mass.
While yet a child she lost her mother. Her
father survived for several j'ears, his declining
age>being tenderly cared for and cheered by his
constant companion, his daughter, whose subse-
quent poems contain many touching traces of
their intercourse.
^A
/Vpt-lh C*S%. c/*tt?cc;
&7
e<^/J,y
Miss Gould's poems, after a favorable reception
in several periodicals, were collected in a volume
in 1832. By 1835, a second had accumulated,
and a third appeared in 1841. In 1846, she col-
lected a volume of her prose contributions, enti-
tled Gathered Leaves.
Miss Gould's poems are all short, and simple
in subject, form, and expression. They are natu-
ral, harmonious, and sprightly. She treats of the
vol. ii.— 32
patriotic themes of the Revolution, and the scenes
of nature and incidents of society about the ordi-
nary path of woman; and her household themes
have gained her,a widely extended audience.
Some of her prettiest poems were written for
children, with whom they are favorites. In 1850,
she published The Youth's Coronal, a little col-
lection of verses of this class.
THE FROST.
The Frost looked forth one still, clear night,
And whispered, " Now I shall be out of sight,
So through the valley and over the height,
In silence I'll take my way.
I will not go on like that blustering train,
The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain,
Who make so much bustle and noise in vain,
But I'll be as busy as they 1"
Then he flew to the mountain, and powdered its
crest ;
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest
In diamond beads — and over the breast
Of the quivering lake, he spread
A coat of mail, that it need not fear
The downward point of many a spear.
That he hung on its margin, far and near,
Where a rock could rear its head.
He went to the windows of those who slept,
And over each pane, like a fairy, crept ;
Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped,
By the light of the morn were seen
Most beautiful things; there were flowers and trees,
There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees ;
There were cities with temples and towers ; and
these
All pictured in silver sheen !
But he did one thing that was hardly fair —
He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there
That all had forgotten for him to prepare,
" Now, just to set them a-thinking,
I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he,
"This costly pitcher I'll burst in three ;
And the glass of water they've left for me
Shall ' tchiek!' to tell them I'm drinking!"
MARY DOW.
" Come in, little stranger," I said,
As she tapped at my half- open door,
While the blanket pinned over her head,
Just reached to the basket she bore.
A look full of innocence fell
From her modest and pretty blue eye,
As she said, " I have matches' to sell,
And hope you are willing to buy.
" A penny a bunch is the price ;
I think you'll not find it too much ;
They're tied up so even and nice,
And ready to light with a touch."
I asked, " what's your name, little girl?"
" T is Mary," said she, " Mary Dow.".
And carelessly tossed off a curl,
That played o'er her delicate brow.
" My father was lost in the deep,
The ship never got to the shore ;
And mother is sad, and will weep,
When she hears the wind blow and sea roar.
" She sits there at home without food,
Beside our poor sick Willie's bed ;
She paid all her money for wood,
And so I sell matches for bread.
498
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
" For every time that she tries,
Some things she'd be paid for, to make,
And lays down the baby, it cries,
And that makes my sick brother wake.
" I'd go to the yard and get chips,
But then it would make me too sad ;
To see men there building the ships.
And think they had made one so bad.
" I've one other gown, and with care,
We think it may decently pass,
"With my bonnet that's put by to wear
To meeting and Sunday-school class.
" I love to go there, where I'm taught
Of One, who 's so wise and so good,
He knows every action and thought,
And gives e'eu the raven his food.
" For He, I am sure, who can take
Such fatherly care of a bird,
Will never forget or forsake
The children who trust to his word.
" And now, if I only can sell
The matches I brought out to-day,
I think I shall do very well, ■
And mother '11 rejoice at the pay."
" Fly home, little bird," then I thought,
"Fly home full of joy to your nest!"
For I took all the matches she brought,
And llary may tell you the rest.
IT 6NOWS.
It snows! it snows! from out the sky
The feathered flakes, how fast they fly,
Like little birds, that don't know why
They 're on the chase, from place to place,
While neither can the other trace.
It snows ! it snows ! a merry play
Is o'er us,, on this heavy day !
As dancers in an airy hall,
That hasn't room to hold them all,
While some keep up, and others fall,
The atoms shift, then, thick and swift,
They drive along to form the drift,
That weaving up, so dazzling white,
Is rising like a wall of light
But now the wind comes whistling loud,
To snatch and waft it, as a cloud,
Or giant phantom in a shroud ;
It spreads! it curls! it mounts and whirls.
At length a mighty wing unfurls ;
And then, away! but, where, none knows,
Or ever will. — It snows! it snows!
To-morrow will the storm be done ;
Then, out will come the golden sun :
And we shall see, upon the run
Before his beams, in sparkling streams,
What now a curtain o'er him seems.
And thus, with life, it ever goes ;
'Tis shade and shine ! — It snows ! it snows !
THE VETERAN AND TITE CHILD.
" Come, grandfather, show how you carried your
gun
To the field, where America's freedom was won,
Or bore your old sword, which you say was new
then,
When you rose to command, a*id led forward your
men ;
And tell how you felt with the balls whizzing by,
Where the wounded fell round you, to bleed and to
die!"
The prattler had stirred, in the veteran's breast,
The embers of fires that had long been at rest.
The blood of his youth rushed anew through his
veins ;
The soldier returned to his weary campaigns ;
His perilous battles at once fighting o'er,
While the soul of nineteen lit the eye of four-score.
" I carried my musket, as one that must be
But loosed from the hold of the dead, or the free !
And fearless I lifted my good, trusty sword,
In the hand of a mortal, the strength of the Lord !
In buttle, my vital flame freely I felt
Should go, but the chaius of my country to melt!
" I sprinkled my blood upon Lexington's sod,
And Charlestown's green height to the war-drum
I trod.
From the fort, on the Hudson, our guns I depressed,
The proud coining sail of the foe to arrest.
I stood at Stillwater, the Lakes and White Plains,
And offered for freedom to empty my veins!
" Dost now ask me, child, since thou hear'st where
I 've been,
Why my brow is so furrowed, my locks white and
thin —
Why this faded eye cannot go by the line,
Trace out little beauties, and sparkle like thine ;
Or why so unstable this tremulous knee,
Who bore ' sixty years since,' such perils for thee '
"What! sobbing so quick? are the tears going to
start ?
Come ! lean thy young head on thy grandfather's
heart!
It has not much longer to glow with the joy
I feel thus to clasp thee, so noble a boy !
But when in earth's bosom it long lias been cold, •
A man, thou 'It recall, what, a babe, thou art told. "
HYMN OF THE EEAPEE8.
Our Father, to fields that are white,
Rejoicing, the sickle we bear,
In praises our voices unite
To thee, who hast made them thy care.
The seed, that was dropped in the soil,
We left, with a holy belief
In One, who, beholding the toil,
Would crown it at length with the sheaf.
And ever our faith shall be firm
In thee, who hast nourished the root;
Whose finger has led up the germ,
And finished the blade and the fruit !
The heads, that are heavy with grain,
Are bowing and asking to fall :
Thy hand is on mountain and plain,
Thou maker and giver of all !
Thy blessings shine bright from the hills,
The valleys thy goodness repeat ;
And, Lord, 't is thy bounty that fills
The arms of the reaper with wheat !
Oh ! when with the sickle in hand,
The angel thy mandate receives,
To come to the field with his band
To bind up, and bear off thy sheaves,
May we be as free from the blight,
As ripe to be taken away,
As full in the year, to thy sight,
As that which we gather to-day!
Our Father, the heart and the voice
Flow out our fresh offrings to yield.
The Reapers !* the Reapers rejoice,
And send up their song from the field.'
park benjamin:
499
PARK BENJAMIN.
Park Benjamin is descended from a New Eng-
land family, which came originally from Wales.
His father resided as a merchant in Deinerara, in
British Guiana. The son in his infancy suffered
from an illness, the improper treatment of which
left him with a permanent lameness. He was
brought to America, was educated in New Eng-
land, studied law at Cambridge, and was admit-
ted to practice in Connecticut. He soon, how-
ever, withdrew from the law to the pursuits of
literature, embarking in the editorship of the New
England Magazine in March, 1835, shortly after
the retirement of its projector, Mr. Buckingham.
In less than a year he brought the work to
New York, continuing it with the publishing
house of Dearborn and Co., with which lie be-
came connected, as the American Monthly Maga-
zine, five volumes of which were published from
January, 1836, to June, 1838. He next- pub-
lished the New Yorker, a weekly journal, in asso-
ciation with Horace Greeley ; and in January,
1840, established the New World, a weekly news-
paper of large size, which met the wants of the
day by its cheap, wholesale republication of the
English magazine literature. It was also well
sustained by a corps of spirited writers which the
editor drew round him in its original departments.
Of those more immediately connected with the
conduct of the paper were Epes Sargent, James
Aldrich, H. C. Deming, and Rufus W. Griswold;
while among the frequent contributors were Judge
W. A. Duer, Judge J. D. Hammond, author of the
Life and Times of Silas Wright, H. W. Herbert,
Charles Lanman, W. M. Evarts, John O. Sargent,
John Jay, E. S. Gould, and many others.
Mr. Aldrich was a merchant of New York, and
the writer of a number of poems which find a
place in the collections, though never brought to-
gether by the author into a volume. One of the
most popular of these is entitled
A DEATn-BED.
Her suff'ring ended with the day,
Yet lived she at its close,
And breathed the long, long night away
In statue-like repose.
But when the sun in all his state,
Illumed the eastern skies,
She passed through glory's morning-gate,
And walked in Paradise !
The success of the New World led to the cheap
publishing enterprises of Winchester, which were
conducted with boldness, and had for the time a
marked effect on the book trade.* Mr. Benjamin
conducted the New World for nearly five years,
when it passed into the hands of Mr. Charles Eaines,
a writer of marked ability, by whom it was edited
for a short time in 1845, when it was finally dis-
continued. In 1846 Mr. Benjamin projected, at
Baltimore, The Western Continent, a weekly news-
paper on the plan of the New World, 'it was
published only for a short time. The next year
* One of the most extensive of the Winchester publications
was an entire reprint in numbers of Johns' translation of Frois-
sart's Chronicles. The success of this work, in popular form,
at a low price, was a decided triumph for his system. He also
made a hit with the early translation of Sue's ilysteries of Pa-
ris, which was executed by Mr. Deiniug.
he published another weekly paper on a similar
plan, involving a liberal outlay of expenditure,
The American Mail, of which twelve numbers
were issued from June 5 to August 21.
Since the discontinuance of these newspaper
enterprises Mr. Benjamin has frequently appeared
before the public with favor and success, in dif-
ferent parts or the country, as a lecturer on popu-
lar topics and literature.
Mr. Benjamin's poems, lyrics, and occasional
effusions are numerous, but have not been col-
lected. They are to be found scattered over the
entire periodical literature of the country for the
last twenty years. His only distinct publications
have been several college poems of a descriptive
and satirical character. A poem on The Medi-
tation of Nature was delivered before the alumni
of Washington College, at Hartford, in 1832 ; Poe-
try, a Satire, before the Mercantile Library As-
sociation of New York, the same year; Infatua-
tion, before the Mercantile Library of Boston, in
1844.
THE DEPAETED.
The departed ! the .departed !
They visit us in dreams,
And they glide above our memories
Like shadows over streams ,
But where the cheerful lights of home
In constant lustre burn,
The departed, the departed,
Can never more return.
The good, the brave, the beautiful,
How dreamless is their sleep,
■Where rolls the dirge-like musie
Of the ever-tossing deep !
Or where the hurrying night win la
Pale winter's robes have spread
Above their narrow palaces.
In the cities of the dead !
I look around and feel the :iwe
Of one who walks alone
Among the wrecks of former day.r,
In mournful ruin strown
I start to hear the stirring sounds
Among the cypress trees,
For the voice of the departed
Is borne upon the breeze.
That solemn voice ! it mingles with
Each free and careless strain ;
I scarce can think earth's minstrels,-
Will cheer my heart again.
The melody of summer waves,
The thrilling notes of birds,
Can never be so dear to me
As their remembered words.
I sometimes dream their pleasant smilou
Still on me sweetly fall,
Their tones of love I faintly hear
My name in sadness call.
I know that they are happy,
With their angel-plumage on,
500
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
But my heart is very desolate
To think that they are gone.
INDOLENCE.
Time I thou destroy'st the relies of the past,
And hidest all the footprints of thy march
On shattered column and on crumbled arch,
By moss and ivy growing green and fast.
Hurled into fragments by the tempest-blast,
The Ehodian monster lies : the obelisk,
That with sharp line divided the broad disc
Of Egypt's sun, down to the sands was cast :
And where these stood, no remnant-trophy stands,
And even the art is lost by which they rose :
Thus, with the monuments of other lands,
The place that knew them now no longer knows.
Yet triumph not, oh, Time ; strong towers decay,
But a great name shall never pass away !
To see a fellow of a summer's morning,
With a large foxhound of a slumberous eye
And a slim gun, go slowly lounging by.
About to give the feathered bipeds warning,
That probably they may be, shot hereafter,
Excites in me a quiet kind of laughter ;
For, though I am no lover of the sport
Of harmless murder, yet it is to me
Almost the funniest thing on earth to see
A corpulent person, breathing with a snort,
Go on a shooting frolic all alone ;
For well I know that when he's out of town,
He and his dog and gun will all lie down,
And undestructive sleep till game and light are
flown.
STEPHEN GKEENLEAF BULFINCH,
A Unitarian clergyman, and contributor to the
collection of hymns in use in that denomination,
was born in Boston, June 18th, 1809. At nine
years of age he was taken to Washington, in the
District of Columbia, where1 his father, Charles
Bulfinch, had been appointed architect of the
Capitol. He was graduated at the Columbian
College, D. C, in 1826, and entered the Divinity
School at Cambridge the following year. From
1830 to 1837, with some interruptions, he minis-
tered as a Unitarian clergyman at Augusta,
Georgia. After this he preached and kept school
at Pittsburgh, Pa., for a short time, and was then
engaged in similar relations for six years at Wash-
ington, D. C. In 1845 he became settled at
Nashua, IT. H., and in 1852 removed to Boston,
where he has been since established.
His writings are a volume, Contemplations of
the Saviour, published at Boston in 1832 ; a
volume of Poems published at Charleston, South
Carolina, in 1834; The Holy Land, issued in
Ware's Sunday Library in 1834; Lays of the
Gospel, 1845; a devotional volume, Communion
Thoughts, 1852; with several sermons and con-
tributions to the Magazines.
LINES ON VISITING TALLULAH FALLS, GEOEGIA.
. The forest, Lord ! is thine ;
Thy quickening voice calls forth its buds to light;
Its thousand leaflets shine,
Bathed in thy dews, and in thy sunbeams bright.
Thy voice is on the air,
Where breezes murmur through the pathless shades ;
Thy universal care
These awful deserts, as a spell pervades.
Father! these rocks are thine,
Of Thee. the everlasting monument,
Since at thy glance divine,
Earth trembled and her solid hills were rent.
Thine is this flashing wave,
Poured forth by thee from its rude mountain urn,
And thine yon secret cave,
Where haply, gems of orient lustre burn.
I hear the eagle scream ;
And not in vain his cry ! Amid the wild
Thou hearest ! Can I deem
Thou wilt not listen to thy human child ?
God of the rock and flood I
In this deep solitude I feel thee nigh.
Almighty, wise and good,
Turn on thy suppliant child a parent's eye.
Guide through life's vale of fear
My placid current, from defilement free,
Till, seen no longer here,
It finds the ocean of its rest in Thee!
EOBEET CHAELES WINTHKOP.
Me. Wintheop is justly and honorably considered
a representative man of Massachusetts. Tracing
his descent through six generations of a family
always eminent in the state, he arrives at the first
emigrant of the name, John Winthrop, who be-
came the first Governor of th: colony, and who
bore not only the truncheon of office but the pen
of the chronicler.*
His son John, the Governor of Connecticut, was
also a man of liberal tastes, was one of the foun-
ders of the Royal Society, and contributed to its
proceedings and collections. His second wife was
a step-daughter of Hugh Pet ere. Of his two sons,
one of them, Fitz John, was Governor of Con-
necticut, and the younger, Wait Still (a family
and not a fanciful Puritanical designation), be-
came Chief Justice of the Superior Court of
Massachusetts. The latter left a son John, who
renewed the connexion with the Eoyal Society
and removed to England. His son John married
in New England and was a gentleman of wealth
and leisure, passing his time in New London, Conn.
His son, Thomas Lindall Winthrop, in the fifth
generation of the American founder of the family,
filled the position of Lieutenant Governor of Mas-
sachusetts. He married a daughter of Sir John
Temple, the associate of Franklin in England, and
a grand-daughter of Governor James Bowdoin.
Thus honorably connected, in the direct and
collateral branches of the family tree, Robert
Charles Winthrop was born in Boston, May 12,
1809. He was educated at the Boston Latin
school, and once, as " a medal hoy," received a set
ol' books from the city authorities. He was gradu-
ated at Harvard in 1828. For the next three years
he studied law with Daniel Webster. Being a man
of fortune, with an inherited taste for public life,
he chose employment in affairs of the state in pre-
ference to the more private pursuit of the law.
He took a prominent part in military affairs as
captain of the Boston. Light Infantry and other
civic stations of fie kind. In 1834 he became a
member of the Massachusetts State Legislature,
and was speaker of its House of Representatives
from 1838 till his election to Congress in 1840.
1 Ante, vol. i. pp. 25-85.
ROBERT CHARLES WINTHROP.
501
After seven years' service in the national House
of Representatives he was chosen its speaker for
the sessions of 1848-9. In 1850 he was appointed
by the executive of Massachusetts to succeed
Webster in the Senate, when the latter withdrew
to the office of Secretary of State under President
Fillmore. In 1851 he was a candidate for the
office of Governor of Massachusetts, and received
C5,000 votes, the two other candidates receiving
about 40,000 and 30,000 respectively; but an ab-
solute majority being required for an election by
the people, he was defeated by a' coalition of the
minority parties in the legislature.
Besides his political relations Mr. Winthrop is
President of the Massachusetts Historical Society,
of which his father was also President, and which
he lately represented in 1854, delivering a speech
of much ability at the semi-centennial anniversary
of the New York Historical Society ; a member
of the American Antiquarian Society, and of
other kindred institutions.
The claims to literary distinction of Mr. Winthrop
are through his Addresses and Orations. A series
of these is strung along the whole course, of his
public life ; all marked by their careful execution,
literary propriety, and marked utility. They are
easy, natural, finished performances, whether ad-
dressed to the State Legislature or the larger au-
dience of national Representatives ; whetherin the
popular political meeting, at an Agric dtural, Sci-
entific, or Historical Anniversary, or at the bril-
liant Public Dinner The prominent trait of the
orator and rhetorician, as he shows himself on
these occasions, is self-command; command of
himself and of his subject. In person at once
lithe and full-formed, tali and erect, he speaks
with plenary, distinct tone, without the least
effort. Each thought takes its appropriate place
in his skilful method, which seems rather the
result of a healthy physique of the mind than
of art. In temper he is moderate, as his counsels
in affairs of state have shown. This disposition is
reflected in his discourses. The style has a ten-
dency to expansion which might degenerate into
weakness were it not relieved by the frequent
points of a poetical or fanciful nature, at times of
great ingenuity.
The Congressional speeches of Mr. Winthrop,
with others of a special character, are included in
a volume of Addresses and Speeches on Various
Occasions, published in 1852. It includes, besides
his political efforts, his address on the laying the
comer-stone of the national monument to Wash-
ington at the Seat of Government, July 4, 1848 ;
his Maine Historical Society address on the life
of James Bowdoin, and several educational and
other themes. Since that volume was issued he
has published his address before the association of
the alumni of Harvard in 1852 ; a Lecture on
Algernon Sidney before the Boston Mercantile
Library Association in 1853 ; and in the same
season his Lecture on Archimedes and Franklin,
which gave the suggestion and impulse to the
erection of a statue of Franklin in Boston.*
PEACE BETWEEN ENGLAND AND AMERICA.t
If it be a fit subject for reproach, to entertain the
most anxious and ardent desire for the peace of this
country, its peace with England, its peace with all
the world, I submit myself willingly to the fullest
measure of that reproach. War between the United
States and Great Britain for Oregon ! Sir, there is
something in this idea too monstrous to be enter-
tained for a moment. The two greatest nations on;
the globe, with more territorial possessions than they
know what to do with already, and bound together
by so many ties of kindred, and language, and com-
mercial interest, going to war for a piece of barren
earth ! Why, it would put back the cause of civili-
zation a whole century, and would be enough not
merely to call down the rebuke of men, but the curse
of God. I do not yield to the honorable gentleman
in a just concern for the national honor. I am ready
to maintain that honor, whenever it is really at
stake, against Great Britain as readily as against any
other nation. Indeed, if war is to come upon us, I
am quite willing that it should be war with a first-
rate power — with a foeman worthy of our steel.
Oh! the blood more stirs,
To rouse a lion, than to start a hare.
If the young Queen of England were the veritable
Victoria whom the ancient poets have sometimes de-
scribed as descending from tire right hand of Jupiter
to crown the banner of predestined Triumph, I
would still not shrink from the attempt to vindicate
the rights of my country on every proper occasion.
To her forces, however, as well as to ours, may come
the " cita mors" as well as the " Victoria l<eta."
We have nothing to fear from a protracted war with
any nation, though our want of preparation might
give us the worst of it in the first encounter. We
are all and always ready for war, wdien there is no
other alternative for maintaining our country's ho-
nor. We are all and always ready for any war into
which a Christian man, in a civilized land, and in
this age of the world, can have the face to enter.
But I thank God that there arc very few such cases.
War and honor are fast getting to have less aud less
to do wdth each other. The highest honor of any
* "Life and Public Services of P. C. Winthrop," American
Keview, March, 1S48. Loring's Hundred Boston Orators.
"Wheeler's Bio£. and Polit. Hist of Congress, 1S4S, vol. t
t From a Speech in Congress, 1S44.
502
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURK
country is to preserve peace, even under provoca-
tions which might justify war. The deepest disgrace
to any country is to plunge into war under circum-
stances which leave the honorable alternative of
peace. I heartily hope and trust, Sir, that in defer-
ence to the sense of the civilized world, in deference
to that spirit of Christianity which is now spreading
its benign and healing influences over both hemi-
spheres with such signal rapidity, we shall explore the
whole field of diplomacy, and exhaust every art of
negotiation, before we give loose to that passion for
conflict which the honorable gentleman from Penn-
sylvania saems to regard as so grand and glorious an
element of the American character.
OBJECTS AND LIMITS OF SCIENCE.*
There are fields enough for the wildest and most
extravagant theorizings, within his owm appropriate
domain, without overleaping the barriers which se-
parate things human and divine. Indeed, I have
often thought that modern science had afforded a
most opportune and providential safety-valve for the
intellectual curiosity and ambition of man, at a mo-
ment when the progress of education, invention, and
liberty, had roused and stimulated them to a pitch
of such unprecedented engerness and ardor. Astro-
nomy, Chemistry, and more than all, Geology, with
their incidental branches of study, have opened an
inexhaustible field for investigation and speculation.
Here, by the aid of modern instruments and modern
modes of analysis, the most ardent and earnest spirits
may find ample room and verge enough for their in-
satiate activity and audacious enterprise, and may
pursue their course not only without the slightest
danger of doing mischief to others, but with the cer-
tainty of promoting the great e. of scientific truth.
Let them lift their vast reflectors or refractors to
the skies, and detect new planets in their hiding-
places. Let them waylay the fugitive comets in
their flight, and compel them to disclose the precise
period of their orbits, and to give bonds for their
punctual return. Let them drag out Tel uctant satel-
lites from " their habitual concealments." Let them
resolve the unresolvable nebula; of Orion or Andro-
meda. They need not fear. The sky will not fall,
nor a single star be shaken from its sphere.
Let them perfect and elaborate their marvellous
processes for making the light and the lightning their
ministers, for putting " a pencil of rays" into the
hand of art, and providing tongues of fire for the
communication of intelligence. Let them foretell the
path of the whirlwind and calculate the orbit of the
storm. Let them hang out their gigantic pendulums,
and make the earth do the work of describing and
measuring her own motions. Let them annihilate
human pain, and literally " charm ache with air, and
agony with ether.'' The blessing of God will attend
all their toils, and the gratitude of man will await
all their triumphs.
Let them dig down into the bowels of the earth.
Let them rive asunder the massive rocks, and unfold
the history of creation as it lies written on the pages
of their piled up strata. Let them gather up the
fossil fragments of a lost Fauna, reproducing the an-
cient forms which inhabited the land or the seas,
bringing them together, bone to his bone, till Levi-
athan and Behemoth stand before us in bodil}* pre-
sence and in their full proportions, and we almost
tremble lest these dry bones should live again! Let
them put nature to the rack, and torture her, in all
her forms, to the betrayal of her inmost secrets and
confidences. They need not forbear. The founda-
* From an Address to the Alumni of Harvard Universitv,
1852.
tions of the round world have been laid so strong
that they cannot be moved.
But let them not think by searching to find out
God. Let them not dream of understanding the
Almighty to perfection. Let them not dare to apply
their tests and solvents, their modes of analysis or
their terms of definition, to the secrets of the spirit-
ual kingdom. Let them spare the foundations of
faith. Let them be satisfied with what is revealed
of the mysteries of the Divine Nature. Let them not
break through the bounds to gaze after the Invi-
sible,— lest the day come when they shall be ready
to cry to the mountains, Fall on us, and to the hills,
Cover us I
VISIT OF CICERO TO THE GRAVE OF ARCHIMEDES.*
"While Cicero was quaestor in Sicily, — the first pub-
lic office which he ever held, and the only one to
which he was then eligible, being but just thirty
years old, (for the Roman laws required for one of
the humblest of the great offices of state the very
same age which our American Constitution requires
for one of the highest,) — he paid a visit to Syracuse,
then among the greatest cities of the world.
The magistrates of the city, of course, waited on
him at once, to offer their services in showing him
the lions of the place, and requested him to specify
anything which he would like particularly to see.
Doubtless, they supposed that he would ask imme-
diately to be conducted to some one of their magni-
ficent temples, that he might behold and admire
those splendid works of art with which, — notwith-
standing that Marcellus had made it his glory to
carry not a few of them away with him for the
decoration of the Imperial City, — Syracuse still
abounded, and which soon after tempted the cupi-
dity, and fell a prey to the rapacity, of the infamous
Verres.
Or, haply, they may have thought that he would
be curious to see and examine the ear of Dionysius,
as it was called, — a huge cavern, cut out of the solid
rock in the shape of a human ear, two hundred and
fifty feet long and eighty feet high, in which that
execrable tyrant confined all persons who came
within the range of his suspicion, — and which was
so ingeniously contrived and constructed, that Dio-
nysius, »by applying his own ear to a small hole,
where the sounds were collected as upon a tympa-
num, could catch every syllable that was uttered in
the cavern below, and could deal out his proscrip-
tion and his vengeance accordingly, upon all who
might dare to dispute his authority, or to complain
of his cruelty.
Or they may have imagined perhaps, that lie
would be impatient to visit at once the sacred foun-
tain of Arethusa, and the seat of those Sicilian Muses
wliom Virgil so soon after invoked in commencing
that most inspired of all uninspired compositions,
which Pope has so nobly paraphrased in his glowing
and glorious Eclogue — the Messiah.
To their great astonishment, however, Cicero's first
request was, that they would take him to see the
tomb of Archimedes. To his own still greater asto-
nishment, as we may well believe, they told him in
reply, that they knew nothing about the tomb of
Archimedes, and had no idea where it was to be
found, and they even positively denied that anysuch
tomb was still remaining among them.
But Cicero understood perfectly well what he was
talking about. He remembered the exact descrip-
tion of the tomb. He remembered the very verses
which had been inscribed on it. He remembered
* From the Lecture,
ber 29, 1858.
Archimedes and Franklin, " Xovcm-
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.
503
the sphere and the cylinder -which Archimedes had
himself requested to ha\Te wrought upon it, as the
chosen emblems of his eventful life. And the great
orator forthwith resolved to make search for it
himself.
Accordingly, he rambled out into the place of
their ancient sepulchres, and, after a careful investi-
gation, he came at last to a spot overgrown with
shrubs and bushes, where presently he descried the
top of a small column just rising above the branches.
Upon this little column the sphere and the cylinder
were at length found carved, the inscription was
painfully deeyphered, and the tomb of Archimedes
stood revealed to the reverent homage of the illus-
trious Roman qiuestor.
This was in the year 'IQ before the birth of our
Saviour. Archimedes died about the }*ear 212 be-
fore Christ. One hundred and thirty-six years, only,
had thus elapsed since the death of this celebrated
person, before his tombstone was buried up beneath
briers and brambles, and before the place and even
the existence of it were forgotten, by the magistrates
of the very city, of which he was so long the proud-
est ornament in peace, and the most effective de-
fender in war.
"What a lesson to human pride, what a commen-
tary on human gratitude, was here! It is an inci-
dent almost precisely like that which the admirable
and venerable Dr. Watts imagined or imitated, as
the topic of one of his most striking and familiar
Lyrics :—
Theron, amongst his travels, found
A broken statue on the ground ;
And Searching onward as lie went,
Hi' traced a ruined monument.
Mould; moss, arid shades had overgrown
The sculpture of the crumbling stone,
Yet ere be pass'd, with much ado,
lie guessed, and spelled out, Sci-pi-o.
" Enougb," he cried ; " I'll drudge no more
In turning the dull stoics o'er;
For when I feel my virtue fail,
And my ambitious thoughts prevail,
I'll take a turn among the tombs.
And see whereto all glory comes."
I do not learn, however, that Cicero was cured of
his eager vanity and his insatiate love of fame by
this " turn" among the Syracnsan tombs. He was
then only just, at. the threshold of his proud career,
and lie went back to pursue it to its bloody end, with
unabated zeal, and with an ambition only extinguish-
able with his life.
And after all, how richly, howr surpassingly, was
this local ingratitude and neglect made up to the
memory of Archimedes himself, by the opportunity
which it afforded to the greatest orator of the great-
est Empire of antiquity, to signalize his appreciation
and his admiration of that wonderful genius, by going
out personally into the ancient graveyards of Syra-
cuse, and with the robes of office in their newest
gloss around him, to search for hid tomb ami to do
honor to his ashes ! The greatest orator of Imperial
Rome anticipating the part of Old Mortality upon
the gravestone of the great mathematician and me-
chanic of antiquity ! This, surely, is a picture for
mechanics in all age3 to contemplate with a proud
satisfaction and delight.
NATHANIEL HAWTIIOENE
Was born at Salem, Massachusetts, of a family
of whom we have some glimpses in one of his late
'prefaces. His earliest American ancestor came
from England, in the early part of the seventeenth
century, " a soldier, legislator, judge, a ruler in
the church ; " like the venerable Dudley "no lib-
ertine," in his opinions, since he persecuted the
Quakers with the best of them, nis son was a
man of respectability in his day, for he took part
in the burning of the witches. The race esta-
blished bjr these founders of the family, " from
father to son, for above a hundred years followed
the sea ; a grey-headed shipmaster in each gene-
ration retiring from the quarter-deck to the home-
stead, while a boy of fourteen took the hereditary
place before the mast, confronting the salt spray,
and the gale which had blustered against his sire
and grandsire." From this old home at Salem,
bleached and wcatberbeaten, like .most of the old
houses there, Nathaniel Hawthorne went forth one
day to College. He was a fellow student with Long-
fellow at Bowdoin, Maine, where he was graduated
in 1825. His earliest acknowledged publications
were his series of papers in the Token, from
year to year ; the popular annual conducted
by Mr. S. G. Goodrich, who early appreciated
the fine sensitive genius which adorned his pages
— though the public, which seldom has any pro-
found understanding of literature in a book of
amusement, scarcely recognised the new author.
A portion of these stories and essays were col-
lected in a volume, with the title Twice Told
Tales, in 1837. Longfellow reviewed the book
with enthusiasm, in the North American; but
the publication languished, and a second edi-
tion was rather urged by his friends than called
for by the public, when it appeared with a second
series of the Tales in 1842.
It was about this time that Hawthorne became
connected for a while with the occupants of the
Brook Farm at Roxbury ; a community of literati
and philosophers, who supported the freedom of a
rural life by the independent labor of their hands.
Hawthorne took part in the affair, dropped his
pen for the hoe, and looked over the horns and
bristles of the brutes it was his lot to provide for,
to the humanities gathered around him. Though
lie spiritualized the affair quite beyond any recog-
nition of its actual condition, Brook Farm was
the seed, in ]iis mind, of the Blithedale Ro-
mance.
His next publication was The Journal of an
African Cruiser, which he re-wrote from the
MS. of his friend and college companion, Mr.
Horatio Bridge, of the United States Navy. It is
a carefully prepared volume of judicious observa-
tion of the Canaries, the Cape de Verd, Liberia,
Madeira, Sierra Leone, and other places of interest
on the West Coast of Africa.
Hawthorne had now changed his residence to
Concord, carrying with him his newly married
wife, Miss Peabody, where he occupied the Old
Manse, which lie has described with quaint and
touching fidelity in the introduction to the fur-
ther collection of his papers from the magazines,
the New England, the American Monthly, and
a new gleaning of the fruitful old Token — to
which he gave, the title, Mosses from an Old
Manse. He lived in close retirement in this old
spot, concentrating his mind upon his habitual
fancies for three years, during which time, if we
are to take literally, and it is probably not far
from the truth, the pleasant sketch of his residences
by his friend, Mr. Gr. W. Curtis, he was not seen
by more than a dozen of the villagers.
In 1846 Mr. Polk was President, and Mr. Ban-
croft the historian Secretary of the Navy, when
504
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAS LITERATURE.
The Old Manse.
Hawthorne's friends secured his appointment as
Surveyor in the Custom-House at Salem. He held
this post for a year, discharging its duties with
unfailing regularity, and meditating the characters
of his associates, as the event proved, when he
was dismissed on a change of the political powers
at Washington, and wrote The Scarlet Letter, in
the preface to which he gives an account of his
Custom-House Experiences, with a literary photo-
graph of that honored building and its occupants.
The Scarlet Letter was at last a palpable hit,
It was published by Tieknor & Co., and had been
wisely enlarged at the suggestion of the author's
friend, Mr. J. T. Field's, a member of the firm,
from a sketch containing the germ of the story,
to an entire volume.
The Scarlet Letter is a pyschological romance.
The hardiest Mrs. Malaprop would never "venture
to call it a novel. It is a tale of remorse, a study
of character, in which the human heart is anato-
mized, carefully, elaborately, and with striking
poetic and dramatic power. Its incidents are
simply these: A woman, in the early days of Bos-
ton, becomes the subject of the discipline of the
court of those times, and is condemned to stand
in the pillory and wear henceforth, in token of her
shame, the scarlet letter A attached to her bosom.
She carries her child with her to the pillory. Its
other parent is unknown. At this opening scene
her husband, from whom she had been separated
in Europe, preceding him by ship across the At-
lantic, reappears from the forest, whither he has
been thrown by shipwreck on his arrival. He was
a man of a cold intellectual temperament, and de-
votes his life thereafter to search for his wife's
guilty partner, and a fiendish revenge. The
young clergyman of the town, a man of a devout
sensibility and warmth of heart, is the victim, as
the Mephistophilean old physician fixes himself by
his side, to watch over him and protect his health,
an object of great solicitude to his parishioners,
and, in reality, to detect his suspected secret, and
gloat over his tortures. This slow, cool, devilish
purpose, like the concoction of some sublimated
hell broth, is perfected gradually and inevitably.
The wayward, elfish child, a concentration of guilt
and passion, binds the interests of the parties to-
gether, but throws little sunshine over the scene.
These are all the characters, with some casual in-
troductions of the grim personages and manners
of the period, unless we add the scarlet letter,
which, in Hawthorne's hands, skilled to these al-
legorical, typical semblances, becomes vitalized as
the rest. It is the hero of the volume. The de-
nouement is the death of the clergyman on a day
of public festivity, after a public confession, in
the arms of the pilloried, branded woman. But
few as are these main incidents thus briefly told,
the action of the story, or its passion, is " long, ob-
scure, and infinite." It is a drama in which
thoughts are acts. The material lias been thorough-
ly fused in the writer's mind, and springs forth
an entire perfect creation.
The public, on the appearance of the Scarlet
Letter, was for once apprehensive, and the whole
retinue of literary reputation-makers fastened upon
the genius of Hawthorne. He had retired from
Salem to Berkshire, Massachusetts, where he oc-
cupied a small, charmingly situated farmer's house
at Lenox, on the Lake called the Stockbridge Bowl.
There he wrote the House of the Seven Gables,
published in 1851, one of the most elaborate and
powerfully drawn of his later volumes.
In the preface to this work Mr. Hawthorne es-
tablishes a separation between the demands of the
novel and the romance, and under the privilege of
the latter, sets up his claim to a certain degree of
license in the treatment of the characters and in-
cidents of his coming story. This license is in the
direction of the spiritualities of the piece, in fa-
vor of a process semi-allegorical, by which an
acute analysis may be wrought out, and the truth
of feeling be minutely elaborated; an apology,
in fact, for the preference of character to action,
and of character for that which is allied to the
darker elements of life — the dread blossoming of
evil in the soul, and its fearful retributions. The
House of the Seven Gables, one for each deadly
sin, may be no unmeet adumbration of the cor-
rupted soul of man. It is a ghostly, mouldy
abode, built in some eclipse of the sun, and raftered
with curses dark ; founded on a grave, and send-
ing its turrets heavenward, as the lightning rod
transcends its summit, to invite the wrath super-
nal. Every darker shadow of human life fingers
in and about its melancholy shelter. There all
the passions allied to crime, — pride in its intensity,
avarice with its steely gripe, and unrelenting con-
science, are to be expiated in the house built on
injustice. Wealth there withers, and the human
heart grows cold : and thither are brought as
accessories the chill glance of speculative philoso-
phy, the descending hopes of the aged laborer,
whose vision closes on the workhouse, the poor
necessities of the humblest means of livelihood,
the bodily and mental dilapidation of a wasted
life.
A residence for woman, child and man,
A dwelling-place, — and yet no habitation
A Home, — but under some prodigious ban
Of excommunication.
O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear;
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted,
And said as plain as whisper in the ear,
The place is haunted !
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.
505
Yet the sunshine casts its rays into the old
building, as it must, were it only to show us the
darkness.
The story of the House of the Seven Gables is
a tale of retribution, of expiation, extending over
a period of two hundred years, it taking all that
while to lay the ghost of the earliest victim, in
the time of the Salem witchcraft; for, it is to
Salem that this blackened old dwelling, mildewed
with easterly scud, belongs. The yeoman who
originally struck his spade into the spot, by the
side of a crystal spring, was banged for a wizard,
under the afflictive dispensation of Cotton Mather.
His land passed by force of law undercover of an
old sweeping grant from the State, though not
without hard words and thoughts and litigations,
to the possession of the Ahab of the Vineyard,
Colonel Pyncheon, the founder of the house,
whose statuesque death-scene was the first inci-
dent of the strongly ribbed tenement built on the
ground thus suspiciously acquired. It was a pro-
phecy of the old wizard on bis execution at Gal-
lows' Hill, looking steadfastly at his rival, the
Colonel, who was there, watching the scene on
horseback, that " God would give him blood to
drink." The sudden death of apoplexy was there-
after ministered to the magnates of the Pyn-
cheon family. After an introductory chapter
detailing this early history of the house, we are
introduced to its broken fortunes of the present
day, in its decline. An old maid is its one tenant,
left there with a life interest in the premises by
the late owner, whose vast wealth passed into the
hands of a cousin, who immediately, touched by
this talisman of property, was transformed from :
a youth of dissipation into a high, cold, and
worldly state of respectability. His portrait is
drawn in the volume with the repeated linmings j
and labor of a Titian, who, it is known, would j
expend several years upon a human head. We
see him in every light, walk leisurely round the I
vast circle of that magical outline, his social posi- i
tion, till we close in upon the man, narrowing
slowly to his centre of falsity and selfishness. For I
a thorough witch laugh over fallen hollow-heart-
edness and pretence, there is a terrible sardonic
greeting in the roll-call of his uncompleted day's
performances' as he sits in the fatal chamber,
death-cold, having drunk the blood of the ancient
curse. Other inmates gather round old maid
Hepzibah. A remote gable is rented to a young
artist, a daguerreotypist, and then corner upon the
scene the brother of the old maid, Clifford Pyn-
cheon, one day let out from life incarceration for i
— what circumstantial evidence had brought home
to him — the murder of the late family head.
Thirty years had obliterated most of this man's
moral and intellectual nature, save in a certain
blending of the two with his physical instinct for !
the sensuous and beautiful. A rare character that
for our spiritual limner to work upon ! The agent
he has provided, nature's ministrant to this feeble-
ness and disease, to aid in the rebuilding of the
man, is a sprig of unconscious spontaneous girl-
hood— who enters the thick shades of the dwell-
ing of disaster as a sunbeam, to purify and nou-
rish its stagnant life. Very beautiful is this con-
ception, and subtly wrought the chapters in which
the relation is developed. Then we have the
sacrifice of pride and solitary misanthropy in the I
petty retail shop Hepzibah opens for the increas-
ing needs of the rusty mansion.
The scene passes on, while Hepzibah, her exist-
ence bound, up in the resuscitation of Clifford, sup-
ported by the salient life of the youthful woman-
hood of Phoebe, fulfils her destiny at the Old House
— where, for a little sprinkling of pleasantry to
this sombre tale, comes a voracious boy to devoui
the gingerbread Jim Crows, elephants, and other
seductive fry of the quaintly arranged window.
His stuffed hide is a relief to the empty- waistcoat-
ed ghosts moving within. There is a humble fel-
low too, one Uncle Venner, a good-natured servi-
tor at small chores — a poor devil in the eye of
the world — of whom Hawthorne, with kindly
eye, makes something by digging down under bis
tattered habiliments to his better-preserved hu-
man heart. He comes to the shop, and is a kind
of out-of-door appendant to the fortunes of the
house.
The Nemesis of the House is pressing for a new
victim. Judge Pyncheon's thoughts are intent on
an old hobby of the establishment, the procure-
ment of a deed which was missing, and which
was the evidence wanting to complete the title to
a certain vast New Hampshire grant — a portent-
ous and arch-deceiving ignis fatuus of the family.
Clifford is supposed to know something of this
matter; but, knowledge, or not, the Judge is the
one man in the world whom he will not meet.
Every instinct of his nature rises within him, in
self-protection of his weak, sensitive life, against
the stern magnetic power of the coarse, granite
judge. More than that lies underneath. Clif-
ford had been unjustly convicted by those sus-
picious death-marks of his suddenly deceased rela-
tive— and the Judge had suffered it, holding all
the time the key which would have unlocked the
mystery, — besides some other shades of criminality.
To escape an interview with this man, Clifford
and Hepzibah leave the house in flight, while
Judge Pyncheon sits in the apartment of his old
ancestor, waiting for him. He is dead in his chair
of apoplexy.
The fortunes of the House, after this tremen-
dous purgation, look more brightly for the future.
The diverted patrimony of his ex-respectability —
the Governor in posse of Massachusetts — returns
to its true channel to irrigate the dry heart of the
Old Maid, and furnish Clifford the luxuries of the
beautiful. The daguerreotypist, who turns out to
be the descendant of the wizard, — the inventor
of the curse — marries Phoebe, of course, and the
parties have left the Old House, mouldering away
in its by-street, for the sunny realm of a country
summer retreat.
A Wonder Boole for Boys and Girh, a series
of delicately modernized versions of old classical
myths and legends, followed, in a vein of fancy,
pleasantry, and earnest sympathy, with the fresh
simple mind of childhood.
Several small earlier volumes of a similar
adaptation for the young, entitled Grandfather's
Choir, in which biographical events of the old
Puritan history were arranged about that fami-
ly heirloom, with another volume of Biographical
Stories, were also about this time collected and
published together.
Then came in answer to the increasing demand,
a new collection from the bountiful stock of the
506
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
magazines and annuals, The Snmo Image and
other Twice Told Tales, at least as quaint, poetical,
and reflective as its predecessors.
Hawthorne had now attained those unexpected
desiderata, a public and a purse, and with the con-
tents of the latter he purchased a house in Concord
— not the Old Manse, for that had passed into
the hands of a son of the old clergyman ; but a
cottage once occupied by Alcott, the philosopher
of the Orphic Sayings. His latest book, the Blithe-
dale Romance, dates from this new home, the
" Wayside."
It has been generally understood that the cha-
racter of Zenobia in this work was drawn, in
some of its traits, from the late Margaret Fuller,
who was an occasional visitor to the actual Brook
Farm. The work, however, is anjthing but a
— literal description. In philosophical delineation
of character, and its exhibition of the needs and
shortcomings of certain attempts at improvement
of the social state, set ma framework of imagina-
tive romance, it is one of the most original and
inventive of the author's productions.
„ In 1852, when his old "friend and college com-
panion, Franklin Pierce, was nominated for the
Presidency, Mr. Hawthorne came forward as his
biographer — a work which he executed in mode-
rate space and with literary decorum. When the
President was duly installed the following year,
Hawthorne was not forgotten. One of the most
lucrative offices of the government was bestowed
upon him — the consulship at Liverpool — which,
at the present time, he is still in the enjoyment
of.
tym^e^^^^^^'^T^^
The neglect of Hawthorne's early writings
compared with the subsequent acknowledgment
of their merits, is a noticeable fact in the history
of American literature. He has himself spoken
of it. In a preface to a new edition of the Tales,
in 1851, he says: "The author of 'Twice Told
Tales ' has a claim to one distinction, which, as
none of his literary brethren will care about dis-
puting it with him, he need not be afraid to men-
tion. He was, for a good many years, the ob-
scurest man of letters in America. These stories
were published in magazines and annuals, ex-
tending over a period of ten or twelve years, and
comprising the whole of the writer's young man-
hood, without making (so far as he has ever been
aware) the slightest impression on the public.
One or two among them, the 'Rill from the
Town Pump.' in perhaps a greater degree than
any other, had a pretty wide newspaper circula-
tion ; as for the rest, he has no ground for sup-
posing that, on their first appearance, they met
with the good or evil fortune to be read by any-
body." And he goes on to say how the most
" effervescent " period of his productive faculties
was chilled by this neglect. He burnt at this
period many of his writings quite as good as
what the public have since eagerly called for.
This early neglect is the more remarkable, as
there is scarcely a trait of his later writings
which did not exist in perfection in the first told
tales. "Without undervaluing the dramatic unity,
the constructive ability, and the philosophical
development of the Scarlet Letter, the House with
the Seven Gables, and the Blithedale Romance,
this neglect was the more extraordinary look-
ing at the maturity and finished execution of the
early writings, which contained something more
than the germ of the author's later and more
successful volumes. Though in the longer works,
dramatic unity of plot, sustained description,
and acute analysis, are supported beyond the op-
portunities of a short tale, it would be easy to
enumerate sketches of ordinary length in the
early writings which exhibit these qualities to
advantage. The genius of Mr. Hawthorne, from
the outset, has been marked by its thorough mas-
tery of means and ends. Even his style is of that
nature of simplicity, — a pure, colorless medium of
his thought — that it seems to have attained its
perfection at once, without undergoing those
changes which mark the improvements of writers
of composite qualities. The whole matter which
he works in is subdued to his hand ; so that the
plain current of his language, without any foreign
aid of ornament, is equal to all his necessities,
whether he is in company with the laughter of
playful children, the dignified ancestral associa-
tions of family or history, or the subtle terrors
and dismays of the spiritual world.' The calm,
equable, full, unvarying style is everywhere suf-
ficient.
In the mastery of the supernatural, or rather
spiritual, working in the darker passages of life,
the emotions of guilt and pain, the shadows which
"cross the happiest existence. Hawthorne has a
peculiar vein of his own. For these effects he
relies upon the subtle analogies or moralities
which he traces with exquisite .-kill, finding con-
stantly in nature, art, and the commonest ex-
periences of life, the ready material of his weird
and gentle homilies. This fondness for allegory
and the parable reacts upon his everj'-day topics,
giving to his description fulness and circum-
stantiality of detail, to which he is invited by his
warm sympathy with what is passing on about
_him. However barren the world may appear to
many minds, it is full of significance to him. In
his solitude and retirement, for into whatever pub-
he positions he may be oddly cast he will always
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.
507
bo in retirement, the genius of the author will
create pictures to delight, solace, and instruct
the players of the busy world, who see less of the
game than this keen-sighted, sympathetic looker-
on.
THE GRAY CHAMPION.
There was once a time when New England groan-
ed under the actual pressure of heavier wrongs than
those threatened ones which brought on the Revo-
tion. James II., the bigoted successor of Charles the
Voluptuous, had annulled the charters of all the
colonies, and sent a harsh and unprincipled soldier
to take away on? liberties and endanger our reli-
gion. The administration of Sir Edmund Andros
lacked scarcely a single characteristic of tyranny:
a Governor and Council, holding office from the
King, and wholly independent of the country ; laws
made and taxes levied without concurrence of the
people, immediate or by their representatives ; the
rights of private citizens violated, and the titles of
all landed property declared void ; the voice of
complaint stifled by restrictions on the press; and
finally, disaffection overawed by the first band of
mercenary troops that ever marched on our free
soil. For two years our ancestors were kept in sul-
len submission, by that filial love which had invaria-
bly secured their allegiance to the mother county,
whether its head chanced to be a Parliament, Pro-
tector, or popish Monarch. Till these evil times,
however, such allegiance had been merely nominal,
and the colonists had ruled themselves, enjoying
far more freedom than is even yet the privilege of
the native subjects of Great Britain.
At length, a rumor reached our shores, that the
Prince of Orange had ventured on an enterprise, the
success of which would be the triumph of civil and
religious rights and the salvation of New England.
It was but a doubtful whisper ; it might be false, or
the attempt might fail ; and, in either case, the man
that stirred against King James would lose his
head. Still the intelligence produced a marked
effect. The people smiled mysteriously in the
streets, and threw bold glances at their oppressors ;
while far and wide there was a subdued and silent
agitation, as if the slightest signal would rouse the
whole laud from its sluggish despondency. Aware
of their danger, the riders resolved to avert it by an
imposing display of strength, and perhaps to confirm
their despotism by yet harsher measures. One
afternoon in April, 1089, Sir Edmund Andros and
his favorite councillors, being warm with wine,
assembled the red-coats of the Governor's Guard,
and made their appearance in the streets of Boston.
The sun was near setting when the march com-
menced.
The roll of the drum, at that unquiet crisis, seem-
ed to go through the streets less as the martial music
of the soldiers, than as a muster-call to the inhabit-
ants themselves. A multitude, by various avenues,
assembled in King street, which was destined to be
the scene, nearly a century afterwards, of another
encounter between the troops of Britain and a peo-
ple struggling against her tyranny. Though more
than sixty years had elapsed since the Pilgrims
came, this crowd of their descendants still showed
the strong and sombre features of their character,
perhaps more strikingly in such a stern emergency
than on happier occasions. There was the sober
garb, the general severity of mien, the gloomj- but
undismayed expression, the scriptural forms of
speech, and the confidence in Heaven's blessing on
a righteous cause, which would have marked a band
of the original Puritans, when threatened by some
peril of the wilderness. Indeed, it was not yet
time for the old spirit to be extinct ; since there
were men in the street, that day, who had worship-
ped there beneath the trees, before a house was
reared to the God for whom they had become
exiles. Old soldiers of the Parliament were here
too, smiling grimly at the thought that their aged
arms might; strike another blow against the house
of Stuart. Here, also, were the veterans of King
Philip's war, who had burned villages and slaugh-
tered young and old with pious fierceness, while
the godly souls throughout the land were helping
them with prayer. Several ministers were scattered
among the crowd, which, unlike all other mobs,
regarded them with such reverence, as if there were
sanctity in their very garments. These holy men
exerted their influence to quiet the people, but not
to disperse them. Meantime, the purpose of the
Governor in disturbing the peace of the town, at a
period when the slightest commotion might throw
the country into a ferment, was almost the universal
subject of inquiry, and variously explained.
"Satan will strike his master-stroke presently,"
cried some. " because he knoweth. that his time is
short. All our godly pastors are to be dragged to
prison i We shall see them at a Smithfield fire in
King street ! "
Hereupon, the people of each parish gathered
closer round their minister, Who looked calmly
upwards and assumed a more apostolic dignity, as
well befitted a candidate for the highest honor of
his profession, the crown of martyrdom. It was
actually fancied, at that period, that New England
might have a John Rogers of her own, to take the
place of that worthy in the Primer.
" The Pope of Rome has given orders for a new
St Bartholomew ! " cried others. " We are to be
massacred, man and male child!"
Neither was this rumor wholly discredited, al-
though the wiser class believed the Governor's
object somewhat less atrocious. His predecessor
under the old charter, Bradstreet, a venerable com-
panion of the first settlers, was known to be in
town. There were grounds for conjecturing, that
Sir Edmund Andros intended at once to strike ter-
ror by a parade of military force, and to confound
the opposite faction by possessing himself of their
chief.
" Stand firm for the old charter, Governor ! "
shouted the crowd, seizing upon the idea. " The
good old Governor Bradstreet ! "
While this cry was at the loudest, the people
were surprised by the well-known figure of Gover-
nor Bradstreet himself, a patriarch of nearly ninety,
wdio appeared on the elevated steps of a door, and,
with characteristic mildness, besought them to sub-
mit to the constituted authorities.
"My children," concluded this venerable person,
"do nothing rashly. Cry not aloud, but pray for
the welfare of New England, and expect patiently
what the Lord will do in this manner ! "
The event was soon to be decided. All this time
the roll of the drum had been approaching through
Cornhill, louder and deeper, till, wdth reverberations
from house to house, and the regular tramp of mar-
tial footsteps, it burst into the street. A double
rank of soldiers made their appearance, occupying
the whole breadth of the passage, with shouldered
matchlocks, and matches burning, so as to present a
row of fires in the dusk. Their steady march was
like the progress of a machine, that would roll
irresistibly over everything in its way. Next,
moving slowly, with a confused clatter of hoofs on
the pavement, rode a party of mounted gentlemen,
the central figure being Sir Edmund Andros, elderly,
but erect and soldier-like. Those around him were
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CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
his favorite councillors, and the bitterest foes of New
England. At his right hand rode Edward Ran-
dolph, our arch enemy, that " blasted wretch," as
Cotton Mather calls hirn, who achieved the downfall
of our ancient government, and was followed with a
sensible curse through life and to his grave. On the
other side was Bullivant, scattering jests and
mockery as he rode along. Dudley came behind,
with a downcast look, dreading, as well he might,
to meet the indignant gaze of the people, who
beheld him, their only countryman by birth, among
the oppressors of his native laud. The captain of a
frigate in the harbor, and two or three civil officers
under the Crown, were also there. But the figure
which most attracted the public eye, and stirred up
the deepest feeling, was the Episcopal clergyman of
King's Chapel, riding haughtily among the magis-
trates in his priestly vestments, the fitting represen-
tative of prelacy and persecution, the union of church
and state, and all those abominations which had
driven the Puritans to the wilderness. Another
guard of soldiers, in double rank, brought up the
rear.
The whole scene was a picture of the condition
of New England, and its moral, the deformity of
any government that does not grow out of the na-
ture of things and the character of the people. On
one side the religious multitude, with their sad
Tisages and dark attire, and on the other, the group
of despotic rulers, with the high churchman in the
midst, and here and there a crucifix at'their bosoms,
all magnificently clad, flushed with wine, proud of
unjust authority, and scoffing at the universal groan.
And the mercenary soldiers, waiting but the word
to deluge .the street with blood, showed the only
means by which obedience could be secured.
" Oh ! Lord of Hosts i " cried a voice among the
crowd, " provide a Champion for thy people 1 "
This ejaculation was loudly uttered, and served
as a herald's cry to introduce a remarkable per-
sonage. The crowd had rolled back, and were now
huddled together nearly at the extremity of the
street, while the soldiers had advanced no more
than a third of its length. The intervening space
was empty — a paved solitude, between lofty edifices,
which threw almost a twilight shadow over it.
Suddenly, there was seen the figure of an ancient
man, who seemed to have emerged from among the
people, and was walking by himself along the centre
of the street, to confront the armed band. He wore
the old Puritan dress, a dark cloak and a steeple-
crowned hat, in the fashion of at least fifty years
before, with a heavy sword upon his thigh, but a
staff in his hand, to assist the tremulous gait of
age.
When at some distance from the multitude, the
old man turned slowly round, displaying a face of
antique majesty, rendered doubly venerable by the
hoary beard that descended on his breast. He made
a gesture at once of encouragement and warning,
then turned again and resumed his way.
" Who is this gray patriarch ? " asked the young
men of their sires.
"Who is this venerable brother? " asked the old
men among themselves.
But none could make reply. The fathers of the
people, those of fourscore years and upwards, were
disturbed, deeming it strange that they should for-
get one of such evident authority, whom they must
have known in their early days, the associate of
Winthrop and all the old Councillors, giving laws,
and making prayers, and leading them against the
savage. The elderly men ought to have remember-
ed him, too, with locks as gray in their youth, as
their own were now. And the young ! How could
he have passed so utterly from their memories — that
hoary sire, the relic of long departed times, whose
awful benediction had surely been bestowed on their
uncovered heads in childhood.
" Whence did he come ? What is his purpose ?
Who can this old man be ? " whispered the wondering
crowd.
Meanwhile, the venerable stranger, staff in hand,
was pursuing his solitary walk along the centre of
the street. As he drew near the advancing soldiers,
and as the roll of their drum came full upon his ear,
the old man raised himself to a loftier mien, while
the decrepitude of age seemed to fall from his shoul-
ders, leaving him in gray but unbroken dignity.
Now, he marched onwards with a warrior's step,
keeping time to the military music. Thus the aged
form advanced on one side, and the whole parade of
soldiers and magistrates on the other, till, when
scarcely twenty yards remained between, the old
man grasped his staff by the middle, and held it be-
fore him like a leader's truncheon.
"Stand!" cried he.
The eye, the face, and attitude of command ; the
solemn yet warlike peal of that voice, fit either to
rule a host in the battle-field or be raised to God in
prayer, were irresistible. At the old man's word
and outstretched arm, the roll of the drum was
hushed at once, and the advancing line stood still.
A tremulous enthusiasm seized upon the multitude.
That stately form, combining the leader and the
saint, so gray, so dimly seen, in such an ancient
garb, could only belong to some old champion of
the righteous cause, whom the oppressor's drum
had summoned from his grave. They raised a shout
of awe and exultation, and looked for the deliver-
ance of New England.
The Governor, and the gentlemen of his party,
perceiving themselves brought to an unexpected
stand, rode hastily forward, as if they would have
pressed their snorting and affrighted horses right
against the hoary apparition. He, however, blenched
not a step, but glancing his severe eye round the
group which half encompassed him, at last bent it
sternly ou Sir Edmund Andros. One would have
thought that the dark old man was chief ruler
there, and that the Governor and Council, with sol-
diers at their back, representing the whole power
and authority of the Crown, had no alternative but
obedience.
"What does this old fellow here? " cried Edward
Randolph, fiercely. " On, Sir Edmund ! Bid the
soldiers forward, and give the dotard the same
choice that you give all his countrymen — to stand
aside or be trampled on ! "
" Nay, nay, let us show respect to the good grand-
sire," said Bullivant, laughing. '"See you not he is
some old round-headed dignitary, who hath lain
asleep these thirty years, and knows nothing of the
change of times? Doubtless, he thinks to put us
down with a proclamation in Old Noll's name ! "
" Are you mad, old man?" demanded Sir Edmund
Andros, in loud and harsh tones. " How dare you
stay the march of King James's Governor? "
" I have staid the march of a King himself, ere
now," replied the gray figure, with stern composure.
" I am here, Sir Governor, because the cry of an
oppressed people hath disturbed me in my secret
place; and beseeching this favor earnestly of the
Lord, it was vouchsafed me to appear once again
on earth in the good old cause of his saints. And
what speak ye of James? There is no longer a
popish tyrant on the throne of England, and by to-
morrow noon his name shall be a by-word in this
very street, where ye would make it a word of ter-
ror. Back, thou that wast a Governor, back ! With
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.
509
this night thy power is ended — to-morrow, the
prison ! — back, lest I foretell the scaffold ! "
The people had been drawing nearer and nearer,
and drinking in the words of their champion, who
spoke in accents long disused, like one unaccustomed
to converse, except with the dead of many years
ago. But his voice stirred their souls. They con-
fronted the soldiers, not wholly without arms, and
ready to convert the very stones of the street into
deadly weapons. Sir Edmund Andros looked at
the old man ; then he cast his hard and cruel eye
over the multitude, and beheld them burning with
that lurid wrath, so difficult to kindle or to quench ;
and again he fixed his gaze on the aged form,
which stood obscurely in an open space, where
neither friend nor foe had thrust himself. What
were his thoughts, he uttered no word which might
discover. But whether the oppressor was over-
awed by the Gray Champion's look, or perceived
his peril in the threatening attitude of the people, it
is certain that he gave back, and ordered his soldiers
to commence a slow ami guarded retreat. Before
another sunset, the Governor, and all that rode so
proudly with him, were prisoners, and long ere it
was known that James had abdicated King William
was proclaimed throughout New England.
But where was the Gray Champion? Some
reported that when the troops had gone from King
street, and the people were thronging tumultuously
in their rear, Bradstreet, the aged Governor, was
seen to embrace a form more aged than his own.
Others soberly affirmed, that while they marvelled
at the venerable grandeur of his aspect, the old man
had faded from their eyes, melting slowly into the
hues of twilight, till where he stood there was an
empty space. But all agreed that the hoary shape
was gone. The men of that generation watched
for his reappearance, in sunshine and in twilight,
but never saw him more, nor knew when his fune-
ral passed, nor where his gravestone was.
And who was the Gray Champion? Perhaps his
name might be found in the records of that stern
Court of Justice which passed a sentence too mighty
for the age, but glorious in all after times for its
humbling lesson to the monarch and its high ex-
ample to the subject. I have heard, that whenever
the descendants of the Puritans are to show the
spirit of their sires the old man appears again.
When eighty years had passed he walked once more
iu King street. Five years later, in the twilight of
an April morning, he stood on the green, beside
the meeting-house, at Lexington, where now the
obelisk of granite, with a slab of slate inlaid, com-
memorates the first fallen of the Revolution. And
when our fathers w^vn toiling at the breastwork on
Bunker's Hill, all through that night the old war-
rior walked his rounds. Long, long may it be
ere it comes again ! His hour is one of darkness,
and adversity, and peril. But should domestic
tyranny oppress us, or the invader's step pollute our
soil, still may the Gray Champion come ; for he is
the type of New England's hereditary spirit; and
his shadowy march on the eve of danger must ever
be the pledge that New England's sons will vindi-
cate their ancestry.
6IGIITS FROM A STEEPLE.
So! I have climbed high, and my reward is small.
Here I stand, with wearied knees, earth, indeed, at
a dizzy depth below, but heaven far, far beyond
me still. O that I could soar up into the Very
zenith, where man never breathed, nor eagle ever
flew, and where the ethereal azure melts away from
the eye, and appears only a deepened shade of
nothingness ! And yet I shiver at that cold and
solitary thought. What clouds are gathering in the
golden west, with direful intent against the bright-
ness and the warmth of this summer afternoon !
They are ponderous air-ships, black as death, and
freighted with the tempest; and at intervals their
thunder, the signal-guns of that unearthly squadron,
rolls distant along the deep of heaven. These
nearer heaps of fleecy vapor — methinks I could roll
and toss upon them the whole day long ! — seem
scattered here and there, for the repose of tired pil-
grims through the sky. Perhaps — for who can
tell ? — beautiful spirits are disporting themselves
there, and will bless my mortal eye with the brief
appearance of their curly locks of golden light, and
laughing faces, fair and faint as the people of a rosy
dream. Or, where the floating mass so imperfectly
obstructs the color of the firmament, a slender foot
and fairy limb, resting too heavily upon the frail
support, may be thrust through, and suddenly with-
drawn, while longing fancy follows them in vain.
Yonder again is an airy archipelago, where the
sunbeams love to linger in their journeyings through
space. Every one of those little clouds has been
dipped and steeped in radiance, which the slightest
pressure might disengage in silvery profusion, like
water wrung from a sea-maid's hair. Bright they
are as a young man's visions, and, like them, would
be realized in dullness, obscurity, and tears. I will
look on them no more.
In three parts of the visible circle, whose centre
is this spire, I discern cultivated fields, villages,
white country-seats, the waving lines of rivulets,
little placid lakes, and here and there a rising
ground, that would fain be termed a hill. On the
fourth side is the sea, stretching away towards a
viewless boundary, blue and calm, except where the
passing anger of a shadow flits across its surface,
and is gone. Hitherward, a broad iidet penetrates
far into the land ; on the verge of the harbor,
formed by its extremity, is a town ; and over it am
I, a watchman, all-heeding and unheeding. Oh!
that the multitude of chimneys could speak, like
those of Madrid, and betray, iu smoky whispers, the
secrets of all who, since their first foundation, have
assembled at the hearths within! Oh, that the
Limping Devil of Le Sage would perch beside me
here, extend his wand over this contiguity of roofs,
uncover every chamber, and make me familiar with
their inhabitants! The most desirable mode of
existence might be that of a spiritualized Paul Pry,
hovering invisible round man and woman, witness-
ing their deeds, searching into their hearts, borrow-
ing brightness from their felicity, and shade from
their sorrow, and retaining no emotion peculiar to
himself. But none of these things are possible ; and
if I would know the interior of brick walls, or the
mystery of human bosoms, I can but guess.
Yonder is a fair street, extending north and
south. The stately mansions are placed each on its
carpet of verdant grass, and a long flight of steps
descends from every door to the pavement. Orna-
mental trees, the broad-leafed horse chestnut, the elm
so lofty and bending, the graceful but infrequent wil-
low, and others whereof I know not the names,
grow thrivingly among brick and stone. The oblique
rays of the sun are intercepted by these green citi-
zens, and by the houses, so that one side of the
street is a shaded and pleasant walk. On its whole
extent there is now but a single passenger, advanc-
ing from the upper end ; and he, unless distance,
and the medium of a pocket-spyglass do him more
than justice, is a fine young man of twenty. He
saunters slowly forward, slapping his left hand with
his folded gloves, bending his eyes upon the pave-
ment, and sometimes raising them to throw a glance
510
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
before him. Certainly, he has a pensive air. Is he
in doubt, or in debt? Is he, if the question be
allowable, in love? Does lie strive to be melan-
choly and gentlemanlike ? Or, is he merely over-
come by the heat ? But I bid him farewell, for the
present. The door of one of the houses, an aristo-
cratic edifice, with curtains of purple and gold wav-
ing from the windows, is now opened, and down
the steps come two ladies, swinging their parasols,
and lightly arrayed for a summer ramble. Both
are young, both are pretty ; but methinks the left
hand lass is the fairer of the twain ; and though she
be so serious at this moment, I could swear that
there is a treasure of gentle fun within her. They
stand talking a little while upon the steps, and
finally proceed up the street. Meantime, as their
faces are now turned from me, I may look else-
where.
Upon that wharf, and down the corresponding
street, is a busy contrast to the quiet scene which I
have just noticed. Business evidently has its centre
there, and many a man is wasting the summer after-
noon in labor and anxiety, in losing riches, or in
gaining them, when he would be wiser to flee away
to some pleasant country village, or shaded lake in
the forest, or wild and cool sea-beach. I see vessels
unlading at the wharf, and precious merchandise
strown upon the ground, abundantly as at the bottom
of the sea, that market whence no goods return, and
where there is no captain nor supercargo to render
sn account of sales. Here, the clerks are diligent
with their paper and pencils, and sailors ply the block
and tackle that hang over the hold, accompanying
their toil with cries, long drawn and roughly melo-
dious, till the bales and puncheons ascend to upper
air. At a little distance, a group of gentlemen are
assembled round the door of a warehouse. Grave
seniors be they, and I would wager — if it were safe,
in these times, to be responsible for any one — that
the least eminent among them, might vie with old
Vincentio, that incomparable trafficker of Pisa. I can
even .select the wealthiest of the company. It is the
elderly personage, in somewhat rusty black, with
powdered hair, the superfluous whiteness of which is
visible upon the cape of his coat. His twenty ships
are wafted on some of their many courses by every
breeze that blows, and his name — I will venture to
say, though I know it not — is a familiar sound
among the far separated merchants of Europe and
the Indies.
But I bestow too much of my attention in this
quarter. On looking again to the long and shady
walk, I perceive that the two fair girls have encoun-
tered the young man. After a sort of shyness in the
recognition, he turns back with them. Moreover, he
has sanctioned my taste in regard to his companions
by placing himself on the inner side of the pavement,
nearest the Venus to whom I — enacting, on a steeple-
top, the part of Paris on the top of Ida — adjudged
the golden apple.
In two streets, converging at right angles towards
my watchtower, I distinguish three different proces-
sions. One is a proud array of voluntary soldiers in
bright uniform, resembling from the height whence
I look down, the painted veterans that garrison the
windows of a toyshop. And yet, it stirs my heart;
their regular advance, their nodding plumes, the sun-
flash on their bayonets and musket-barrels, the roll
of their drums ascending past me, and the fife ever and
anon piercing through — these things have wakened
a warlike fire, peaceful though I be. Close to their
rear marches a battalion of schoolboys, ranged in
crooked and irregular platoons, shouldering sticks,
thumping a harsh and unripe clatter from an instru-
ment of tin, and ridiculously aping the intricate
manoeuvres of the foremost band. Nevertheless, as
slight differences are scarcely perceptible from a
church spire, one might be tempted to ask, ' Which
are the boys?' — or rather, ' Which the men?' But,
leaving these, let us turn to the third procession,
which, though sadder in outward show, may excite
identical reflections in the thoughtful mind. It is a
funeral. A hearse, drawn by a black and bony steed,
and covered by a dusty pall ; two or three coaches
rumbling over the stones, their drivers half asleep; a
dozen couple of careless mourners in their every-day
attire ; such was not the fashion of our fathers, when
they carried a friend to his grave. There is now no
doleful clang of the bell, to proclaim sorrow to the
town. Was the King of Terrors more awful in those
days than in our own, that wisdom and philosophy
have been able to produce this change ? Not so.
Here is a proof that he retains his proper majesty.
The military men, and the military boys, are wheeling
round the corner, and meet the funeral full in the
face. Immediately, the drum is silent, all but the tap
that regulates each simultaneous footfall. The soldiers
yield the path to the dusty hearse and unpretending
train, and the children quit their ranks, and cluster
on the sidewalks, with timorous and instinctive curi-
osity. The mourners enter the church-yard at the
base of the steeple, and pause by an open grave
among the burial-stones ; the lightning glimmers on
them as they lower down the coffin, and the thunder
rattles heavily while they throw the earth upon its
lid. Verily, the shower is near, and I tremble for
the young man and the girls, who have now disap-
peared from the long and'shady street.
How various are the situations of the people covered
by the roofs beneath me, and how diversified are the
events at this moment befalling them ! The new-
born, the aged, the dying, the strong in life, and the
recent dead, are in the chambers of these many man-
sions. The full of hope, the happy, the miserable,
and the desperate, dwell together within the circle
of my glance. In 6ome of the houses over which my
eyes roam so coldly, guilt is entering into hearts
that are still tenanted by a debased and trodden
virtue — guilt is on the very edge of commission, and
the impending deed might be averted ; guilt is done,
and the criminal wonders if it be irrevocable. There
are broad thoughts struggling in my mind, and,
were I able to give them distinctness, they would
make their way in eloquence. Lo ! the rain-drops
are descending.
The clouds, within a little time, have gathered over
all the sky, hanging heavily, as if about to drop in
one unbroken mass upon the earth. At intervals, the
lightning flashes from their brooding hearts, quivers,
disappears, and then comes the thunder, travelling
slowly after its twin-born flame. A strong wind has
sprung up, howls through the darkened streets, and
raises the dust in dense bodies, to rebel against the
approaching storm. The disbanded soldiers fly, the
funeral has already vanished like its dead, and all
people hurry homeward — all that have a home ;
while a few lounge by the corners, or trudge on des-
perately, at their leisure. In a narrow lane, which
communicates with the shady street, I discern the rich
old merchant, putting himself to the top of his speed,
lest the rain should convert his hair-powder to a paste.
Unhappy gentleman ! By the slow vehemence, and
painful moderation wherewith he journeys, it is but
too evident that Podagra has left its thrilling tender-
ness in his great toe. But yonder, at a far more
rapid pace, come three other of my acquaintance, the
two pretty girls and the young man, unseasonably
interrupted in their walk. Their footsteps are sup-
ported by the risen dust, the wind lends them its
velocity, they fly like three seabirds driven landward
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
511
by the tempestuous breeze. The ladies would not
thus rival Atalanta, if they but knew that any one
were at leisure to observe them. All! as they hasten
onward, laughing in the angry face of nature, a sud-
den catastrophe has chanced. At the corner where
the narrow lane enters into the street, they come
plump against the old merchant, whose tortoise mo-
tion lias just brought him to that point. He likes not
the sweet encounter ; the darkness of the whole air
gathers speedily upon his visage, and there is a pause
on both sides. Finally, he thrusts aside the youth
with little courtesy, seizes an arm of each of the two
girls, and plods onward, like a magician with a
prize of captive fairies. All this is easy to be under-
stood. How disconsolate the poor lover stands !
regardless of the rain that threatens an exceeding
damage to his well fashioned habiliments, till he
catches a backward glance of mirth from a bright
eye, and turns away with whatever comfort it
conve3Ts.
The old man and his daughters are safely housed,
and now the storm lets loose its fury. In every dwell-
ing I perceive the faces of the chambermaids as they
shut down the windows, excluding the impetu >us
shower, and shrinking away from the quick fiery
glare. The large drops descend with force upon the
slated roofs, and rise again in smoke. There is a
rush and roar, as of a river through the air, and
muddy streams bubble majestically along the pave-
ment, whirl their dusky foam into the kennel, and
disappear beneath iron grates. Thus did Arethusa
sink. I love not my station here aloft, in the midst
of the tumult which I aai powerless to direct or quell,
with the blue lightning wrinkling on my brow, and the
thunder muttering its first awful syllables in my ear.
I will descend. Yet let me give another glance to the
sea, where the foam breaks out in long white lines
upon a broad expanse of blackness, or boils up in far
distant points, like snowy mountain-tops in the eddies
of a flood ; and let me look once more at the green
plain, and little hills of the country, over which the
giant of the storm is riding in robes of mist, and at
the town, whose obscured and desolate streets might
beseem a city of the dead ; and turning a single mo-
ment to the sky, now gloomy as an author's prospects,
I prepare to resume my station on lower earth. But
stay! A little speck of azure has widened in the
western heavens ; the sunbeams find a passage, and
go rejoicing through the tempest; and on yonder
darkest cloud, born, like hallowed hopes, of the glory
of another world, and the trouble and teal's of this,
brightens forth the Rainbow !
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES,
Whose polished verses and playful satiric wit
are the delight of Lis contemporaries, as they will
be cherished bequests of our own day to posterity,
is a son of the author of the xVnnals, the Doctor
of Divinity at Cambridge. At that learned town
of Massachusetts, he was born August 29, 1809.
He was educated at the Phillips Academy at
Exeter, and graduated at Harvard in 1829. * He
then gave a year to the law, during which
time he was entertaining the good people of
Cambridge with various anonymous effusions of
a waggisli poetical character, in the Collegian.*
a periodical published by a number of undergra-
duates of Harvard University in 1830, in which
•John O. Sargent wrote the versatile papers in
prose and verse, signed Charles Sherry ; and the
* The Collegian. In sis numbers. Cambridge : Hilliard &
Brown.
accomplished William II. Simmons, a brilliant
rhetorician, and one of the purest readers we
have ever listened to, was " Lockfast," translating
Schiller, enthusiastic on Ossian, and snapping up
college jokes and trifles; and Robert Habersham,
under the guise of " Mr. Airy," and Theodore Wm.
Snow as " Geoffrey la Touche," brought their
quotas to the literary pic-nic. Holmes struck out
a new vein among them, just as Praed had done
in the Etonian and Knight's .Quarterly Magazine.
Of the twenty-five pieces published by him, some
half dozen have been collected in his "Poems."
The "Meeting of the Dryads," on occasion of
a Presidential thinning of the college trees ; " The
Spectre Pig" and "Evening by a Tailor," are
among them.
As a lawyer, Holmes, like most of the Ameri-
can literati who have generally begun with that
profession, was evidently falling under the poets'
censure, " penning a stanza when he should en-
gross ;" when he turned his attention to medicine,
and forswore for a time the Muses. He was,
however, guilty of some very clever anonymous
contributions to a volume, the Harbinger, mainly
written by himself, Park Benjamin, and Epes Sar-
gent, and which was published for the benefit of a
charitable institution* In 1833, the year of this
production, he visited Europe, residing chiefly at
Paris, in the prosecution of his medical studies.
After nearly three years' residence abroad, he
returned to take his medical degree at Cambridge,
in 1836, when he delivered Poetry, a Metrical
Essay, before the Harvard Phi Beta Kappa;
which he published the same year, in the first
acknowledged volume of hisPoems.t In "Poe-
try," he describes four stages of the art, the Pas-
toral, Martial, Epic, and Dramatic ; successfully
illustrating the two former by his lines on "The
Cambridge Churchyard" and "Old Ironsides,"
which last has become a national lyric, having
first been printed in the Boston Daily Advertiser
when the frigate Constitution lay at the Navy
Yard in Charlestown, and the department had
resolved upon breaking her up — a fate from which
she was preserved by the verses, which ran
through the newspapers with universal applause,
and were circulated in the city of Washington in
handbills.]:
In tills poem he introduced a descriptive pas-
sage on Spring, at once literal and poetical, in a
vein which he has since followed out with bril-
liant effect. The volume also contained "The
Last Leaf," and "My Aunt," which established
Holmes's reputation for humorous quaintness. In
his preface he offers a vindication of the extrava-
gant in literature; but it is only a dull or unthink-
ing mind which would quarrel with sucli extra-
vagances as his humor sometimes takes on, or
deny the force of his explanation that, "as ma-
terial objects in different lights repeat themselves
in shadows variously elongated, contracted, or ex-
aggerated, so our solid and sober thoughts carica-
ture themselves in fantastic shapes, inseparable
from their originals, and having a unity in their
* The Harbinger; a May Gift, dedicated to the ladies who
have so kindly afded the New England Institution for the Edu-
cation of the Blind. Boston i Carter, Hendee &■ Co., 1833.
12mo. pp. 96.
t Poems by Oliver Wendell Holmes. Boston : Otis, Broad-
ers & Co., 1836. 12mo. pp. 163.
$ Benjamin's American Monthly Magazine, January, 1S37.
512
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN" LITERATURE.
extravagance, which proves them to have retained
their proportions in certain respects, however
differing in outline from their prototypes."
In 1838 Dr. Holmes became Professor of Ana-
tomy and Physiology at Dartmouth. On his
marriage in 1840, he established himself in Bos-
ton, where he acquired the position of a fashion-
able and successful practitioner of medicine. In
18-17 he was made Parkman Professor of Ana-
tomy and Physiology, in the Medical School at
1 Harvard.
His chief professional publications are his Boyls-
ton Prize Dissertations for 1836-7, on Indigenous
Intermittent Fever in New England, Nature and
Treatment of Neuralgia, and Utility and Import-
ance of Direct Exploration in Medical Practice;
Lectures on Eomaiopathy and other Delusions
in 1841; Report on Medical Literature to the
American Association, 1848; and occasional arti-
cles in the journals, of which the most important
is " the Contagiousness of Puerperal Fever," in
the New England Journal of Medicine and Sur-
gery, April, 1843.
Dr. Holmes is celebrated for his vers d'occa-
sion, cleverly introduced with impromptu graces
(of course, entirely unpremeditated) at medical
feasts and Phi Beta Kappa Festivals, and other
social gatherings, which are pretty sure to have
some fanciful descriptions of nature, and laugh
loudly at the quackeries, both the properly pro-
fessional, and the literary and social of the day.
His Terpsichore was pronounced on one of these
opportunities, in 1843. His Stethoscope Song was
one of these effusions; his Modest Request at
Everett's inauguration at Harvard another, and
many more will be remembered.
Urania, a Rhymed Lesson, with some shrewd
hits at the absurd, and suggestions of the practical
in the social economy of the day, was delivered
before the Boston Mercantile Library Association,
in 1846. Astrea is a Phi Beta Kappa poem, pro-
nounced by the author at Yale College in 1850.
Iu 1832 Dr. Holmes delivered a course of lec-
tures on the English Poets of the Nineteenth
Century, a portion of which he subsequently
repeated in New York. The style was precise
and animated ; the illustrations, sharp and cleanly
cut. In the criticism, there was a leaning rather
to the bold and dashing bravura of Scott and
Byron, than the calm philosophical mood of
Wordsworth. Where there was any game on the
wing, when the " servile herd " of imitators
and the poetasters came in view, they were dropped
at once by a felicitous shot. Each lecture closed
with a copy of verses humorous or sentimental,
growing out of the prevalent mood of the hour's
discussion.
In look and manners, Dr. Holmes is the viva-
cious sparkling personage his poems would indi-
cate. His smile is easily invoked ; he is fond of
pun and inevitable at repartee, and his conversa-
tion runs on copiously, supplied with choice dis-
criminating words laden with the best stores of
picked fact from the whole range of science and
society ; and of ingenious reflection in a certain
vein of optimism. As a medical lecturer, his style
must be admirable, at once clear and subtle, popu-
lar and refined.
In the winter season he resides at Boston ;
latterly amusing himself with the profitable varie-
^is<a%
ty of visiting the towns and cities of the Northern
and Middle States in the delivery of lectures, of
which he has a good working stock on hand.
The anatomy of the popular lecture he under-
stands perfectly — how large a proportion of wit he
may safely associate with the least quantity of dul-
ness ; and thus ho carries pleasure and refinement
from the charmed salons of Beacon street to
towns and villages in the back districts, suddenly
opened to light and civilization by the straight
cut of the railroad. In summer, or rather in
spring, summer, and autumn, the Doctor is at his
home on the Housatonic, at Pittsfield, with acres
around him, inherited from his maternal ances-
tors, the Wendells, in whom the whole township
was once vested. In 1735, the Hon. Jacob Wen-
dell bought the township of Pontoosuc, and his
grandson now resides on the remnant of twenty-
four thousand ancestral acres.*
In remembrance of one of the ancient Indian
deeds he calls his residence Canoe Place. He has
described the river scenery of the vicinity in a
poem which has been lately printed.'!
The muse of Holmes is a foe to humbug. There
is among his poems " A professional ballad — the
Stethoscope Song," descriptive of the practices of
a young physician from Paris, who went about
knocking the wind out of old ladies, and terrify-
ing young ones, mistaking, all the while, a buzzing
fly in the instrument for a frightful array of diseases
expressed in a variety of terrible French appella-
tions. The exposure of this young man is a hint
of the author's process with the social grievances
and absurdities of the day. He clears the moral
atmosphere of the morbid literary and other pre-
tences afloat. People breathe freer for his verses.
They shake the cobwebs out of the system, and
keep up in the world that brisk healthy current
of common sense, which is to the mind what cir- .
dilation is to the body. A tincture of the Epi-
curean Philosophy is not a had corrective of
ultraism, Fourierism, transcendentalism, and
* O. W. .Holmes's remarks at the Berkshire Jubilee, August,
1844.
t The Knickerbocker Gallery.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
513
other morbidities. Dr. Holmes sees a thing
objectively in the open air, and understands what
is due to nature, and to the inevitable convention-
alisms of society. lie is a lover of the fields,
trees, and streams, and out-of-door life ; but we
question whether his muse is ever clearer in its
metaphysics than when on some convivial occa-
sion it ranges a row of happy faces, reflected in
the wax-illuminated plateau of the dining table.
OUR YANKEE GIRLS.
Let greener lands and bluer skies,
If such the wide earth shows,
"With fairer cheeks and brighter eyes,
Match us the star and rose ;
The winds that lift the Georgian's veil
Or wave Circassia's curls,
Waft to their shores the sultan's sail. —
Who buys our Yankee girls?
The gay grisette, whose fingers touch
Love's thousand chords so wed ;
The dark Italian, loving much,
But more than mm can tell ;
And England's fair-haired, blue-eyed dame.
Who binds her brow with pearls; —
Ye who have seen them, can they shame
Our own sweet Yankee girls?
And what if court and castle vaunt
Its children loftier* born? —
Who heeds the silken tassel's flaunt
Beside the golden corn ?
They ask not. for the dainty toil
Of ribboned knights and earls,
The daughters of the virgin soil,
Our freeborn Yankee girls !
By every hill whose stately pines
Wave their dark arms above
The home where some fair being shines,
To warm the wilds with love,
From barest rock to bleakest shore
Where farthest sail unfurls,
That stars and stripes are streaming o'er, —
God bless our Yankee girls!
OLD IRONSIDES.
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down !
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it, rung the battle shout,
A.nd burst the cannon's roar; —
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more!
Her deck, once red with heroes' blood
Where knelt the vanquished foe.
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee ; —
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!
O better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave ;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep.
And there should be her grave ;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms, —
The lightning and the gale!
vol. II. — 33
TETE CHURCH-YARD AT CAMBRIDGE.
Our ancient church ! its lowly tower,
Beneath the loftier spire,
Is shadowed when the sunset hour
Clothes the tall shaft in fire;
It siuks beyond the distant eye,
Long ere the glittering vane,
High wheeling in the western sky,
Has faded o'er the plain.
Like Sentinel and Nun, they keep
Their vigil on the green;
One seems to guard, and one to weep,
The dead that lie between;
And both roll out, so full and near,
Their music's mingling waves,
They shake the grass, whose pennoned spear
Leans on the narrow graces.
The stranger parts the flaunting weeds.
Whose seeds the winds have strown
So thick beneath the line he reads,
They shade the sculptured stone ;
The child unveils his clustered brow,
And ponders for a while
The graven willow's pendent bough.
Or rudest cherub's smile.
But what to them the dirge, the knell ?
These were the mourner's share ; —
The sullen clang, whose heavy swell
Throbbed through the beating air ; —
The rattling cord, — the rolling stone, —
The shelving sand that slid,
And, far beneath, with hollow tone
Rung on the coffin's lid.
The slumberer's mound grows fresh and green,
Then slowly disappears ;
The mosses creep, the gray stones lean
Earth hides his date and years;
But long before. the once-loved name
Is sunk or worn away,
No lip the silent dust may claim,
That pressed the breathing clay.
Go where the ancient pathway guides,
See where our sires laid down
Their smiling babes, their cherished brides,
The patriarchs of the town ;
Hast thou a tear for buried love ?
A sigh for transient power ?
All that a century left above,
Go, read it in an hour!
The Indian's shaft, the Briton's ball,
The sabre's thirsting edge,
The hot shell shattering in its fall,
The bayonet's rending wedge, —
Here scattered death ; yet seek the spot,
No trace thine eye can see,
No altar, — and they need it not
Who leave their children free !
Look where the turbid rain-drops stand
In many a chiselled square,
The knightly crest, the shield, the brand
Of honored names were there ; —
Alas ! for every tear is dried
Those blazoned tablets knew,
Save when the icy marble's side
Drips with the evening dew.
Or gaze upon yon pillared stone,
The empty urn of pride ;
There stand the Goblet and the Sun,—
What need of more beside ?
Where lives the memory of the dead,
Who made their tomb a toy ?
5U
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Whose ashes press that nameless bed ?
Go, ask the village boy!
Lean o'er the slender western wall,
Ye ever-roaming girls ;
The breath that bids the blossom fall
May lift your floating curls,
To sweep the simple lines that tell
An exile's date and doom ;
And sigh, for where his daughters dwell,
They wreathe the stranger's tomb.
And one amid these shades was born,
Beneath this turf who lies,
Onee beaming as the summer's mom,
That closed her gentle eyes ;—
If sinless angels love as we,
Who stood thy grave beside.
Three seraph welcomes waited thee,
The daughter, sister, bride !
I wandered to thy buried mound
When earth was hid below
The level of the glaring ground,
Choked to its gates with snow,
And when with summer's flowery wave3
The lake of verdure rolled,
As if a Sultan's white-robed slaves
Had scattered pearls and gold.
Nay, the soft pinions of the air,
That lift this trembling tone.
Its breath of love may almost bear,
To kiss thy funeral stone; —
And, now thy smiles have past away,
For all the joy they gave,
May sweetest dews and warmest ray
Lie on thine early grave !
When damps beneath, and storms above,
Have bowed these fragile towers,
Still o'er the graves yon locust-grove
Shall swing its Orient flowers ; —
And I would ask no mouldering bust,
If e'er this humble line,
Whieh breathed a sigh o'er others' dust,
Might call a tear on mine.
L'lNCONNr/E.
Is thy name Mary, maiden fair?
Such should, methinks, its music be
The sweetest name that mortals bear,
Were best befitting thee ;
And she, to whom it once was given,
Was half of earth and half of heaven.
I hear thy voice, I see thy smile,
I look upon thy folded hair ;
Ah ! while we dream not they beguile,
Our hearts are in the snare ;
And she, who chains a wild bird's wing,
Must start not if her captive sing.
So, lady, take the leaf that falls,
To all but thee unseen, unknown ;
When evening shades thy silent walls,
Then read it all alone ;
In stillness read, in darkness seal,
Forget, despise, but not reveal \
THE LAST LEAF.
I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.
They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.
But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
" They are gone."
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that lie has prest
In their bloom.
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.
My grandmamma has said, —
Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago —
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow.
But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.
I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here ;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer !
And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring, — ■
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling.
MY AF/NT.
My aunt! my dear unmarried aunt!
Long years have o'er her flown ;
Yet still she strains the aching clasp
That, binds her virgin zone ;
I know it hurts her, — though she looks
As cheerful as she can ;
Her waist is ampler than her life,
For life is but a span.
My aunt, my poor deluded aunt!
Her hair is almost gray ;
Whv will she train that winter curl
In such a spring-like way?
How can she lay her glasses down,
And say she reads as well
When, through a double convex lens,
She just makes out to spell ?
Her father, — grandpapa ! forgive
This erring lip its smiles, —
Vowed she should make the finest girl
Within a hundred miles.
He sent her to a stylish school ;
Twas in her thirteenth June ;
And with her, as the rules recpjired,
" Two towels and a spoon."
They braced my aunt against a board,
To make her straight and tall ;
They laced her up, they starved her down,
To make her light and small ;
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
515
Thej" pinched lior feet, they singed her hail-,
They screwed it up with pins ; —
0 never mortal suffered more
In penance for her sins.
So, when my precious aunt was done,
My grandsire brought tier back ;
(By daylight, lest some rabid youth
Might follow on the track ;)
"Ah !" said my grandsire, as he shook
Some powder in his pan,
" What could this lovely creature do
Against a desperate man I"
Alas! nor chariot, nor barouche,
Nor bandit cavalcade
Tore from the trembling father's arms
His all-accomplished maid.
For her how happy had it been I
And Heaven had spared to me
To see one sad, ungathcred rose
On my ancestral tree.
EVENING — BY A TAILOE.
Day hath put on his jacket, and around
His burning bosom buttoned it with stars.
Here will 1 lay me on the velvet grass,
That is like padding to earth's meagre ribs,
And hold communion with the things about me.
All me! how lovely is the golden braid,
That binds the skirt of night's descending robe !
The thin leaves, quivering on their silken threads,
Do make a music like to rustling satin,
As the light breezes smoothe their downy nap.
Ha ! what is this that rises to my touch
So like a cushion? Can it be a cabbage?
It is, it is that deeply injured flower,
Which boys do flout us with ; — but yet I love thee,
Thou giant rose, wrapped in a green surtout.
Doubtless in Eden thou didst blush as bright
As these, thy puny brethren ; and thy breath
Sweetened the fragrance of her spicy air ;
But now thou seemest like a bankrupt beau,
Stripped of his gaudy hues and essences,
And growing portly in his sober garments.
Is that a swan that rides upon the water?
0 no, it is that other gentle bird,
Which is the patron of our noble calling.
1 well remember, in my early years,
When these young hands first closed upon a goose ;
I have a scar upon my thimble finger,
Which chronicles the hour of young ambition.
My father was a tailor, and his father,
And my sire's grandsire, all of them were tailors;
They had an ancient goose, — it was an heir-loom
From some remoter tailor of our raee.
It happened I did see it on a time
When none was near, and I did deal with it,
And it did burn me, — oh, most fearfully !
It is a joy to straighten out one's limbs,
And leap elastic from the level counter,
Leaving the petty grievances of earth,
The breaking thread, the din of clashing shears,
And all the needles that do wound the spirit,
For such a pensive hour of soothing silence.
Kind Nature, shuffling in her loose undress,
Lays bare her shady bosom ; I can feel
With all around me; — I can hail the flowers
That sprig earth's mantle, — and yon quiet bird,
That rides the stream, is to me as a brother.
The vulgar know not all the hidden pockets,
Where Nature stows away her loveliness.
But this unnatural posture of the legs
Cramps my extended calves, and I must go
Where I can coil them in their wonted fashion.
ON LENDING A l'UNCII-BOWL.
This ancient silver bowl of mine — it tells of good old
times,
Of joyous days, and jolly nights, and merry Christ-
mas chimes ;
They were a free and jovial race, but honest, brave,
and true,
That dipped their ladle in the punch when this old
bowl was new.
A Spanish galleon brought the bar, — so runs the an-
cient tale;
'Twas hammered by an Antwerp smith, whose arm
was like a flail ;
And now and then between the strokes, for fear his
strength should fail,
He wiped his brow, and quaffed a cup of good old
Flemish ale.
'T was purchased by an English squire to please his
loving dame,
Who saw the cherubs, and conceived a longing for
the same ;
And oft, as on the ancient stock another twig was
found,
'Twas filled with caudle spiced and hot, and handed
smoking round.
But, changing hands, it reached at length a Puritan
divine,
Who used to follow Timothy, and take a little wine,
But hated punch and prelacy ; and so it was, per-
haps,
He went to Leyden, where he found conventicles
and sehnaps.
And then, of course, you know what's next, — it left
the Dutchman's shore
With those that in the Mayflower came, — a hundred
souls and more, —
Along with all the furniture, to fill their new
abodes, —
To judge by what is still on hand, at least a hun-
dred loads,
'Twas on a dreary winter's eve, the night was clos-
ing dim.
When old Miles Standish took the bowl, and filled it
to the brim;
The little Captain stood and stirred the posset with
his sword,
And all his sturdy men at arms were ranged about
the board.
He poured the fiery Hollands in, — the man that
never feared, —
He took a long and solemn draught, and wiped his
3'ellow beard ;
And one by one the musketeers, — the men that
fought and prayed, —
All drank as 't were their mother's milk, and not a
man afraid.
That night, affrighted from his nest, the screaming
eagle flew,
He heard the Pequot's ringing whoop, the soldier's
wild halloo;
And there the sachem learned the rule he taught to
kith and kin ;
" Run from the white man when you find he smells
of Hollands gin !"
A hundred years, and fifty more, had spread their
leaves and snows,
A thousand rubs had flattened down each little che-
rub's nose ;
When once again the bowl was filled, but not in
mirth or joy,
'T was mingled by a mother's hand to cheer her part-
ing boy.
516
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Prink, John, she said, 'twill do you good, — poor
child you '11 never bear
This -working in the dismal trench, out in the mid-
night air ;
And if, — God bless me, — you were hurt, 'twould
keep away the chill;
So John did drink, — and well he wrought that night
at Bunker's Hill!
I tell you, there was generous warmth in good old
English cheer ;
I tell you, 't was a pleasant thought to bring its sym-
bol here.
"lis but the fool that loves excess; — hast thou a
drunken soul ?
Thy bane is in thy shallow skull, not in my silver
bowl!
1 love the memory of the past, — its pressed yet fra-
grant flowers, —
The moss that clothes its broken walls, — the ivy on
its towers, —
Kay, this poor bauble it bequeathed, — my eyes grow
moist and dim,
To thick of all the vanished joys that danced around
its brim.
Then fill a fair and honest eup, and bear it straight
to me;
The goblet hallows all it holds, whate'er the liquid
be;
And may the cherubs on its face protect me from the
sin,
That dooms one to those dreadful words, — " My
dear, where have you been ? "
THE PILGEru'8 VISION.
In the hour of twilight shadows
The Puritan looked out ;
He thought of the " bloudy Salvages"
That lurked all round about,
Of Wituwamet's pictured knife
And Pecksuot's whooping shout ;
For the baby's limbs were feeble.
Though his father's arms were stout.
His home was a freezing cabin
Too bare for the hungry rat,
Its roof was thatched with ragged grass
And bald enough of that;
The hole that served for casement
Was glazed with an ancient hat ;
And the ice was gently thawing
From the log whereon he sat.
Along the dreary landscape
His eyes went to and fro,
The trees all clad in icicles,
The streams that did not flow;
A sudden thought flashed o'er him,—
A dream of long ago, —
He smote his leathern jerkin
And murmured " Even so !"
" Come hither, God-be-Glorified.
And sit upon my knee.
Behold the dream unfolding,
Whereof I spake to thee
By the winter's hearth in Leyden
And on the stormy Bea;
True is the dream's beginning, —
So may its ending be !
■ I saw in the naked forest
Our scattered remnant cast
A screen of shivering branches
Between them and the blast ;
The snow was falling round them,
The dying fell as fast ;
I looked to see them perish,
When lo, the vision passed.
" Again mine eyes were opened ; —
The feeble had waxed strong.
The babes had grown to sturdy men.
The remnant was a throng ;
By shadowed lake and winding stream
And all the shores along,
The howling demons quaked to hear
The Christian's godly song.
" They slept, — the village fathers, —
By river, lake, and shore,
When far adown the steep of Time
The vision rose once more ;
I saw alor g the winter snow
A spe. . ,al column pour.
And high above their broken ran
A tattered flag they bore.
"Their Leader rode before them,
Of bearing calm and high.
The light of Heaven's own kindling
Throned in his awful eye;
These were a Nation's champions
Her dread appeal to try ;
God for the right! I faltered,
And lo, the train passed by.
" Once more ; — the strife is ended,
The solemn issue tried,
The Lord of Hosts, his mighty arm
Has helped our Israel's side ;
Grey stone and grassy hillock
Tell where our martyrs died,
But peaceful smiles the harvest,
And stainless flows the tide.
" A crash, — as when some swollen cloud
Cracks o'er the tangled trees !
With side to side, and spar to spar,
Whose smoking decks are these?
I know Saint George's blood-red cross,
Thou Mistress of the Seas, —
But what is she, whose streaming bars
Roll out before the breeze?
" Ah, well her iron ribs are knit.
Whose thunders strive to quell
The bellowing throats, the blazing lips,
That pealed the Armada's kiiell!
The mist was cleared, — a wreath of stai-s
Rose o'er the crimsoned swell,
And, wavering from its haughty peak.
The cross of England fell!
"O trembling Faith ! though dark the morn,
A heavenly torch is thine ;
While feebler races melt away,
And paler orbs decline,
Still shall the fiery pillar's ray
Along the pathway shine,
To light the chosen tribe that sought
This Western Palestine !
" I see the living tide roll on ;
It crowns with flaming towers
The icy capes of Labrador,
The Spaniard's ' land of flowers !'
It streams beyond the splintered ridge
That parts the Northern showers ;
From eastern rock to sunset wave
The Continent is ours!"
He ceased, — the grim old Puritan, —
Then softly bent to cheer
The pilgrim-child whose wasting face
Was meekly turned to hear ;
And drew his toil-worn sleeve across.
To brush the manly tear
BRAXTZ MAYER.
517
From cheeks th.it never changed in woe,
And never blanched in fear.
The weary pilgrim slumbers,
His resting-place unknown ;
His hands were crossed, his lids were closed,
The dust was o'er him strown ;
The drifting soil, the mouldering leaf,
Along the sod were blown;
His mound has melted into earth,
His memory lives alone.
So let it live unfading.
The memory of the dead,
Long as the pale anemone
Springs where their tears were shed,
Or, raining in the summer's wind
In flakes of burning red,
The wild rose sprinkles with its leaves
The turf where once they bled !
Yea, when the frowning bulwarks
That guard this holy strand
Have sunk beneath the trampling surge
In beds of sparkling sand,
While in the waste of ocean
One hoary rock shall stand,
Be this its latest legend, —
Here was the Pilgrim's land!
EEANTZ MATER
W as born in Baltimore, Maryland. September 27,
1809. His father, Christian Mayer, was a native
of Uhn, in Wiirtemburg; his mother was a lady
of Pennsylvania He was educated at St. Mary's
College, and privately by the late Michael Powers.
He then went to India, visiting Java, Sumatra,
and China; returned in 1828; studied law,
travelled throughout Europe, and practised his
profession in America, taking a part in politics
till 1841, when he received the appointment of
Secretary of Legation at Mexico. There he
resided till 1843, when he resigned. Since that
time, he lias practised law at his native city,
edited the Baltimore American for a port on of
the time, written numerous articles for the press,
daily, monthly, and quarterly, all of which have
appeared anonymously. His acknowledged pub-
lications are observations ami speculations on
Mexico, deduced from his residence there, and
historical memoirs. His Mexico a.s it was and
as it is, was published in 1844, and his Mexico —
'Aztec, Spanish, and Republican, in two volumes
in 1851.
In 1844, he also published A Memoir, and the
Journal of Charles Carroll of Carrollum during
Jus Mission to Canada with Chase and Franklin
in 1776, in 8vo.
In 1851, he delivered the AnniversaryDisconr.se
before the Maryland Historical Society, which he
published with the title, Tah-gah-jute ; or Logan
and Captain Michael, Cresap. It is a vindica-
tion of a worthy backwoodsman and captain of
the Revolution from the imputation of cruelty
in the alleged " speech" of Logan, handed down
by Jefferson. Logan is made out a passionate
drunken savage, passing through various scenes
of personal revenge, and ending his career in a
melee induced by himself, under the idea that in
a fit of intoxication he had murdered his wife.
Colonel Cresap, on the other hand, appears not
only entirely disconnected with the attack on
Logan's family, but becomes of interest as a well
tried, courageous pioneer of the western civiliza-
tion— a type of his class, and well worthy a
chapter in the historical narrative of America.
The history of the. speech is somewhat of a curi-
osity. It was not spoken at all, but was a simple
message, communicated in an interview with a
single person, an emissary from the British camp,
by whom it was reported on his return.
"in 1854, Mr. Mayer published Captain Canot,
or Twenty Years of an African Slaver, a book
which, from its variety of adventure, and a cer-
tain story-telling faculty in its pages, may easily
be mistaken, as it has been, for a work of pure
invention. But such is not the case. Captain
Canot, whose name is slightly altered, is an actual
personage, who supplied the author with the facts
which he has woven into his exciting narrative.
The force of the book consists in its cool, matter-
of-fact account of the wild life of the Slave Trader
on the western coast of Africa ; the rationale of
whose iniquitous proceedings is unblushingly
avowed, and given with a fond and picturesque
detail usually reserved for topics for which the
civilized world has greater respect and sympathy.
As a picture of a peculiar state of life it has a
verisimilitude, united with a romantic interest
worthy the pages of De Foe.
The Maryland Historical Society, witli which
several of the literary labors of Mr. Mayer have
been identified, of which he is an active superin-
tendent, and to which he has been a liberal
benefactor, was founded on the 27th February,
1844, at a meeting called by him. It became
possessed of a valuable building, the Athensaum,
the following year, in conjunction with the Balti-
more Library Company, by a voluntary subscrip-
tion of citizens; and recently in 1854, the Library
Company having ceded its collection of books and
rights in the property to the Historical Society,
the latter is now in the enjoyment of one of the
most valuable endowments of the kind in the
country.
Tins building was erected under the direction
of the architect Robert Cary Long, a gentleman
of taste and energy in his profession, and a culti-
vator of literature. He came to New York in
1848, where he was fast establishing himself in
general estimation, when he was suddenly cut
off at the outset of what promised to be an
active career, by the cholera in July, 1849. He
was about publishing a work on architecture,
had delivered an ingenious paper before the New
York Historical Society on Aztec Architecture,
and written a series of Essays on topics growing
out of his profession, entitled Architectonics, iu
the Literary World. He was a man of active
mind, intent on the practical employment of his
talents, while his amiable qualities endeared him
to his friends in society.
On the completion of the Athenaeum; the
Inaugural Discourse was delivered by Mr. Mayer,
who took for his subject Commerce, Literature,
and Art.
The joint library now (1854) numbers about
518
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
fourteen housand volumes. The collection of
MSS., of which a catalogue has been issued, is
peculiarly valuable and well arranged. The
Maryland State MSS. are numerous, including
the " Gilmor Papers," presented to the Society
by Robert Gilmor, embracing the Early and
Revolutionary Period. The "Peabody Index,"
prepared by Henry Stevens at the expense of
George Peabody, the banker in London, is a
catalogue in eleven costly volumes of 1729 docu-
ments, in the State Paper office in London, of the
Colonial Period. The Library has also a collec-
tion of Coins and Medals, and a Gallery of Art,
which is a nucleus for the exhibitions in the city,
and which has an excellent feature in a series of
good copies of the works of the Old Masters.
LITEKAP.Y INFLUENCES IN AMERICA.*
It was remarked by Mr. Legare,— one of the
purest scholars given by America to the world — in
advising a young friend, at the outset of his life,
that, " nothing is more perilous in America than to
be too long learning, or to get the name of bookish."
Great, indeed, is the experience contained in this
short paragraph ! It is a sentence which nearly
banishes a man from the fields of wealth, for it
seems to deny the possibility of the concurrent lives
of thought and action. The " bookish" man cannot
be the "business" man! And such, indeed, has
been the prevailing tone of public sentiment for the
last thirty or forty years, since it became the paren-
tal habit to cast our children into the stream of
trade to buffet their way to fortune, as soon as they
were able either to make their labor pay, or to
relieve their parents from a part of the expense of
maintenance. Early taught that the duty of life is
incompatible with the pursuits of a student, the
young man whose school years gave promise of
renown, speedily finds himself engaged in the
mechanical pursuit of a business upon which his
bread depends, and either quits for ever the book he
loved, or steals to it in night and secrecy, as Suma
did to the tangled crypt when he wooed Fgeria!
In the old world there are two classes to which
Literature can always directly appeal, — government,
and the aristocracy. That which is elegant, enter-
taining, tasteful, remotely useful, or merely designed
for embellishment, may call successfully on men
who enjoy money and leisure, and are ever eager in
the pursuit of new pleasures. This is particularly
the case with individuals whose revenues are the
mere alluvium of wealth, — the deposit of the golden
tide flowing in with regularity, — but not with those
whose fortunes are won from the world in a struggle
of enterprise. Such men do not enjoy the refreshing
occupation of necessary labor, and consequently,
they crave the excitement of the intellect and the
senses. Out of this want, m Europe, has sprung
the Opera, — that magnificent and refined luxury of
extreme wealth — that sublime assemblage of all that
is exquisite in dress, decoration, declamation, melody,
picture, motion, art, — that marriage of music and
harmonious thought, which depends, for its perfect
success, on the rarest organ of the human frame.
The patrons of the Opera have the time and the
money to bestow as rewards for their gratification ;
and yet, I am still captious enough to be discontented
with a patronage, springing, in ;i majority of cases,
from a desire for sensual relaxation, and not offered
as a fair recompense in the barter that continually
occurs in this world between talent and money. I
* From the Discourse, " Commerce, Literature, and Art."
would level the mind of the mass up to such an
appreciative position, that, at last, it would regard
Literature and Art as wants, not as pastimes, — a9
the substantial food, and not the frail confectionery
of life.
And what is the result, in our country, of this
unprotective sentiment towards Literature ? The
answer is found in the fact that nearly all our young
men whose literary tastes and abilities force them
to use the pen, are driven to the daily press, where
they sell their minds, by retail, in paragraphs; —
where they print their crudities without sufficient
thought or correction ;• — where the iron tongue of
the engine is for ever bellowing for novelty ; — where
the daily morsel of opinion must be coined into
phrases for daily bread, — and where the idea, which
an intelligent editor should expand into a volume,
must be condensed into an aphoristic sentence.
Public speaking and talk, are also the speediest
mediums of plausible conveyance of opinion in a
Republic. The value of talk from the pulpit, the
bar, the senate, and the street corner, is inapprecia-
ble in America. There is no need of its cultivation
among us, for fluency seems to be a national gift.
From the slow dropping chat of the provoking but-
ton-holder, to the prolonged and rotund tumidities
of the stump orator — everything can be achieved
by a harangue. It is a fearful facility of speech i
Men of genius talk the results of their own experi-
ence and reflection. Men of talent talk the results
of other men's minds : and thus, in a country where
there are few habitual students, — where there are
few professed authors, — where all are mere writers,
where there is, in fact, scarcely the seedlh g germ
of a national literature, we are in danger of becom-
ing mere telegraphs of opinion, as ignorant of the
full meaning of the truths we convey as are the
senseless wires of the electric words which thrill and
sparkle through their iron veins .
It is not surprising, then, that the mass of Ameri-
can reading consists of newspapers and novels; —
that nearly all our good books are imported and re-
printed ; — that, with a capacity for research and
composition quite equal to that of England, our men
become editoi's instead of authors. No man but a
well paid parson, or a millionaire, can indulge in
the expensive delights of amateur authorship. Thus
it is that Sue is more read than Scott. Thus it is
that the intense literature of the weekly news-
papers is so prosperous, and that the laborer, who
longs to mingle cheaply the luxuries of wealth,
health, and knowdedge, purchases, on his way home-
ward, with his pay in his pocket, on Saturday night,
a lottery ticket, a Sunday newspaper, and a dose of
quack physic, so that he has the chance of winning
a fortune by Moi.day, whilst he is purifying his
body and umusiug his mind, without losing a day
from his customary toil !
In this way we trace downward from the mer-
chant and the literary man to the mechanic, the
prevailing notion in our country of necessary devo-
tion to labor as to a dreary task, without respite or
relaxation. This is the expansive illustration of Mr.
Legare's idea, that no man must get, in America,
the repute of being "bookish." And yet, what
would become of the world without these derided
" bookish" men ? — these recorders of history — these
developers of science — these philosophers — these
writers of fiction — these thousand scholars who are
continually adding by almost imperceptible contri-
butions to the knowledge and wealth of the world !
Some there are, who, in their day and generation, in-
deed appear to be utterly useless; — meu who seem to
be literary idlers, and yet, whose works tell upon the
world in the course of ages. Such was the charac-
SAMUEL TYLER.
519
ter of the occupations of Atticus, in Rome, and of
Horace Walpole, in England. Without Atticus, —
the elegant scholar, who stood aloof from the noisy
eontests of politics and cultivated letters, — we
should never have had the delicious correspondence
addressed to him by Cicero. Without the vanity,
selfishness, avarice, and dilettantism of Walpole, we
should never have enjoyed that exquisite mosaic-
work of history, wit, anecdote, character and inci-
dent, which he has left us in the letters addressed to
his various friends. Too idle for a sustained work,
too gossiping for the serious strain that would have
excluded the malice, scandal, and small talk of his
compositions, — he adopted the easy chat of familiar
epistles, and converted his correspondence into an
intellectual curiosity shop whose relics are now
becoming of inestimable value to a posterity which
is greedy for details.
No character is to be found in history that unites
in itself so many various and interesting objects as
that of the friend of Atticus. Cicero was a student,
a scholar, a devoted friend of art, and, withal, an
eminent " man of business." He was at home in the
Tusculum and the Senate. It was supposed, in his
day, that a statesman should be an accomplished
man. It was the prevailing sentiment, that polish
did not impair strength. It was believed that the
highest graces of oratory — the most effective wis-
dom of sp.'ech, — the conscientious advice of patriotic
oratory, — could only be expected from a zealous
student who had exhausted the experience of the
world without the dread of being " bookish." It
was the opinion that cultivation and business moved
hand in hand, — and that Cicero could criticise the
texture of a papyrus, the grain and chiselling of a
statue, or the art of a picture, as well as the foreign
and domestic relations of Rome. Taste, architecture,
morals, poetry, oratory, gems, rare manuscripts,
curious collections, government, popular favor, all,
in turn, engaged his attention, ami, for all, he dis-
played a remarkable aptitude. No man thought he
was less a ''business man" because he filled his
dwelling with groups of eloquent marble ; because
he bought and read the rarest books; because he
chose to mingle only witli the best and most intel-
lectual society ; because he shunned the demagogue
and never used his arts even to suppress crime!
Cicero would have been Cicero had he never been
consul. Place gave nothing to him but the chance
to save his country. It can bestow no fame; for
fame is won by the qualities that should win place ;
whilst place is too often won by the tricks that
should condemn the practice!'. It were well, both
on the score of accomplishment and of personal bio-
graphy, that our own statesmen would recollect the
history of a man whose books and orations will
endear him to a posterity which will scarcely know
that he was a ruler in Rome !
SAMUEL TYLER.
Samuel Tyleb was born 22d October, 1809, in
Prince George's County, Maryland. His Father,
Grafton Tyler, is a tobacco planter and farmer,
and resides on the plantation where Samuel was
born, and where his ancestors have dwelt for
several generations. Samuel received his early
education at a school in the neighborhood, and
subsequently at the seminary of Dr. Carnahan at
George Town, in the District of Columbia. The
Doctor, soon afterwards, was elected President of
Princeton College in New Jersey, and the Rev.
James M'Vean became his successor. The Latin
and Greek languages and their literatures were
the studies which were at once the pleasure and
the business of this instructor's life. Inspired
with his teacher's enthusiasm, the young Tyler
became a pupil worthy of his master. So fasci-
nated was he with Greek literature, that for the
last year he remained at this school he devoted
fourteen hours out of every twenty-four to the
study, until the Greek forms of expression became
: as familiar as those of his native tongue.
In 18'27 Mr. Tyler passed a short time at
Middlebury College, Vermont. Returning to
Maryland, he entered himself as a student of law
I in the office in Frederick City of John Nelson,
I since Attorney-General of the United States, and
: now a distinguished member of the Baltimore bar.
. The Frederick bar had, for many years, been dis-
tinguished for its learning and ability ; and there-
fore Frederick City was considered the best law
I school in Maryland. Cases were tried in the
I Frederick Court after the most technical rules of
practice, as much so as at any time in Westminster
Hall. The present Chief-Justice of the United
States, Mr. Taney, built up his professional charac-
ter at the Frederick bar, and stepped from it to
the first place at the bar of Baltimore city.
Mr. Tyler was admitted to the bar in 1831, and
has continued to reside, in the prosecution of his
profession, in Frederick city, as affording more
leisure for the indulgence of his literary pursuits
than a large city, where the practice of his profes-
sion would be likely to engross his whole time.
An article on "Balfour's Inquiry into the Doc-
trine of Universal Salvation," in the Princeton
Review for July, 1836, was the beginning of Mr.
Tyler's authorship. In the Princeton Review for
July, 1840, he published an article on the Ba-
conian Philosophy ; and in the same journal for
j July, 1841, an article on Leuhart the mathema-
tician. In the Princeton Review for April,
1843, Mr. Tyler published an article on Psy-
chology, followed by other papers ; in July of
the same year, on the Influence of the Baconian
Philosophy; in October, 1844, on Agricultural
Chemistry, in review of Liebig ; July, 1S45, on
the Connexion between Philosophy and Revela-
tion; July, 1840, on Bush on the Soul; and in the
number for July, 1852, an article on Humboldt's
Cosmos. Mr. Tyler is the author of the article on
Whately's Logic in the number of the American
Quarterly Review published immediately before
that journal was merged in the New York Review.
He also wrote the article on Brougham's Natural
Theology and that on Ranch's Psychology in the
Baltimore Literary and Religious Magazine, edited
by Dr. R. J. Breckinridge.
In 1844 Mr. Tyler published the first, and in
1846 the second edition of his Discourse of the
Baconian Philosophy. This work has received
the approbation of eminent thinkers and men of
science in America, and has been signalized by the
approbation of Sir William Hamilton.
In 1848 Mr. Tyler published in New York
Barns as a Poet and as a Man, of which one or
more editions have appeared in Great Britain.
A convention of delegates elected by the people
of Maryland, assembled in 1850 to frame a new
Constitution for the state. The subject of re-
forming the laws was a matter that engaged
much of the consideration of the body. Amongst
other things, it was proposed to incorporate in
520
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN UTEEATUEE.
the new constitution a provision abolishing what
is called special pleading in actions at law. This
induced Mr. Tyler to address to the convention,
of which he was not a member, a written de-
fence of the importance of retaining special plead-
ing in law procedure ; and also showing that all
law procedure should be simplified. This view
of the subject of law reform finally prevailed,
and a provision was incorporated in the new
constitution requiring the Legislature to elect
three commissioners to simplify the pleadings and
practice in all the Courts of the State. Mr. Tyler
was elected one of these commissioners. In the
division of the work amongst himself and his col-
leagues it was assigned to him to prepare the first
report, which should embrace a general discus-
sion of the subject of law reform, and also present
a simplified system of special pleading for all the
courts of law in the state. "When the report was
published, its profound discussion on the relative
merits of the Common Law and the Civil Law
won the approbation of many of the first lawyers
of the county, while the propriety of the simplifi-
cations in the system proposed has been generally
acknowledged.
GEOEGE BUTSGESS.
The author of a new poetical version of the Book
of Psalms, and Bishop of the Diocese of Maine,
was born at Providence, Rhode Island, October
31, 1809. Upon being graduated at Brown Uni-
versity in 1820, he became a tutor in that insti-
tution, and subsequently continued his studies at
the Universities of Bonn, Gottingen, and Berlin.
After entering the ministry, he was rector of
Christ Church, Hartford, from 1834 to 1847,
when he was consecrated to his present office.
In 1S40, be published The Book of Psalms,
translated into English Verse, an animated and
successful version. He is also the author of
Pages from the Ecclesiastical History of J\Tew
England; The Last Enemy, Conquering and
Conquered, two academic poems, and several
published Sermons..
PSALM 5LVII.*
0, nil ye nations, elap your hands,
And let your shouts of victory ring,
To praise the Lord of all your lands,
The broad creation's awful King.
He treads the realms beneath our feet,
He breaks the hostile armies down,
And gives and guards his chosen seat,
The home of Jacob's old renown.
God is gone up with shouting throngs ;
Before him pealed the trumpet's call !
Oh, Eing to God with lofty songs;
Sing praises to the Lord of all !
Oh, sing to God a royal strain,
To earth's high King a raptured cry!
God o'er the nations spreads his reign,
God lifts his holy seat on high.
* "For the chief musician, a P^aim of the Sons of Ko-
ran." Whether it was composed for the dedication of the
temple, or on any other festival, it is impossible to decide : but
it can hardly be read without being referred, in its highest al-
lusion, to the ascension of the Saviour.
God is gone up icith. shouting throngs. The Son of God,
returning to his heavenly throne, with all tie- pomp of a con-
queror, is welcomed by the songs and harps of heaven, and
shall soon receive the praises of all the earth.
The heirs of many a Gentile throne,
With God's and Abraham's seed adore.
The shields of earth are all his own,
Ab high as heaven his glorious soar.
ALBEET PIKE.
Albert Pike was born at Boston on the 29th of
December, 1809. When he was four years old
bis family removed to Newburyport, where his
boyhood was passed, until his matriculation at
Harvard in his sixteenth year. Not having the
requisite means of support he soon left college,
and became an assistant teacher and afterwards
principal of the Newburyport Academy. After
a few years passed in teaching in this and other
towns, during which he continued his classical
studies in private, he started in the spring of 1831
for the "West. Arriving at St. Louis, having tra-
velled over much of the intervening distance on
foot, he joined a band of forty in an expedition to
Santa Fe. He arrived at that place on the 25th of
the following November, and passed about a year
as a clerk in a store, and in travelling about with
merchandise in the country. In September, 1832,
lie left Taos with a company of trappers, visited
the head-waters of the Red river and the Brazos,
and with four others, separating from the main
party, directed his course to Arkansas, and ar-
rived at Fort Smith in November, well nigh naked
and penniless. He passed the winter in teaching
near the fort, and after attempting to establish a
school at a place in the settlements, which -was
broken up in consequence of his falling ill of a
fever, accepting the invitation of the editor of the
Arkansas' Advocate, at Little Rock, who had been
greatly pleased by some poetical communications
he had furnished to the paper, became his par:-
ner. In 1834 he succeeded to the entire proprie-
torship of the journal. In 1836 he sold out his
newspaper property and commenced the practh e
of the law, having studied and been admitted to
the profession during his editorial career. He also
published at Boston a volume containing an ac-
count in prose of his adventurous journeyings, and
a number of poems suggested by the noble scei ery
through which he had passed.
He has since published Hymns to the Gods,
written in his earlier days of school-keeping. A
number of other poems by him have also ap-
peared in several periodicals.
Mr. Pike served with distinction as a volunteer
in the Mexican war. He occupies a prominent
position as a public man in the Southwest, llo
published in 1854, Nugw, by Albert Pike, printed
for private distribution, a collection of his poems,
including the Hymns to the Gods.*
HTJLN TO CEKES.
Goddess of bounty ! at whose spring-time call,
"When on the dewy earth thy first tones fall,
Pierces the ground each young and tender blade,
And wonders at the sun ; each dull, grey glade
Is shining with new grass; from each chill hole,
"Where they had lain enchained and dull of soul,
I The birds come forth, and sing for joy to thee,
! Among the springing leaves ; and fast and free,
Griswold's Poets oi America.
ADRIAN ROUQUETTE.
)21
Tlie l-iverB toBs their chains up to the sun,
And through their grassy banks leapingly run,
When thou hast touched them ; — thou who ever art
The goddess of all beauty ; — thou whose heart
Is ever in the sunny meads and fields ;
To Whom the laughing earth looks up and yields
Her waving treasures ; — thou that in thy car
With winged dragons, when the morning star
Sheds his cold light, touchest the morning trees
Until they spread their blossoms to the breeze ; —
O, pour thy light
Of truth and joy upon our souls this night,
And grant to us all plenty and good ease I
0 thou, the goddess of the rustling corn !
Thou to whom reapers sing, and on the lawn
Pile up their baskets with the fall eared wheat;
While maidens come, with little dancing feet,
And bring thee poppies, weaving thee a crown
Of simple beauty, bending their heads down
To garland thy full baskets ; at whose side,
Among the sheaves of wheat, doth Bacchus ride
With bright, and sparkling eyes, and feet and mouth
All wine-stained from the warm and sunny south ;
Perhaps one arm about thy neck lie twines,
While in his car ye ride among the vines.
Ami with the other hand he gathers up
The rich, full grapes, and holds the glowing cup
Unto thy lips — and then he throws it by,
And crowns thee with bright leaves to shade thine
eye,
So it may gaze witli richer love and light
Upon his beaming brow : If thy swift flight
Be on some hill
Of vine-hung Thrace — 0, come, while night is still,
And greet with heaping arms our gladdened sight!
Lo ! the small stars, above the silver wave,'
Come wandering up the sky, and kindly lave
The thin clouds with their light, like floating sparks
Of diamonds in the air ; or spirit barks,
With unseen riders, wheeling in the sky.
Lo ! a soft mist of light is rising high,
Like silver shining through a tint of red.
And soon the queened moon her love wid shed,
Like pearl mist, on the earth and on the sea,
Where thou shalt cross to view our mystery.
Lo ! we have torches here for thee, and urns,
Where incense with a floating odor burns.
And altars piled with various fruits and flowers,
And e;irs of corn, gathered at early hours,
And odors fresh from India, with a heap
Of many-colored poppies: — Lo ! we keep
Our silent watch for thee, sitting before
Thy ready altars, till to our lone shore
Thy chariot wheels
Shall come, while ocean to the burden reels,
And utters to the sky a stifled roar.
FAREWELL TO NEW ENGLAND.
Farewell to thee, New England!
Farewell to thee and thine I
Good-bye to leafy Newbury,
And Rowley's hills of pine !
Farewell to thee, brave Merrimac !
Good-bye old heart of blue !
Hay I but find, returning,
That all, like thee, are true I
Farewell to thee, old Ocean !
Grey father of mad waves!
Whose surge, with constant motion,
Against the granite raves.
Farewell to thee, old Ocean !
I shall see thy face once more.
And watch thy mighty waves again,
Along my own bright shore.
Farewell the White Hill's summer-snow,
Ascutney's cone of green !
Farewell Monadnoek's regal glow,
Old Holyoke's emerald sheen !
Farewell grey hills, broad lakes, sweet dells,
Green fields, trout-peopled brooks !
Farewell the old familiar bells !
Good-bye to home and books !
Good-bye to all ! to friend and foe !
Few foes I leave behind :
I bid to all, before I go,
A long farewell, and kind.
rYoud of thee am I, noble land !
Home of the fair and brave I
Thy motto evermore should stand,
" Honor, or honor's grave !"
Whether I am on ocean tossed,
Or hunt where the wild deer run,
Still shall it be my proudest boast,
That I'm New England's son.
So, a health to thee. New England,
In a parting cup of wine !
Farewell to leafy Newbury,
And Rowley's woods of pine !
ADRIAN EOUQUETTE.
The Abbe Adrian Rouquette, an ecclesiastic of
the Roman Catholic Church, a native of Louisi-
ana, is of mingled European and American parent-
age ; his father, Dominique Rouquette, being a
Frenchman, and his mother, Louise. Cousin, a
native of Louisiana, lie was born in New Or-
leans, and received his education in France, at
the Royal College of Nantes ; studied for the bar
but relinquished it for the church, becoming at-
tached to the Catholic seminary at New Orleans,
where he officiates on stated occasions during the
week, passing the rest of his time in retirement
and study at his residence at Mandeville, in the
parish of St. Tammany, in that state. He has
cultivated poetic writing in both French and
522
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN" LITERATURE.
English, with ease and elegance, and is also the
author of some eloquent prose compositions. His
chief volume of poems, Les Savanes, Poisies Ame-
ricaines, was published at Paris and New Orleans
in 1841. It contains numerous expressions of sen-
timent and emotion of the school of Chateau-
briand, in his American writings, several of whose
themes he pursues. There are also poems of per-
sonal feeling exhibiting warmth and tenderness.
Of the American descriptive passages we may
present a Souvenir of Kentucky, written in
1838 :—
BOUVENIE DE KENTUCKY.
Kentucky, tbe bloody land !
******
Le Seigneur dit a Osi-e: " Apris cela, ncanmoins, je Fattirerai
doucement ;'t moi, je l'amenerai dans la solitude, et jc lui par-
lerai au ctEUr."
{La Bible Osee.)
Enfant, je dis un soir: Adieu, ma bonne mere !
Et je quittai gaiment sa maison et sa terre.
Enfant, dans inon exil, une lettre, un matin,
(0 Louise!) m'apprit que j'etais orphelin !
Enfant, je vis les bois du Kentucky sauvage,
Et l'homme se souvient des bois de son jeune age!
Ah! dansle Kentucky les avbres sont bien beaux :
C'est la terre de sang, aux indiens tombeaux,
Terre aux belles forets, aux seculaires chenes,
Aux bois suivis de bois, aux magnifiques scenes;
Imposant cimetiere, ou dorment en repos
Tant de rouges-tribus et taut de blanches-peaux ;
Ou l'ombre du vieux Boon, immobile genie,
Semble eeouter, la nuit, l'eternelle haiTnonie,
Le murmure eternel des immenses deserts,
Ces mille bruits confus, ces mille bruits divers,
Cet orgue des forets, cet orehestre sublime,
0 Dieu ! que seul tu fis, queseul ton souffle anime!
Quand au vaste clavier pese un seul de tes doigts,
Soudain, roulent dans l'air mille flots a la fois:
Soudain, au fond des bois, sonores basiliques,
Bourdonne un ocean de sauvages musiques ;
Et fhomme, a tous ces sons de l'orgue universel,
L'homme tombe a genoux, en regardant le eiel !
El tombe, il croit, il prie ; et, Chretien sans etude,
II retrouve, etonne, Dieu dans la solitude!
A portion of this has been vigorously rendered
by a writer in the Southern Quarterly Review*
" Here, with its Indian tombs, the Bloody Land
Spreads out : — majestic forests, secular oaks,
Woods stretching into woods; a witching realm,
Yet haunted with dread shadows ; — a vast grave,
"Where, laid together in the sleep of death,
Rest myriads of the red men and the pale.
Here, the stern forest genius, veteran Boon,
Still harbors : still he hearkens, as of yore,
To never ceasing harmonies, that blend,
At right, the murmurs of a thousand sounds,
That rise and swell capricious, change yet rise,
Borne from far wastes immense, whose mingling
strains —
The forest organ's tones, the sylvan choir —
Thy breath alone, 0 God! ean'st animate.
Making it fruitful in the matchless space !
Thy mighty fingers pressing on its keys,
How suddenly the billowy tones roll up
From the great temples of the solemn depths,
Resounding through the immensity of wood
To the grand gushing harmonies, that speak
For thee, alone, O Father. As we hear
The unanimous concert of this mighty chaunt,
We bow before thee; eyes uplift to Heaven,
* July, 1S54.
We pray thee, and believe. A Christian sense
Informs us, though untaught in Christian books
Awed into worship, as we learn to know
That thou, O God, art in the solitude!"
In 1846 the Abbe Bouquette pronounced an
animated Discourse at the Cathedral of St. Louis,
on occasion of the anniversary of the Battle of
New Orleans. In 1848 he published Wild Floic-
ers, a volume of sacred poetry, written in Eng-
lish, in which his style is restrained. It falls in
the rank of occasional verses, within the range
of topics growing out of the peculiar views of his
church, and shows a delicate sensibility in its
choice of subjects.
In 1852 a prose work appeared from his pen,
! entitled La Thsbaide en Amerique, ou Apologie
de la Vie Solitaire et Contemplative ; a species
i of tract in which the religious retreats from the
world supported by the Eoman Catholic church,
are defended by various philosophical and other
considerations, colored by the writer's sentimental
poetic view.
THE NOOK.
L'hnmble coin qu'il me faut pour prier et chanter. ■
The humble nook where I may sing and pray.
Victor Laprade.
The nook ! 0 lovely spot of land,
Where I have built my cell ;
Where, with my Muse, my only friend,
In peacefulness I dwell.
The nook ! 0 verdant seat of bliss,
My shelter from the blast
Midst deserts, smiling oasis,
Where I maj7 rest at last.
The nook ! 0 home of birds and flowers,
Where I may sing and pra}T ;
Where I may dream, in shady bowers,
So happy night and day.
The nook! 0 sacred, deep retreat,
Where crowds may ne'er intrude ;
Where men with God and angels meet
In peaceful solitude ;
0 paradise, where I have flown ;
0 woody, lovely spot,
Where I may live and die alone,
Forgetful and forgot !
TO NATT7EE, MY MOTHER.
Dear Nature is the kindest mother still. — Byron.
0 nature, powerful, smiling, calm,
To my unquiet heart,
Thy peace, distilling as a balm,
Thy mighty life impart.
0 nature, mother still the same,
So lovely mild with me,
To live in peace, unsung by fame —
Unchanged, I come to thee ;
1 come to live as saints have lived
1 fly where they have fled,
By men unholy never grieved,
In prayer my tears to shed.
Alone with thee, from cities far,
Dissolved each earthly tie,
By some divine, magnetic star,
Attracted still on high.
Oh! that my heart, inhaling love
And life with ecstasy,
From this low world to worlds above,
Could rise exultingly ?
JONES VERY.
523
Feancois Dominique Rottquette, the brother of
the preceding, is also an author. He was born
January 2, 1810, at New Orleans, educated there
under Prof. Roehefort at the Orleans college, and
pursued his classical studies at Nantes, in France.
In 1828 he returned to the United States; studied
law with Rawle, the author of the work on the
Constitution of the United States, at Philadel-
phia; but preferring the. profession of literature,
returned to France, where he published a volume
of poetry, Les Meschac b'eimes, and was en-
couraged by Beranger, Victor Hugo, Barthelemy,
and others. M. Rompiette has led the life of a
traveller or of retirement, and has prepared a
work on the Choctaw Nation, which he proposes
to publish in French and English, as he writes
with ease in both languages.
JONES VEET
Is the author of a volume of Essays and Poems
published in Boston in 1839. It contains three
articles in prose on Epic Poetry, Shakespeare, and
Hamlet, and a collection of Poems, chiefly son-
nets, which are felicitous in their union of thought
and emotion. They are expressions of the spirit-
ual life of the author, and in a certain metaphy-
sical vein and simplicity, their love of nature, and
sincerity of utterance, remind us of the medi-
tations of the philosophical and pious writers in
the old English poetry of the seventeenth cen-
tury. The subtle essay on Shakespeare illustrates
the imi lersality of his genius by a condition of the
higher Christian life.
The author of these productions is a native and
resident of Salem, Massachusetts. His father was
a sea captain, with whom he made several voy-
ages to Europe. Upon the death of this parent
lie prepared himself for college, and was a gradu-
ate of Harvard of 1836, where he became for
awhile a tutor of Greek. " While he heid this
office," says Griswold, " a religious enthusiasm
took possession of his mind, which gradually pro-
duced so great a change in him, that his friends
withdrew him from Cambridge, and he returned
to Salem, where he wrote most of the poems in the
collection of his writings."*
TO THE PAINTED COLUMBINE.
Bright image of the early years
When glowed my cheek as red as thou,
And life's dark throng of cares and fears
Were swift-winged shadows o'er my sunny brow!
Thou blushest from the painter's page.
Robed in the mimic tints of art;
But Nature's hand in youth's green age
With fairer hues first traced thee on my heart.
The morning's blush, she made it thine.
The morn's sweet breath, she gave it thee,
And in thy look, my Columbine!
Each fond-remembered spot she bade me see.
I see the hill's far-gazing head,
Where gay thou noddest in the gale;
I hear light-bounding footsteps tread
The grassy path that winds along the vale.
* Poets and Poetry of America.
I hear the voice of woodland song
Break from eaeh bush and well-known tree,
And on light pinions borne along.
Comes back the laugh from childhood's heart of glee.
O'er the dark rock the dashing brook,
With look of anger, leaps again,
And, hastening to eaeh flowery nook,
Its distant voice is heard far down the glen.
Fair child of art! thy charms decay,
Touched by the withered hand of Time ;
And hushed the music of that day,
When my voice mingled with the streamlet's chime ;
But in my heart thy cheek of bloom
Shall live when Nature's smile has fled;
And, rich with memory's sweet perfume,
Shall o'er her grave thy tribute incense shed.
There shaft thou live and wake the glee
That echoed on thy native hill ;
And when, loved flower! I think of thee,
My infant feet will seem to seek thee still.
THE WIND-FLOWEK.
Thou lookest up with meek confiding eye
Upon the clouded smile of April's face,
Unharmed though Winter stands uncertain by
Eyeing with jealous glance eaeh opening grace.
Thou tiustest wisely ! in thy faith arrayed
More glorious thou than Israel's wisest King;
Such faith was his whom men to death betrayed
As thine who hear'st the timid voice of Spring,
While other flowers still hide them from her call
Along the river's brink and meadow bare.
These will I seek beside the stony wall,
And in thy trust with childlike heart would share,
O'erjoyed that in thy early leaves I find
A lesson taught by him who loved all human kind.
TTIE NEW BIRTH.
'Tis a new life ; — thoughts move not as they did
With slow uncertain steps across rny mind,
In thronging haste fast pressing on they bid
The portals open to the viewless wind
That comes not save when in the dust is laid
The crown of pride that gilds each mortal brow,
And from before man's vision melting fade
The heavens and earth; — their walls are falling
now, —
Fast crowding on, each thought asks utterance
strong ;
Storm-lifted waves swift rushing to the shore,
On from the sea they send their shouts along,
Back through the«oave-worn rocks their thunders
roar;
And I a child of God by Christ made free
Start from death's slumbers to Eternity.
Day ! I lament that none can hymn thy praise
In fitting strains, of all thy riches bless;
Though thousands sport them in thy golden rays,
Yet none like thee their Maker's name confess.
Great fellow of my being ! woke with me
Thou dost put on thy dazzling robes of light,
And onward from the east go forth to free
Thy children from the bondage of the night;
I hail thee, pilgrim! on thy lonely way.
Whose looks on all alike benignant shine;
A child of light, like thee, I cannot stay,
But on the world I bless must soon decline,
New rising still, though setting to mankind,
And ever in the eternal West my dayspring find.
524
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
NIGHT.
I thank thee, Father, that the night is near
When I this conscious being may resign ;
Whose only task thy words of love to hear,
And in thy acts to find each act of mine ;
A task too great to give a child like me,
The myriad-banded labors of the day,
Too many for my closing eyes to see,
Thy words too frequent for my tongue to say ;
Yet when thou see'st me burtneried by thy love,
Each other gift more lovely then appears,
For dark-robed night conies hovering from above,
And all thine other gifts to me endears ;
And while within her darkened couch I sleep,
Thine eyes untired above will constant vigils keep.
THE LATTER RAIN.
The latter rain. — it falls in anxious haste
Upon the sun-dried fields and branches bare,
Loosening with searching drops the rigid waste,
As if it would each root's lost Btreugth repair ;
But not a blade grows green as in the Spring,
No swelling twig puts forth its thickening leaves;
The robins only 'mid the harvests sing
Pecking the grain that scatters from the sheaves;
The rain falls still, — the fruit all ripened drops,
It pierces chestnut burr and walnut shell,
The furrowed fields disclose the yellow crops,
Each bursting pod of talents used can tell,
And all that once received the early rain
Declare to man it was not sent in vain.
NATURE.
The bubbling brook doth leap when I come by,
Because my feet find measure with its call,
The birds know when the friend they love is nigh,
For I am known to them both great and small ;
The flower that on the lovety hill-side grows
Expects me there when Spring its bloom has given ;
And many a tree and bush my wanderings knows,
And e'en the clouds and silent stars of heaven ;
For he who with his Maker walks aright,
Shall be their lord as Adam was before ;
His ear shall catch each sound with new delight,
Each object wear the dress that then it wore ;
And he, as when erect in soul he stood,
Hear from his Father's lips that all is good.
THE PRAYER.
Wilt thou not visit me ?
The plant beside me feels thy gentle dew ;
And every blade of grass I see,
From thy deep earth its moisture drew.
Wilt thou not visit me?
Thy morning calls on me with cheering tone ;
And evei y hill and tree
Lend but one voice, the voice of Thee alone.
Come, for I need thy love,
More than the flower the dew, or grass the rain
Come gentle as thy holy dove,
And let me in thy sight rejoice to Live again.
I will not hide from them,
When thy storms come, though fierce may be their
wrath ;
But bow with leafy stem,
And strengthened follow on thy chosen path.
Yes, Thou wilt visit me ;
Nor plant nor tree thy eye delight so well,
As when from sin set free
My spirit loves with thine in peace to dwell.
MAUGAEET FELLEK OSSOIX
Maegaeet Fullee, whose native disposition,
studies, association with her contemporaries, and
remarkable fate, will secure her a permanent
place among the biographies of literary women,
was born in Cambridgeport, Mass., the 23d of
May, 1810. In a chapter of autobiography which
was found among her papers, she speaks of her
father as a working lawyer (he was also a poli-
tician and member of Congress), with the ordinary
activities of men of bis class; but of her mother
as of a delicate, sensitive, spontaneous nature.
During her early years the whole attention of
Margaret was confined to books. She was taught
the Latin and English grammar at the same time,
and began to read the former language at six years
of age. Her father set her this task-work of study,
which soon grew into a necessity. At fifteen she
describes her day's performances to a friend. She
was studying Greek, French, and Italian litera-
ture, Scottish metaphysics — we may be sure a
full share of English reading — and writing a cri-
tical journal of the whole at night. The result
of this was a forced product of the parental disci-
pline ; but it would have been no product at all
without a vigorous, generous nature. This the
pupil possessed. Her temperament, bold and con-
fident,-assimilated this compulsory education ; and
she extracted a passionate admiration for Rome
out of her Latin studies. The passage in whicli
she records this is noticeable as an illustration of
her character : —
In accordance with this discipline in heroic com-
mon sense, was the influence of those great Romans;
whose thoughts and lives were my daily food during
those plastic years. The genius of Koine displayed
itself in Character, and scarcely needed an oc-
casional wave of the torch of thought to show its
lineaments, so marble strong they gleamed in every
light. Who, that has lived with those men, but ad-
mires the plain force of fact, of thought passed into
action? They take up things with their naked
hands. There is just the man, and the block he
casts before you, — no divinity, no demon, no unful-
filled aim, but just the man and Rome, and what he
diil for Rome. Everything turns your attention to
what a man can become, not by yielding himself
freely to impressions, not by letting nature play
freely through him, but bjT a single thought, an
earliest purpose, an indomitable will, by hardihood,
self-command, and force of expression. Architecture-
was the art in which Rome excelled, and this cor-
responds with the feeling these men of Rome excite.
They did not grow, — they built themselves up, or
were built up by the fate of Rome, as a temple for
Jupiter Stator. The ruined Roman sits among the
ruins ; he flies to no green garden ; he does not look
to heaven ; if his intent is defeated, if he is less than
he meant to be, he lives no more. The names which
end in " us," seem to speak with lyric cadence. That
measured cadence, — that tramp and march, — which
are not stilted, because they indicate real force, yet
whicli seem so when compared with any other lan-
guage,— make Latin n study in itself of mighty in-
fluence. The language alone, without the literature,
would give one the thouyht of Rome. Man present
in nature, commanding nature too sternly to be in-
spired by it, standing like the rock amid the sea, or
moving like the fire over the land, either impassive
or irresistible ; knowing not the soft mediums or fine
flights of life, but by the force which he expresses,
piercing to the centre.
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.
525
We are never better understood than when we I
speak of a " Roman virtue," a " Roman outline."
There is somewhat indefinite, somewhat yet unful-
filled in the thought of Greece, of Spain, of modern
Italy; but RomeT it stands by itself, a clear Word.
The power of will, the dignity of a fixed purpose is !
what it utters. Every Roman was an Emperor. It
is well that the infallible church should have been
founded on this rock ; that the presumptuous Peter
should hold the keys, as the conquering Jove did
before his thunderbolts, to be seen of all the world.
The Apollo tends flocks with Admetus; Christ
teaches by the lonely lake, or plucks wheat as he
wanders through the fields some Sabbath morning.
They never come to this stronghold ; they could not
have breathed freely where all became stone as soon
as spoken, where divine youth found no horizon for
its all-promising glance, but every thought put on
before it dared issue to the day in action, its toffi
virilis.
Suckled by this wolf, man gains a different com-
plexion from that which is fed by the Greek honey,
lie takes a noble bronze in camps and battle-fields;
the wrinkles of councils well beseem his brow, and
the eye cuts its way like the sword Tlie Eagle
should never have been used as a symbol by any
other nation : it belonged to Rome.
The history of Rome abides in mind, of course,
more than the literature. It was degeneracy for a
Roman to use the pen ; his life was in the day. The
"vaunting" of Rome, like that of the North Ameri-
can Indians, is her proper literature. A man rises ;
he tells who he is, and what he has done ; he speaks
of his country and her brave men ; he knows that a
conquering god is there, whose agent is his own
right hand ; and he should end like the Indian, " I
have no more to say."
It never shocks us that the Roman is self-con-
scious. One wants no universal truths from him, no
philosophy, no creation, but only his life, his Roman
life felt in every pulse, realized in every gesture.
The universal heaven takes in the Roman only to
make us feel his individuality the more. The Will,
the Resolve of Man! — it has been expressed, — fully
expressed !
I steadily loved this ideal in my childhood, and
this is the cause, probably, why I have always felt
that man must know how to stand firm on the
ground, before he can fly. In vain for me are men
more, if they are les-, than Romans. Dante was far
greater than any Roman, yet I feel he was right to
take the Mantuan as his guide through hell, and to
heaven.
This education acting upon a sensitive nature
made excitement a necessity. Her school life,
described by herself in the sketch of Mariana in
her book the Summer on the Lakes, appears a
constant effort to secure activity for herself and
the notice of others by fantastic conduct. One
of her companions at Cambridge, the Rev. F. II.
Hedge, then a student of Harvard, describes her
at thirteen : "A child in years, but so precocious
in her mental and physical developments, that
she passed for eighteen or twenty. Agreeably
to this estimate, she had her place in society as a
lady full-grown." At twenty-two, led by the
review articles of Carlyle, she entered upon the
study of German literature, reading the works of
Goethe, Schiller, Tieck, Novalis, and Richter,
within the year. She was at this time fond of
society, as she always was. Her admiration of
the personal qualities of others was strong and
undisguised. In possession of power and au-
thority and self-will, in the world of books, na-
ture was not to be defeated : she was dependent
to a proportionate degree upon the sympathy of
others. In this way she became a kind of female
confessor, listening to the confidences and experi-
ences of her young friends.
In 1833 she removed with her father to Groton.
His death occurred there shortly after, in 1835,
and the following year Margaret Fuller became a
teacher in Boston of Latin and French in Mr.
Alcot's school, and had her own aesthetic classes
of young ladies in French, German, and Italian,
with whom she read portions of Schiller, Goethe,
Lessing, Tasso, Ariosto, and Dante.
In 1837 she became principal teacher in the
Greene-street school at Providence, "to teach the
elder girls her favorite branches."
These literary engagements are of less conse-
quence in her biography than her friendships — of
the story of which the memoirs published after
her death are mostly composed. She became
acquainted with Miss Martineau on her vi-it to
this country in 1835. Her intimacy with Emer-
son grew up in visits to Concord about the same
time. His notices of her conversation and spiri-
tual refinements are graphic. Her conversational
powers, in the familiarity of the congenial society
at Concord, were freely exercised. Emerson says,
"the day was never long enough to exhaust her
opulent memory ; and I, who knew her intimately
for ten years— from July, 1836, till August, 1846,
wdien she sailed for Europe — never saw her with-
out surprise at her new powers." Nor was this
charm confined to her philosophical friends: she
had the art of drawing out her humblest com-
panions. Her mind, with all its fine culture, was
essentially manly, giving a common-sense, dog-
matic tone to her remarks. It is noticeable how
large a space criticism occupies in her writings.
It is her chief province ; and criticism as ex-
hibited by her pen or words, whether anta-
gonistic or otherwise, is but another name for
sympathy.
The Providence arrangement does not appear
to have la-ted long. She soon took up her resi-
dence in Boston or its vicinity, employing herself
in 1839 in a species of lectureship or class of la-
dies— they were called Conversations — in which
German philosophy, aesthetic culture of the Fine
Arts, etc., were made the topics of instruction.
These exercises are thus described " by a very
competent witness," in Mr. Emerson's portion of
the Memoirs, in a few sentences,- which show the
spirit in which they were received by her admi-
rers : — " Margaret used to come to the conversa-
tions very well dressed, and altogether lodked
sumptuously. She began them witli an exordium,
in which she gave her leading views; and those
exordiums were excellent, from the elevation of
the tone, the ease and flow of discourse, and from
the tact with which they were kept aloof from
any excess, and from the gracefulness with which
they were brought down, at last, to a possible level
for others to follow. She made a pause, and in-
vited the others to come in. Of course, it was
not easy for every one to venture her remark,
after an eloquent discourse, and in the presence
of twenty superior women, who were all inspired.
But whatever was said, Margaret knew how to
seize the good meaning of it with hospitality, and
526
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
to make the speaker feel glad, and not sorry, that
she had spoken."
She also employed herself at this time, as after-
wards, in composition. She published in 1839 a
translation of Eckermann's Conversations with
Goethe, and in 1841 the Letters of Gunderode and
Bettine. The two first volumes of the Dial were
edited by her in 1840-11 . For this quarterly pub-
lication, supported by the writings of Emerson and
bis friends, she wrote papers on Goethe, Beetho-
ven, the Rhine and Romaic ballads, and the poems
of Sterling. The Dial made a reputation for itself
and its conductors; but they might have starved
on its products. Emerson tells us that " as editor
she received a compensation which was intended
to be two hundred dollars per annum, but which,
I fear, never reached even that amount."
In 1843 she travelled to the West, to Lake Su-
perior and Michigan, and published an account
of tiie journey, full of subtle reflection, and with
some studies of the Indian character, in the book
entitled Summer on the Lakes.
In 1844 Margaret Fuller came to New York,
induced by an offer of well paid, regular employ-
ment upon the Tribune newspaper. She resided
in the family of Mr. Greeley, in a picturesquely
situated house on the East river, one of the last
footholds of the old rural beauties of the island
falling before the rapid mercantile encroachments
of the city. Here she wrote a series of somewhat
sketchy but always forcible criticisms on the
higher literature of the day, a complete collection
of which would add to her reputation. A portion
of them were included in the volume from her
pen, Papers on Literature and Art, published in
New York in 1846. Her work entitled Woman
■in the Nineteenth Century was published at this
time from the Tribune office.
In the spring of 1846 she accompanied her
friends, Mr. Marcus Spring of Brooklyn, New
York, and his wife to Europe. Her contributions
to the Tribune were continued in letters from
England and the Continent. She saw the chief
literary celebrities, Wordsworth, De Quincey,
Chalmers, and Carlyle. At Paris she became in-
timate with George Sand. At Rome she took
part in the hopes and revolutionary movements
of Mazzini, and when the revolution broke out
was appointed by the Roman commissioner for
the service of the wounded, during the siege by
the French troops, to the charge of the hospital
of the Fate-Bene Fratelli. In a letter to Emerson
dated June, 1849, she describes her visits to. the
sick and wounded, and her walks with the con-
valescents in the beautiful gardens of the Pope's
palace on the Quirinal : — "The gardener plays
off all his water-works for the defenders of the
country, and gathers flowers for me, their friend."
At this time she acquainted her mother with her
marriage.
Shortly after her arrival at Rome, in 1847, she
had been separated on the evening of Holy Thurs-
day from her companions at vespers in St. Peter's.
A stranger, an Italian, seeingher perplexity, offered
his assistance. This was the son of the Marquis
Ossoli. The acquaintance was continued, and
Ossoli offered his hand. He was at first refused,
but afterwards they were married in December,
after the death of his father. The marriage was
for a while kept secret, on the ground that the
avowal of his union with a person well known as
a liberal would render him liable to exile by the
government, while he might, by secresy, be ready
to avail himself of employment under the new
administration then looked forward to. Septem-
ber 5, 1848, their child, Angelo, was born at Rieti
among the mountains.
The fortunes of the revolution being now broken
by the occupation of1 the French, Ossoli with Ins
wife and child left Rome on their way to Ame-
rica. They pas.-ed some time in Florence, and
on the 17th May, 1850, embarked from Leghorn
in the ship Elizabeth, bound for New York. The
captain fell ill of small-pox, and died the 3d of
June, off Gibraltar. On the 9th they set sail
again ; the child sickened of the disease and re-
covered ; on the loth of July the vessel \va« off
the Jersey coast, and the passengers made their
preparations for arriving in port the next day.
That night the wind increased to a gale of great
violence. The ship was driven past Rockaway
to the beach of Fire Island, where, early on the
morning of the 16th, she struck upon the sand.
The bow was elevated and the passengers took
refuge in the forecastle, the sea sweeping over the
vessel. Some of the passengers were saved by
floating ashore on a plank. One of them, Horace
Sumner of Boston, perished in the attempt. It
was proposed to Margaret to make the trial. She
would not be separated from her husband and
child, but would wait for the life-boat. It never
came. The forecastle became filled with water.
The small party left went on the deck by the fore-
mast. A sea struck the quarter. The vessel was
entirely broken up. The dead body of the child
floated to the shore ; the husband and wife were
lost in the sea. This happened at nine o'clock in
the morning, in mid-summer of the year, and at
a place the usual resort at that time of pleasure-
loving citizens. As if to enhance the sudden con-
trast of life and death the disaster took place within
full sight of the people on the shore. The simple
expedient of passing a rope to the land, attached
to a barrel, at the proper time, might, one of the
most experienced of those present told us, have
MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI.
527
saved every life : but the captain wag not
there.
It was known that Madame Ossoli had with her
the manuscript of a History of the Revolution in
Italy, which her study of the people, her know-
ledge of the leaders, her love of freedom, and par-
ticipation in the struggle, well qualified her to
write. Diligent search was made for it among the
property which came ashore from the wreck, but
it could not be found. The waves had closed over
that too — which might long have survived the
longest term of life.
So perished this intellectual, sympathetic, kind,
generous, noble-hearted woman.
The materials for the study of her life are am-
ple in the jointly prepared Memoirs by her friends,
the Rev. James Freeman Clarke, the Rev. F. H.
Hedge, the Rev. W. H. Charming, and Ralph
Waldo Emerson. These able writers have taken
separate portions of her career, with which they
have been particularly acquainted, for illustration,
and the result is a biography preservative of far
more than is usually kept for posterity of the
peculiar moods and humors of so individual a
life.
A DIALOGUE.
Poet. Approach me not, man of cold, steadfast
eye and compressed lips. At thy coining nature
shrouds herself in dull mist; fain would she hide tier
sighs and smiles, her buds and fruits even in a veil
of snow. For thy unkindly breath, as it pierces her
myster3T, destroys its creative power. The birds
draw back into their nests, the sunset hues into their
clouds, when you are seen in the distance with your
tablets all ready to write them into prose.
Critic. 0 my brother, my benefactor, do not thus
repel me. " Interpret me rather to our common
mother; let her not avert her eyes from a younger
child. I know I can never be dear to her as thou
art, yet I a*u her child, nor would the fated revolu-
tions of existence be fulfilled without my aid.
Poei'. How meanest thou ? What have thy
measurene »ts. thy artificial divisions and classifica-
tions, to do with the natural revolutions? In all
real growths there is a "give and take" of unerring
accuracy; in all the aits of thy life there is falsity,
for all are negative. Why do you not receive and
produce in your kind, like the sunbeam and the
rose ? Then new light would be brought out, were it
but the life of a weed, to bear witness to the health-
ful beatings of the divine heart. But this perpetual
analysis, comparison, and classification, never add
one atom to the sum of existence.
Ciutic. I understand you.
Poet. Yes. that is always the way. You under-
stand me, who never have the arrogance to pretend
that I understand myself.
Carrie. Why should you? — that is my province.
I am the rock which gives you back the echo. lam
the tuning-key, which harmonizes your instrument,
the regulator to your watch. Who would speak, if
no ear heard? nay, if no mind knew what the ear
heard ?
Poet. I do not wish to be heard in thought but
in love, to be recognise 1 in judgment but in life. I
would pour forth my melodies to the rejoicing winds.
I would scatter my seed to the tender earth. I do
not wish to hear in prose the meaning of my melody.
I do not wish to see my seed neatly put awny be-
neath a paper label. Answer in new pieans to the
soul of our souls. Wake me to sweeter childhood
by a fresher growth. At present you are but an ex-
crescence produced by my life ; depart, self-con-
scious Egotist, I know you not.
Critic. Dost thou so adore Nature, and yet deny
me ? Is not Art the child of Nature, Civilization of
Man? As Religion into Philosophy, Poetry into
Criticism, Life into Science, Love into Law, so did
thy lyric in natural order transmute itself into my
review.
Poet. Review ! Science I the very etymology
speaks. What is gained by looking again at what
has already been seen? What by giving a technical
classification to what is already assimilated with the
mental life?
Critic. What is gained by living at all ?
Poet. Beauty loving itself, — Happiness!
Critic. Does not this involve consciousness?
Poet. Yes! consciousness of Truth manifested in
the individual form.
Critic. Since consciousness is tolerated, how will
you limit it ?
Poet. By the instincts of my nature, which re-
jects yours as arrogant and superfluous.
Critic. And the dictate of my nature compels
me to the processes which you despise, as essential
to my peace. My brother (for I will not be re-
jected), I claim my place in the order of nature.
The Word descended and became flesh for two pur-
poses, to organize itself, and to take cognizance of its
organization. When the first Poet worked alone, he
paused between the cantos to proclaim, " It is very
good." Dividing himself among men, he made some
to create, and others to proclaim the merits of what
is created.
Poet. Well ! if you were content witli saying,
" it is very good ;" but you are always crying, " it
is very bad," or iguorantly prescribing how it
might be better. What do you know of it? What-
ever is good could not be otherwise than it is. AVhy
will you not take what suits you, and leave the
rest? True communion of thought is worship, not
criticism. Spirit will not flow through the sluices
nor endure the locks of canals.
Critic. There is perpetual need of protestantism
in every church, if the church be catholic, yet the
priest is not infallible. Like yourself, I sigh for a
perfectly natural state, in which the only criticism
shall be tacit rejection, even as Venus glides not into
the orbit of Jupiter, nor do the fishes seek to dwell
in fire. But as you soar towards this as a Maker,
so do I toil towards the same aim as a Seeker. Your
pinions will not upbear you towards it in steady
flight. I must often stop to cut away the brambles
from my path. The law of iny being is on me, and
the ideal standard seeking to be realized in my
mind bids me demand perfection from all I see.
To say how far each object answers this demand is
my criticism.
Poet. If one object does not satisfy you, pass on
to another, and say nothing.
Critic. It is not so that it would be well with
me. I must penetrate the secret of my wishes, ve-
rify the justice of my reasonings. I must examine,
compare, sift, and winnow ; what can bear this or-
deal remains to me as pure gold. I cannot pass on
till I know what I feel and why. An object that
defies my utmost rigor of scrutiny is a new step ou
the stair I am making to the Olympian tables.
Poet. I think you will not know the gods when
you get there, if I may judge from the cold pre-
sumption I feel in your version of the great facts of
literature.
Critic. Statement of a part always looks like ig-
norance, when compared with the whole, yet may
promise the whole. Consider that a part implies
I the whole, as the everlasting No the everlasting
32S
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Yes, and permit to exist the shadow of your light,
the register of your inspiration.
As he spake the word he paused, for with it his
companion vanished, and left floating on the cloud
a starry banner -with the inscription " Afflatur
Numine." The Critic unfolded one on whose flag-
staff he had beenleaning. Its heavy folds of pearly
gray satin slowly unfolding, gave to view the word
iVoriTiA, and Causarum would have followed, when
a sudden breeze from the west caught it, those heavy
folds fell back round the poor man, and stifled him
probably, — at least he has never since been heard
of.
JAMES H. PERKINS.
James Haxdasyd Perkixs, a writer of an acute
mind and versatile powers, was born in Boston
July 81, 1810. His parents were Samuel G. Per-
kins ami Barbara Higginson. He was educated by
Mr. S. P. Miles, afterwards a tutor of mathema-
tics at Harvard, and at the Phillips Academy at
Exeter, and the Round Hill school at Northamp-
ton. He wrote clever tales and verses at this pe-
riod, humorous and sentimental.
At the age of eighteen he entered the counting-
house of his uncle, Mr. Thomas H. Perkins, who
was engaged in the Canton trade. He remained
faithful to the discharge of the routine duties of
this occupation for more than two years. The
necessities of a poetic and naturally despondent
nature, however, grew upon him, and demanded
other employment for his faculties. In the winter
of 1830 he found relief in a business tour to Eng-
land and thence to the "West Indies, of which his
faithful friend and biographer, Mr. William Henry
Channing. has preserved some interesting memo-
rials. His letters on the journey are spirited and
abounding with character ; thoughtful on serious
points and amusing in the lighter.
Returning home in the summer of 1831, he
abandoned mercantile life and sought a home in
the West. He took up his residence at Cincinnati,
and devoted his attention to the study of the law
with his friend the Hon. Timothy Walker. He
studied laboriously and conscientiously; but the
toil was too severe in the practice of the profession
for an infirm constitution, and a scrupulous con-
science was still more in the way. His pen of-
fered the next field, and he laid on the shifting
foundation of the magazines and newspapers some
of the corner-stones of the " Literature of the
"West." He conducted the Western Monthly Ma-
gazine, and edited the Evening Chronicle, a
weekly paper which he purchased in the winter
of lS3o, and united with the Cincinnati Mirror
then published by Mr. William D. Gallagher and
Mr. Thomas H. Shreve, who has been since pro-
minently associated with the Louisville Gazette.
The last mentioned gentleman remarks of his
friend's powers, " Had Mr. Perkins devoted him-
self to humorous literature he would have stood
at the head of American writers in that line.''*
His fancy was fresh and original; and his descrip-
tive talent, as exhibited in Mr.'Channing's collec-
tion of his writings, a pleasurable and ready
faculty.
Literature, however meritorious, was hardly,
under the circumstances, a sufficient reliance.
Mr. Perkins was now a married man in need of a
* Chanmng's Memoir and Writings of Perkins, i. 91.
settled support, when the failure of his publisher
induced him to engage in rural life. Failing in
the scheme of a plantation on the Ohio he took a
few acres near Cincinnati with the view of raising
a nursery of fruit trees. To acquire information
in this new line, and make arrangements for the
publication of two books which he meditated on
the "Constitutional Opinions of Judge Marshall,"
and " Reminiscences of the St. Domingo Insurrec-
tion," or which his father had been an eye-wit-
ness, he paid a visit to New England. Neither
of his plans was carried out; but a new and ho-
norable career was found for him on bis return to
C.ncinnati in the performance of the duty of Mi-
nister at Large, amission of benevolence to which
he devoted the remainder of his life. He brought
his characteristic fervor to the work, and gave a
practical direction to the charities of the city ; alms-
giving, in his view, being but subordinate to the
elevation of the poor in the self-respect ami re-
wards of labor. He also identified himself with
the cause of prison discipline and reform, and
gave much attention to education. He was a ge-
nerous supporter of the Mercantile Library Asso-
ciation of Cincinnati. He was the first President
of the Cincinnati Historical Society in 1844, and
was afterwards Yice-President of the Ohio Histo-
rical Society ; his fondness for the latter pursuits
being liberally witnessed by his publication, The
Annals of ike West, and his subsequent series of
historical sketches of that region in the North
American Review from 1839 to 1847, character-
ized by their research and excellent descriptive
style.*
In the latter part of his fife, Mr. Perkins inte-
rested himself in a plan of Christian Union, to
which lie was led by his quick sensitive mind.
His death, December 14, 1849, was under me-
lancholy circumstances. He had been thrown,
during the day, into a state of nervous agitation
by the supposed loss of his children, who had
failed to return home at a time appointed, and in
the evening he proposed a walk to recover his
spirits. He took his course to a ferry-boat on the
river, and in a stute of depression threw himself
into the stream and was drowned.
Thus closed the career of a man of subtle pow-
1 era, keen and delicate perceptions, of honorable
'. attainments in literature, and of philanthropic use-
fulness in the business affairs of society.
From the few verses preserved in the interest-
ing memoirs by Mr. Channing, who has traced
his career witli an unaffected admiration of his
virtues, and with the warmth of personal friend-
ship, we select two passages which exhibit some-
thing of the nature of the man.
POYEBTY AND KNOWLEDGE.
All, dearest, we are young and strong,
With ready heart and ready will
To tread the world's blight paths along;
But poverty is stronger still.
*The articles are, Fifty Tears of Ohio, July, 1S33: Early
French Travellers in the West, January. 1S39 ; "English Disco*-
veries in the Ohio Valley. July, 1S89 ; The Border War of the
Revolution, October, 1S39 ; The Pioneers of Kentucky. Jann-
ary, 1846 ; Settlement of the North-Western Territory, Octo-
ber, 1S47. He also wrote for the North American Review of
January, 1S50, an article on Australia; and for the New York
Review, July, 1S39, an article on The French Revolution.
BENSON J. LOSSING.
529
Tet, ray dear wife, there is a might
That may bid poverty defiance, —
The might of knowledge ; from this night
Let us on her put our reliance.
Armed with her sceptre, to an hour
"We may condense whole years and ages ;
Bid the departed, by her power,
Arise, and talk with seers and sages.
Her word, to teach us, may bid stop
The noonday sun ; yea, she is able
To make an ocean of a drop,
Or spread a kingdom on our table.
In her great name we need but call
Scott, Schiller, Shakspeare, and, behold'
The suffering Mary smiles on all,
And Folstuff riots as of old.
Then, wherefore should we leave this hearth,
Our books, and all our pleasant labors,
If we can have the whole round earth,
And still retain our home and neighbours E
"Why wish to roam in other lands?
Or mourn that poverty hath bound us ?
"We have our hearts, our heads, our hands,
Enough to live on, — friends around us, —
And, more than all, have hope and love.
Ah, dearest, while those last, be sure
That, if there be a God above,
We are not and cannot be poor !
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG CHILD.
Stand back, uncovered stand, for lo I
The parents who have lost their child
Bow to the majesty of woe I
He came, a herald from above, —
Pure from his God he came to them,
Teaching new duties, deeper love ;
And, like the boy of Bethlehem,
He grew in stature and in grace.
From the sweet spirit of his face
They learned a new, more heavenly joy,
And were the better for their boy.
But God hath taken whom he gave,
Recalled the messenger he sent!
And now beside the infant's grave
The spirit of the strong is bent.
But though the tears must flow, the heart
Ache with a vacant, strange distress, —
Ye did not from your infant part
When his clear eye grew meaningless,
That eye is beaming still, and still
Upon his Father's errand lie,
Your own dear, bright, unearthly boy,
"Worketh the kind, mysterious will,
And from this fount of bitter grief
Will bring a stream of joy ; —
0, may this be your faith and your relief !
Then will the world be full of him ; the sky,
With all its placid myriads, to your eye
Will tell of him; the wind will breathe his tone;
And slumbering in the midnight, they alone,
Your father and your child, will hover nigh.
Believe in him, behold him everywhere,
And sin will die within you, — earthly care
Fall to its earth, — and heavenward, side by side,
Ye shall go up beyond this realm of storms,
Quick and more quick, till, welcomed there abovs,
His voice shall bid you, in the might of love,
Lay down these weeds of earth, and wear your na-
tive forms.
vol. II. — 34
BENSON J. LOSSING.
Benson J. Lossing, the son of a farmer, was
born in the town of Beekman, Dutchess County,
N. Y. His paternal ancestors came from Hol-
land in 1670, and were the first settlers in the
county. His maternal ancestors were among the
early English settlers on Long Island, who came
from Massachusetts Bay and intermarried with
the Dutch at New Amsterdam, now New York.
At a common district school Mr. Lossing
received a meagre portion of the elementary
branches of an English education. After the
death of his mother, young Lossing, after pass-
ing a short time on a farm, in the autumn
of 1826, was apprenticed to a watchmaker in
Poughkeepsie, the county town of his native
place. So satisfactory had his conduct been dur-
ing this period, that before the expiration of his
apprenticeship his employer made him an offer of
partnership in his business, which was accepted.
Meantime, he devoted every moment of leisure to
study, although opportunities as yet for obtaining
books were extremely limited. His business con-
nexion proving unsuccessful he relinquished it,
after an experiment of upwards of two years ; and
in the autumn of 1835, he became joint owner and
editor of the Poughkeepsie Telegraph, the leading
weekly paper of the county. The co-partnership
of Killey and Lossing continued for six years.
In January, 1836, was commenced the publica-
tion of a small semi-monthly paper entirely de-
voted to literature, entitled The Poughlxepsie
Casket, which was solely edited by Mr. Los:ing.
The Casket was a great favorite throughout
Dutchess and the neighboring counties, and gave
evident token of the correct taste and sound judg-
ment of its youthful editor. Having, moreover, a
taste for art, and being desirous of illustrating his
little periodical, Mr. Lossing placed himself under
the tuition of J. A. Adams, the eminent wood-
engraver in the city of New York, pleased with the
practical application of engraving to his editorial
business. The same autumn he went to New
York to seek improvement in the use of the pen-
cil by drawing in the Academy of Design.
About this time, Mr. Lossing was called upon
to undertake the editorship of the Family Maga-
zine, which work he also illustrated in a superior
manner. He now became, permanently settled in
New York as an engraver, but continued his busi-
ness connexion in Poughkeepsie until the autumn
of 1841. While engaged throughout the day in
his increasing engraving business, he performed
his editorial labors at night and early in the
morning, and at the same period, during the win-
ter of 1840-11, wrote a valuable little volume
entitled An Outline History of the Fine Arts,
which was published as No. 103 of Harpers' Fa-
mily Library. In the autumn of 1846, he wrote
a book entitled Seventeen Hundred and Seventy-
Six, consisting of upwards of five hundred pages
530
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
royal octavo, and illustrated by seventy engrav-
ings; and shortly after, produced three biogra-
phical and historical pamphlets of upwards of one
hundred pages each ; together with the Lives of
the Signers of the Declaration of Independence,
a duodecimo volume of over four hundred pages.
This, and the subsequent J'ear, lie also edited a
small paper entitled The Young Peoples Mirror,
published by Edward Walker, which met with a
ready reception from that class of the commu-
nity.
In June, 1848, Mr. Los-ing conceived the idea
and plan of the Pictorial Field Book of the Revo-
lution. He denned the size of the proposed pages ;
drew some rough sketches in sepia as indications
of the manner in which he intended to introduce
the illustrations, and with a general description
of the plan of his work, submitted it to the con-
sideration of the Messrs. Harper and Brothers.
Four days afterwards they had concluded a bar-
gain with him, involving an expenditure of much
labor and many thousands of dollars ; and some-
thing within a month afterwards Mr. Lossingwas
on his way to the battle-fields and other localities of
interest connected with the war for Independence.
In the collection of Ids materials, he travelled up-
wards of nine thousand miles, not in a continuous
journey from place to place, but a series of jour-
neys, undertaken whenever he could leave his re-
gular business, the supervision of which he never
omitted. Although the Field Book was upwards
of four years in hand, yet the aggregate time oc-
cupied in travelling, making sketches and notes,
drawing a large portion of the pictures on the
blocks for engraving, and writing the work, was
only about twenty months. The work was pub-
lished in thirty numbers, the first issued on the
first of June, 1850; the last in December, 1852.
It was just beginning to be widely and generally
known, and was enjoying a rapidly increasing
sale, when the great conflagration of the Harpers'
establishment in 1853 destroyed the whole re-
mainder of the edition. It was out of print for a
year, but anew and revised edition- was put to
press in March, 1855.
During portions of 185?-54, Mr. Lossing devot-
ed much time to the preparation of an Illustrated
History of the United States for schools and fami-
lies; and early in 1855 completed a work of four
hundred pages which he entitled Our Country-
men, containing numerous brief sketches with
portraits on wood of remarkable persons eminent
by their connexion, with the histoiy of the Unit-
ed States.
During the last three years, Mr. Lossing has been
engaged in collecting materials for an elaborate
illustrated history of the war of 1812, and also a
history of the French Empire in America ; each
to be uniform in size of page and style with his
Field Book. He has also formed an association with
Mr. Lyman C. Draper, well known throughout the
west as an indefatigable collector of traditions,
manuscripts, journals, letters, &c, relating to the
history and biography of the settlements and set-
tlers beyond the Alleganies, for the purpose of
producing a series of volumes commencing with
the life of Daniel Boone.
Mr. Lossing has also contributed many valuable
papers to various publications of the day, especial-
ly to Harpers' Magazine, in a series of American
biographical articles in which his pen and pencil ,
are equally employed.
ASN 8. STEPHENS.
Mrs. Stephens is a native of Connecticut. She
married at an early age and removed to Portland,
Maine, where she commenced and continued for
some time, the Portland Magazine. In 1836 she
edited the Portland Sketch Book, a collection of
Miscellanies by the writers of the state. She
afterwards removed with her husband to New
York, where she has since resided.
A tale from her pen, Mary Derwent, won a
prize of four hundred dollars offered by one of the
periodicals, and its publication brought the author
prominently forward as a popular writer for the
magazines, to which she has contributed a large
number of tales, sketches, and poems. Her last
and most elaborate work is the novel of Fashion
and Famine, a story of the contrasts of city life.
It is of the intense school, and contains many
scenes of questionable taste and probability, with
much that is excellent in description and the
delineation of character. One of the best drawn
personages of the book is a well to do and kindly
huckster woman of Fulton Market. The scenes
about her stall, and at the farm whose abundance
constantly replenishes her stock, are in a pleasant
vein. The chief interest of the plot centres on a
trial for murder, and the scenes connected with it
are written with energy and effect. "We present
the introduction of the Strawberry Girl to the
market-woman in the opening scene of the book.
THE STEAWBEEBY GIEL.
Like wild flowers on the mountain side,
Goodness may be of any soil;
Tet intellect, in all its pride,
And energy, with pain and toil,
Eath never wrought a holier thing
Than Charity in humble birth.
God's brightest angel stoops his wing,
To meet so much of Heaven on earth.
The morning had r.ot full}' dawned on Xew York,
yet its approach was visible everywhere amid the
fine scenery around the city. The dim shadows
piled above YVeehawken were warming up with
purple, streaked here nnd therewith threads of rosy
gold. The waters of the Hudson heaved and rippled
to the glow of yellow and crimson light, that came
and went in flashes on each idle curl of the waves.
Long Island lay in the near distance like a thick,
purplish cloud," through which the dim outline of
house, tree, mast and spire loomed mistil}% like half-
formed objects on a camera obscura.
Silence — that strange, dead silence that broods
over a scene crowded with slumberirglife — lay upon
the city, broken only by the rumble of vegetable
carts and the jar of milk-cans, as they rolled up from
the different ferries ; or the half-smothered roar of
some steamboat putting into its dock, freighted with
sleeping passengers.
After a little, symptoms of aroused life became
visible about the wharves. Grocers, carmen, and
huckster-women began to swarm around the pro-
vision boats. The markets nearest the water were
opened, and soon became theatres of active bustle.
The first market opened that day was in Fulton
RALPH HOYT.
531
street. As tlie morning deepened, piles of vegetables,
loads of beef, hampers of fruit, heaps of luscious
butter, cnges of poultry, canary birds swarming in
their wiry prisons, forests of green-house plants,
horse-radish grinders with their reeking machines,
venders of hot coffee, root beer and dough nuts, all
with men, women, and childrens warming in, over,
and among them, like so many ants, hard at work,
filled the spacious arena, but late a range of silent,
naked, and gloomy looking stalls. Then carts, laden
and groaning beneath a weight of food, came rolling
up to this great mart, crowding each avenue with
fresh supplies. All was life and eagerness. Stout
men and bright-faced women moved through the
verdant chaos, arranging, working, chatting, all full
of life and enterprise, while the rattling of carts out-
side, and the gradual accumulation of sounds every-
where, bespoke a great city aroused, like a giant
refreshed, from slumber.
Slowly there arose out of this cheerful confusion,
forms of homely beauty, that an artist or a thinking
man might have loved to look upon. The butchers'
stalls, but late a desolate range of gloomy beams,
were reddening with fresh joints, many of them
festooned with fragrant branches and gorgeous
garden flowers. The butchers standing, each by his
stall, with snow-white apron, and an eager, joyous
look of traffic on his face, formed a display of comfort
and plenty, both picturesque and pleasant to con-
template.
The fruit and vegetable stands were now loaded
■with d m), green vegetables, each humble root hav-
ing its own peculiar tint, often arranged with a sin-
gular taste for color, unconsciously possessed by the
woman who exercised no little skill in setting off her
6tand to advantage.
There was one vegetable stand to which we would
draw the reader's particular attention ; not exactly
as a type of the others, for there was something so
unlike all the rest, both in this stall and its occupant,
that it would have drawn the attention of any per-
son possessed of the slightest artistical taste. It was
like the arrangement of a picture, that long table
heaped with fruit, the freshest vegetables, and the
brightest flowers, ready for the day's traffic. Rich
scarlet radishes glowing up through their foliage of
tender green, were contrasted with young onions
swelling out from their long emerald stalks, snowy
arid transparent as so many gi-eat pearls. Turnips,
scarcely larger than a hen's egg, and nearly as while,
just taken fresh and fragrant from the soil, lay
against heads of lettuce, tinged with crisp and green-
ish gold, piled against the deep blackish green of
spinach and water-cresses, all moist with dew, or wet
with bright water-drops that hail supplied its place,
and taking a deeper tint from the golden contrast.
These with the red glow of strawberries in their
luscious prime, piled together in masses, and shaded
with fresh grape leaves ; bouquets of roses, hya-
cinths, violets, and other fragrant blossoms, lent their
perfume and the glow of their rich colors to the
coarser children of the soil, and would have been an
object pleasant to look upon, independent of the fine
old woman who sat complacently on her little stool,
at one end of the table, in tranquil expectation of
customers that were sure to drop in as the morning
deepened.
And now the traffic of the day commenced in J
earnest. Servants,housekeepers, and grocers, swarmed
into the market. The clink of money — the sound of |
sharp, eager banter — -the dull noise of the butcher's |
cleaver, were heard on every hand. It was a plea-
sant scene, for every face looked smiling and happy.
The soft morning air seemed to have brightened all
things into cheerfulness,
With the earliest group that entered Fulton market
that morning was a girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen
years old, but tiny in her form, and appearing far
more juvenile than that. A pretty quilted hood, of
rose-colored calico, was turned back from her face,
which seemed naturally delicate and pale ; but the
fresh air, and perhaps a shadowy reflection from her
hood, gave the glow of a rose-bud to her cheeks.
Still there was anxiety upon her young face. Her
eyes of a dark violet blue, drooped heavily beneath
their black and curling lashes, if any one from the
numerous stalls addressed her ; for a small splint
basket on her arm, new and perfectly empty, was a
sure indication that the child had been sent to make
purchase; while her timid air — the blnsh that came
and went on her face — bespoke as plainly that she
was altogether unaccustomed to the scene, and had
no regular place at which to make her humble bar-
gains. The child seemed a waif cast upon the mar-
ket; and she was so beautiful, notwithstanding her
humble dress of faded and darned calico, that at
almost every stand she was challenged pleasantly to
pause and fill her basket. But she only east down
her eyes and blushed more deeply, as with her little
bare feet she hurried on through the labyrinth of
stalls, toward that portion of the market occupied by
the huckster-women. Here she began to slacken her
pace, and to look about her with no inconsiderable
anxiety.
" What do you want, little girl; anything in my
way ?" was repeated to her once or twice as she
moved forward. At each of these challenges she
would pause, look earnestly into the face of the
speaker, and then pass on with a faint wave of the
head, that expressed something of sad and timid dis-
appointment.
At length the child — for she seemed scarcely more
than that — was growing pale, and her eyes turned
with a sort of sharp anxiety from one face to another,
when suddenly they fell upon the buxom old huck-
ster-woman, whose stall we have described. There
was something in the good dame's appearance that
brought an eager and satisfied look to that pale face.
She drew close to the stand, and stood for some
seconds, gazing timidly on the old woman. It was a
pleasant face, and a comfortable, portly form enough,
that the timid girl gazed, upon. Smooth and comely
were the full and rounded cheeks, with their rich
autumn color, dimpled like an over-ripe apple. Fat
and good-humored enough to defy wrinkles, the face
looked far too rosy for the thick, grey hair that was
shaded, not concealed, by a cap of clear white
muslin, with a broad, deep border, and tabs that met
like a snowy girth to support the firm, double chin.
Never did your eyes dwell upon a chin so full of
health and good humor as that. It sloped with a
sleek, smiling grace down from the plump mouth,
and rolled with a soft, white wave into the neck,
scarcely leaving an outline, or the want of one, be-
fore it was lost in the white of that muslin kerchief,
folded so neatly beneath the ample bosom of her
gown. Then the broad linen apron of blue and
white check, girding her waist, and flowing over the
smooth rotundity of person, was a living proof of the
ripeness and wholesome state of her merchandise. —
I tell you, reader, that woman, take her lor all in
all, was one to draw the attention, aye, and the lovo
of a child, who had come forth barefooted and alone
in search of kindness.
EALPH HOYT.
Mr. IIoyt, the author of a number of poems
which have become popular favorites through
their spirit and sincerity, is a clergyman of tin?
532
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Protestant Episcopal Church in New York. He
is a native of the city. His early years were
passed in the country on Long Island. He had
the benefit of a good education, and after some
practice at various mechanical pursuits, became
himself a teacher in turn, wrote occasionally for
the newspapers, and in 1842 took orders in the
church. In 18-io' the church of the Good Shep-
herd was organized as the result of the mission-
ary labors of Mr. Hoyt, who has since continued
its minister, supporting its feeble fortunes through
many privations. lie has latterly resided at a
cottage pleasantly situated on the high ground in
the rear of the Palisades, at the village of Fort
Lee, New Jersej', opposite New York ; and he has
there shown his accustomed spirit and activity,
his humble home being partly the work of his
own hands, while a simple but convenient church,
of small but sufficient dimensions, on the main
street of the village, has been built by his own
labor and ingenuity, with moderate aid from his
friends. He holds religious services there a part
of each Sundav.
^^^^V
Mr. Hoyt's poems are simple in expression, and
of a delicate moral or devout sentiment. They
touch tenderly upon the disappointments of life,
with a sorrowful refrain. In another mood his
verse is hopeful and animated. The title of his
longest poem, The Chaunt of Life, which is but
a fragmentary composition, indicates the burden
of his song; which is of the common feelings,
longings, and experiences of the world. A cheer-
ful love of nature, an eye for the picturesque, a
quaint originality of expression, are exhibited in
many of his poems, which have already found
their way into the popular collections of the
school-books.
SNOW ; A WLNTEE SKETCH.
The blessed morn has come again ;
The early gray
Taps at the slumberer's window pane,
And seems to say
Break, break from the enchanter's chain,
Away, away !
'Tis winter, yet there is no sound
Along the air,
Of winds upon their battle-ground,
But gently there,
The snow is falling, — all around
How fair — how fair!
The jocund fields would masquerade;
Fantastic scene !
Tree, shrub, and lawn, and lonely glade
Have east their green,
And joined the revel, all arrayed
So white and clean.
E'en the old posts, that hold the bars
And the old gate,
Forgetful of their wintry wars,
And age sedate,
High capped, and plumed, like white hussars.
Stand there in state.
The drifts are hanging by the sill,
The eaves, the door ;
The hay-stack has become a hill;
All covered o'er
The wagon, loaded for the mill
The eve before.
Maria brings the water-pail,
But where's the well !
Like magic of a fairy tale,
Most strange to tell,
All vanished, curb, and crank, and roil!
How deep it fell !
The wood-pile too is playing hide ;
The axe, the log,
The kennel of that friend so tried,
(The old watch -dog,)
The grindstone standing by its side,
Are all now incog.
The bustling cock looks out aghast
From his high shed ;
No spot to scratch him a repast
Up curves his head,
Starts the dull hamlet with a blast,
And back to bed.
Old drowsy dobbin, at the call,
Amazed, awakes ;
Out from the window of his stall
A view he takes ;
While thick and faster seem to fall
The silent flakes.
The barn-yard gentry, musing, chime
Their morning moan ;
Like Memnon's music of old time
That voice of stone!
So marbled they — and so sublime
Their solemn tone.
Good Ruth has called the younker folk
To dress below ;
Full welcome was the word she spoke,
Down, down they go,
The cottage quietude is broke, —
The snow ! — the snow !
Now rises from around the fire
A pleasant strain ;
Ye giddy sons of mirth, retire!
And ye profane !
A hymn to the Eternal Sire
Goes up again.
The patriarchal Book divine,
Upon the knee,
RALPH HOYT.
533
Opes where the gems of Judah shine,
(Sweet minstrelsie !)
How soars each heart with each fair line,
Oh God, to Thee !
Around the altar low they hend,
Devout in prayer ;
As snows upon the roof descend,
So angels there
Come down that household to defend
With gentle care.
Now sings the kettle o'er the blaze ;
i The buckwheat heaps ;
Rare Mocha, worth an Arab's pratse,
Sweet Susan steeps ;
The old round stand her nod obeys,
And out it leaps.
Unerring presages declare
The banquet near ;
Soon busy appetites are there ;
And disappear
The glories of the ample fare,
With thanks sincere.
Now tiny snow-birds venture nigh
From copse and spray,
(Sweet strangers ! with the winter's sky
To pass away ;)
And gather crumbs in full supply,
For all the day.
Let now the busy hours begin :
Out rolls the churn ;
Forth hastes the farm-boy, and brings in
The brush to burn ;
Sweep, shovel, scour, sew, knit, and spin,
'Till night's return.
To delve his threshing John must hie ;
His sturdy shoe
Can all the subtle damp defy;
How wades lie through !
While dainty milkmaids slow and shy,
His track pursue.
Each to the hour's allotted care ;
To shell the corn ;
The broken harness to repair ;
The sleigh t' adorn ;
As cheerful, tranquil, frosty, fair,
Speeds on the morn.
While mounts the eddying smoke amain
From many a hearth,
And all the landscape rings again
With rustic mirth ;
So gladsome seems to every swain
The snowy earth.
THE WORLD-SALE.
Tnere wandered from some mystic sphere,
A youth, celestial, down to earth ;
So strangely fair seemed all things here,
He e'en would crave a mortal birth ;
And soon, a rosy boy, he woke,
A dweller in some stately dome ;
Soft sunbeams on his vision broke,
And this low world became his home.
Ah, cheated child ! Could lie but know
Sal soul of mine, what thou and I!
The bud would never wish to blow
The nestling never long to fly;
Perfuming the regardless air,
High soaring into empty space •
A blossom ripening to despair,
A flight — without a resting place !
How bright to him life's opening morn !
No cloud to intercept a ray ;
The rose had then no hidden thorn,
The tree of life knew no decay.
How greeted oft his wondering soul
The fairy shapes of childish joy,
As gaily on the moments stole
And still grew up the blooming boy.
How gently played the odorous air
Among his wavy locks of gold,
His eye how bright, his cheek how fair,
As still youth's summer days were told.
Seemed each succeeding hour to tell
Of some more rare unfolding grace ;
Some swifter breeze his sail to swell,
And press the voyager apace !
He roved a swain of some sweet vale,
Or climbed, a daring mountaineer ;
And oft, upon the passing gale.
His merry song we used to hear ;
Might none e'er mount a fleeter steed,
His glittering chariot none outvie,
Or village mart, or rural mead,
The hero he of heart and eye.
Anon a wishful glance he cast
Where storied thrones their empire hold,
And soon beyond the billowy Vast
He leaped upon the shores of old!
He sojourned long in classic halls,
At learning's feast a favored guest,
And oft within imperial walls,
He tasted all delights, save — rest i
It was a restless bouI he bore,
And all unquenchable its fire;
Nor banquet, pomp, nor golden store,
Could e'er appease its high desire.
And yet would he the phantom band
So oft deceiving still pursue,
Delicious sweets in every land,
But ah, not lasting, pure, or true !
He knelt at many a gorgeous shrine;
Reclined in love's voluptuous bowers ;
Tet did his weary soul repine.
Were listless still the lingering hours.
Then sped an aigosie to bear
The sated truant to his home,
But sorrow's sombre cloud was there,
'Twas dark in all that stately dome.
Was rent at last life's fair disguise,
And that Immortal taught to know
He had been wandering from the skies,
Alas, how long — alas, how low.
Deluded, — but the dream was done ;
A conqueror, — but his banner furled ;
The race was over, — he had won, —
But found his prize — a worthless World!
Oh Earth, he sighed, and gazed afar,
How thou encumberest my wing !
My home is yonder radiant star,
But thither thee I cannot bring.
How have I tried thee long and well,
But never found thy joys sincere,
Now, now my soul resolves to sell
Thy treasures strewn around me here !
The flatteries I so long have stored
In memory's e;isket one by one,
Murt now be stricken from the hoard ;
The flay of tinselled joy is done!
Here go the useless jewels ! see
The golden lustre they impart!
But vain the smiles of earth for me,
They cannot gild a broken heart I
534
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
The world foe sale! — Hang out the sign ;
Call every traveller here to me ;
"Who'll buy this brave estate of mine,
And set me from earth's bondage free!
Tis going ! — yes, I mean to fling
The bauble from my soul away;
111 sell it, "whatsoe'er it bring ; —
The World at Auction here to-day !
It is a glorious thing to see ;
Ah, it has cheated me so sore !
It is not what it seems to be :
For sale ! It shall be mine no more:
Come, turn it o'er and view it well ;
I would not have you purchase dear ;
'Tis going — going! I must sell !
Who bids ! Who'll buy the Splendid Tear !
Here's "Wealth in glittering heaps of gold,
Who bids ! but let me tell you fair,
A baser lot was never sold ;
Who'll buy the heavy heaps of care!
And here, spread out in broad domain,
A goodly landscape all may trace ;
Hall, cottage, tree, field, hill and plain ;
Who'll buy himself a Burial Place !
Here's Love, the dreamy potent spell
That beauty flings around the heart!
I know its power, alas, too well !
'Tis going ! Love and I must part !
Must part ! What can I more with Love !
All over the enchanter's reign !
Who'll buy the plumeless, dying dove,
An hour of bliss, — an age of Pain !
And Friendship, — rarest gem of earth,
(Who e'er hath found the jewel his?)
Frail, fickle, false and little worth,
Who bids for Friendship — as it is !
'Tis going — going ! — Hear the call ;
Once, twice, arid thrice! — 'Tis verv low !
'Twas once my hope, my stav, my ail.
But now the broken staff must go !
Fame ! hold the brilliant meteor high ;
How dazzling every gilded name !
Ye millions, now's the time to buy !
How much for Fame ! How much for Fame !
Hear how it thundei-s ! would you stand
On high Olympus, far renowned,
Now purchase, and a world command! —
And be with a world's curses crowned !
Sweet star of Hope ! with ray to shine
In every sad foreboding breast,
Save this desponding one of mine,
Who bids for man's last friend and best!
Ah, were not mine a bankrupt life,
Tliis treasure should my soul sustain ;
But Hope and I are now at strife,
Nor ever may unite again.
And Song ! — For sale my tuneless lute ;
Sweet solace, mine no more to hold ;
The chords that charmed my soul are mute,
I cannot wake the notes of old !
Or e'en were mine a wizard shell.
Could chain a world in raptures high ;
Yet now a sad farewell ! — farewell !
Must on its last faint echoes die.
Ambition, fashion, show, and pride,
I part from all for ever now ;
Grief is an overwhelming tide,
Has taught my haughty heart to bow.
Poor heart ! distracted, ah, so long,
And still its aching throb to bear ;
How broken, that was once so strong;
How heavy, once so free from care.
Ah, cheating earth ! — could man but know,
Sad soul of mine, what thou and I, —
The bud would never wish to blow,
The nestling never long to fly!
Perfuming the regardless air;
High soaring into empty space ;
A blossom ripening to despair,
A flight — without a resting place!
No more for me life's fitful dream ;
Bright yision, vanishing away !
My bark requires a deeper stream ;
My sinking soul a surer stay.
By death, stern sheriff! all bereft,
I weep, yet humbly kiss the rod ;
The best of all I still have left —
My Faith, my Bible, and my God.
STRIKE 1
I've a liking for this " striking,"
If we only do it well ;
Firm, defiant, like a giant.
Strike ! — and make the effort tell !
One another, working brother,
Let us freely now advise :
For reflection and correction
Help to make us great and wise.
Work and wages, say the sages,
Go for ever hand in hand ;
As the motion of an ocean,
The supply and the demand.
My advice is, strike for prices
Xobler far than sordid coin ;
Strike with terror, sin and error,
And let man and master join.
Every failing, now prevailing,
In the heart or in the head, —
Make no clamor — take the hammer — ■
Drive it down, — and strike it dead !
Much the chopping, lopping, propping,
Carpenter, we have to do,
Ere the plummet, from the summit,
Mark our moral fabric true.
Take the measure of false pleasure;
Try each action by the square ;
Strike a chalk-line for your walk-line:
Strike, to keep your footsteps there!
The foundation of creation
Lies in Truth's unerring laws;
Man of mortar, there's no shorter
Way to base a righteous cause.
Every builder, painter, gilder,
JIan of leather, man of clothes,
Each mechanic in a panic
With the way his labor goes.
Let him reason thus in season ;
Strike the root of all his wrong,
Cease his quarrels, mend his morals,
And be happy, rich, and strong.
■WILLIS GAYLOED CLARK— LEWIS GAYLOED
CLAEK.
The twin brothers Clark were born at Otiseo,
Onondaga county, New York, in the 3-ear 1810.
Their father had served in the Revolutionary
war, and was a man of reading and observation.
Willis, on the completion of his education, under
the care of this parent and the Rev. George Col-
ton, a relative on his mother's side, went to
Philadelphia, where he commenced a weekly
periodical similar in plan to the New York Mir-
WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK, LEWIS GAYLORD CLARK.
535
ror. It was im uccessful and soon discontinued.
He next became an assistant of the Rev. Dr.
Brantley, a Baptist clergyman (afterwards Presi-
dent of the College of South Carolina), in the
editorship of the Columbian Star, a religious
newspaper. He retired from this position to
take charge of the Philadelphia Gazette, the
oldest daily journal of that city. He became its
proprietor, and continued his connexion with it
until his death.
One of the most successful of Clark's literary
productions was the Ollapodiana, a series of brief
essays, anecdotes, and observations, continued
from month to month in the Knickerbocker
Magazine, of which his brother Lewis had become
the editor.
Mr. Clark was married in 1836 to Anne P.
Caldeleugh, the daughter of a gentleman of Phila-
delphia. She was attacked by consumption, and
died not long after her marriage. Her husband
soon followed her, falling a victim to a lingering
disease in June, 1841.
Clark's poems, with the exception of The Spirit
of Life — pronounced before the Franklin Society
of Brown University in 1830 — are brief, and were
written for and published in his own journals and
tbe magazines and annuals of the day. A portion
were collected in a volume during his lifetime, and
a complete edition appeared in New York in 1817.
His Ollapodiana have also been collected, with
a number of other prose sketches and his poems,
in a volume of his Literary Remains, published
in 1844.
The humors and sensibility of the essayist and
poet, alike witness to h,is warm, amiable sym-
pathies. His mirth was rollicking, exuberant in
anima- spirits, but always innocent, while his
muse dwelt fondly on the various moods of na-
ture, and portrayed domestic tenderness in the
consolations of its darker hours of suffering and
death.
Mr. Lewis Gatlord Clark is the editor of
the Knickerbocker Magazine, having conducted
that periodical since its third volume in 1832. He
has become widely known by his monthly Editor's
Table and Gossip with Headers and Correspond-
ents, embracing a collection of the jests and on
dits of the day, connected by a light running
comment. A selection from the Gossip was pub-
lished in one volume in 1852, with the title
Kiiich-Knaels from an Editor's Tabic* and a
compliment has recently been paid to its author
in the shape of a volume containing original con-
tributions by many of the leading writers of the
day, accompanied by their portraits, entitled The
Eniclcei bocker Memorial,
A SONG OP MAT.
The spring scented buds all around me are swell-
ing.
There are songs in the stream, there is health in
the gale;
A sense of delight in each bosom is dwelling,
As float the pure day-beams o'er mountain and
vale ,
The desolate reiga of Old Winter is broken,
* Mr Clark had previously published a volumo of articles
oom the Knickerbocker, by Washington Irving, Mr. Cary,
Mr Sheiton, and others, entitled rice Kmkkerhovker Sketch-
Book.
The verdure is fresh upon every tree;
Of Nature's revival the charm — and a token
Of love, oh thou Spirit of Beauty i to thee.
The sun looketh forth from the halls of the morning,
And flushes the clouds that begirt his career;
He welcomes the gladness and glory, returning
To rest on the promise and hope of the year.
He fills with rich light all the balm-breathing
flowers,
He mounts to the zenith, and laughs on the
wave ;
He wakes into music the green forest-bowers,
And gilds the gay plains which the broad rivers
lave.
The young bird is out on his delicate pinion —
He timidly sails in the infinite sky;
A greeting to May, and her fairy dominion,
He pours, on the west wind's fragrant sigh :
Around, above, there are peace and pleasure,
The woodlands are singing, the heaven is bright ;
The fields are unfolding their emerald treasure,
And man's genial spirit is soaring in light.
Alas! for my weary and care-haunted bosom!
The spells of the spring-time arouse it no more;
The song in the wild-wood, the sheen of the blos-
som,
The fresh-welling fountain, their magic is o'er!
When I list to the streams, when I look on the
flowers,
They tell of the Past with so mournful a tone,
That I call up the throngs of my long-vanished
hours,
And sigh that their transports are over and gone.
From the wide-spreading earth, from the limitless
heaven,
There have vanished an eloquent glory and
gleam;
To my veiled mind no more is the influence given,
Which coloreth life with the hues of a dream;
The bloom-purpled landscape its loveliness keepeth —
I deem that a light as of old gilds the wave;
But the eye of my spirit in heaviness 6leepeth.
Or sees but my youth, and the visions it gave.
Yet it is not that age on my years hath descended,
'Tis not that its snow-wreaths encircle my brow ;
But the nevmess and sweetness of Being are ended,
I feel not their love-kindling witchery now:
The shadows of death o'er my path have been
sweeping;
There are those who have loved me debarred
from the day ;
The green turf is bright where in peace they are
sleeping,
And on wings of remembrance my soul is away.
It is shut to the glow of this present existence,
It hears, from the Past, a funeral strain ;
And it eagerly turns to the high-seeming distance,
Where the last blooms of earth will be garnered
again ;
Where no mildew the soft damask-rose cheek shall
nourish,
Where Grief bears no longer the poisonous sting;
Where pitiless Death no dark sceptre can flourish.
Or stain with his blight the luxuriant spring.
It is thus that the hopes which to others are given,
Fall cold on my heart in this rich month of May ;
I hear the clear anthems that ring through the
heaven,
I drink the bland airs that enliven the day ;
And if gentle Nature, her festival keeping,
Delights not my bosom, ah I do not condemn ;
536
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
O'er the lost and the lovely my spirit is weeping,
For my heart's fondest raptures are buried with
them.
TO MY EOT.
Thou hast a fair unsullied cheek,
A clear and dreaming eye,
Whose bright and winning glances speak
Of life's first revelry ;
And on thy brow no look of care
Comes like a cloud, to cast a shadow there.
In feeling's early freshness blest,
Thy wants and wishes few :
Rich hopes are garnered in thy breast,
As summer's morning dew
Is found, like diamonds, in the rose,
Nestling, 'mid folded leaves, in sweet repose.
Keep thus, in love, the heritage
Of thy ephemeral spring ;
Keep its pure thoughts, till after-age
Weigh down thy spirit's wing ;
Keep the warm heart, the hate of sin,
And heavenly peace will on thy soul break in.
And when the even-song of years
Brings in its shadowy train
The record of life's hopes and fears,
Let it not be in vain,
That backward on existence thou canst look,
As on a pictured page or pleasant book.
LINES
Written at Laurel Eiil Cemetery, near Philadelphia.
Here the lamented dead in dust shall lie.
Life's lingering languors o'er — its labors done ;
Where waving boughs, betwixt the earth and sky,
A ilrnit the farewell radiance of the sun.
Here the long concourse from the murmuring town,
With funeral pace and slow, shall enter in;
To lay the loved in tranquil silence down,
1\ o more to suffer, and no more to sin.
And here the impressive stone, engraved with words
Which Grief sententious gives to marble pale,
Shall teach the heart, while waters, leaves, and
birds
Make cheeiful music in the passing gale.
Say, wherefore should we weep, and wherefore
pour
On scented aire the unavailing sigh —
While sun-bright waves are quiverii g to the shore,
And landscapes blooming — that the loved should
die?
There is an emblem in this peaceful scene:
Soon, rainbow colors on the woods will fall ;
And autumn gusts bereave the hills of green,
As sinks the year to meet its cloudy pall.
Then, cold and pale, in distant vistas round,
Disrobed and tuneless, all the woods will stand!
While the chained streams are silent as the ground,
As Death had numbed them wiih his icy hand.
Yet, when the warm soft wirds shall rise in spring,
Like struggling day -beams o'er a blasted heath,
The bird returned shall poise her golden wing,
And liberal Nature break the spell of Death.
So, when the tomb's dull silence finds an end,
The blessed Dead to endless youth shall rise ;
And hear the archangel's thrilling summons blend
Its tones with anthems from the upper skies.
There shall the good of earth be found at last,
Where dazzling streams and vernal fields expand ;
Where Love her crown attains — her trials past —
And, filled with rapture, hails the better lane !
Give me the songs I loved to hear,
In sweet and sunny days, of yore ;
Which came in gushes to my ear
From lips that breathe them now no more;
From lips, alas ! on which the worm,
In coiled and dusty silence lies,
Where many a loved, lamented form
Is hid from Sorrow's filling eyes !
Yes! when those unforgotten lays
Come trembling with a spirit-voice,
I mind me of those early days,
When to respire was to rejoice:
When gladsome flowers and fruitage shone
Where'er my willing footsteps fell;
When Hope's bright realm was all mine own,
Aud Fancy whispered, " All is well."
Give me old songs ! They stir my heart
As with some glorious trumpet-tone:
Beyond the reach of modern art,
They rule its thrilling cords alone,
Till, on the wings of thought, I fly
Back to that boundary of bliss,
Which once beneath my childhood's sky
Embraced a scene of loveliness!
Thus, when the portals of mine ear
Those long-remembered lays receive,
They seem like guests, whose voices cheer
My breast, and bid it not to grieve:
They ring in cadences of love,
They tell of dreams now vanished all:
Dreams, that descended from above —
Visions, 'tis rapture to recall !
Give me old songs ! I know not why,
But every tone they breathe to me
Is fraught with pleasures pure and high,
With honest love or honest glee:
They move me, when by chance I hear,
They rouse each slumbering pulse anew ;
Till every scene to memory dear
Is pictured brightly to my view.
I do not ask those sickly lays
O'er which effected maidens bend ;
Which scented fops are bound to praise, -
To which dull crowds their homage lend
Give me some simple Scottish song,
Or lays from Erin's distant isle:
Lays that to love and truth belong,
And cause the saddest lip to smile!
EDGAE A. POE.
The family of Edgar A. Poe was of ancient re-
spectability in Maryland. His grandfather, David
Poe, served in the Revolution, and was the per-
sonal friend of Lafayette. His father, David Poe,
jr., was a law student at Baltimore, when, in his
youth, he fell in love with an English actress on
the stage, Elizabeth Arnold, married her, and took
to the boards himself. Their son Edgar was horn
in Baltimore in January, 1811. After a career of
several years of theatrical life, passed in the chief
cities of the Union, the parents both died within a
short period at Richmond, leaving three orphan
children.
Edgar was a boy of beauty and vivacity, and
attracted the attention of a friend of his parents,
John Allan, a wealthy merchant of Virginia, by
whom he was adopted, and his education liberally
EDGAR A. POE.
provided for. In 1816 he was taken by Mr. and
Mrs. Allan to England, and deposited for a stay of
four or five years at a school near London ; a
passage of his youth which he has recurred to in
almost the only instance in his writings in which
he has any personal allusion to his own affairs. It
was a trait, too, in his conversation that he seldom
spoke of his own history. In his tale of William
Wilson he has touched these early school-days
with a poetical hand, as he recalls the awe of
their formal discipline, and the admiration with
which he saw the dingy head-master of the week
ascend the village pulpit in clerical silk and dignity
on Sunday. He returned home in his eleventh
year, passed a short time at a Richmond academy,
and entered the University at Charlottesville,
where he might have attained the highest honors
from the celerity of his wit as a student, had he
not thrown himself upon a reckless course of dis-
sipation which led to his expulsion from the col-
lege. His biographer, Griswold, tells us that he
was at this time celebrated for his feats of per-
sonal hardihood : " On one occasion, in a hot day
of June, swimming from Richmond to Warwick,
seven miles and a half, against a tide running pro-
bably from two to three miles an hour." He left
Charlottesville in debt, though he had been gene-
rously provided for by lias friend Allan, whose
benevolence, however, could not sustain the drafts
freely drawn upon him for obligations incurred in
gambling. Poe quarrelled with his benefactor,
and abandoned his home with the Byronic mo-
tive, it is said, of assisting the Greeks in their"
struggle for liberty. He went abroad and passed
a year in Europe, the history of which would be
a matter of singular curiosity, if it could be re-
covered. It is known that he did not reach
Greece, and that he was one day involved in some
difficulty at St. Petersburgh, from which he was
relieved by the American Minister, Mr. Henry
Middleton, who provided him with the means of
returning home.* He was afterwards received
into favor by Mr. Allan, who procured him an
entrance as a cadet at West Point, an institution
with which las wayward and reckless habits, and
impracticable mind, were so much at war, that
he was compelled to retire from it within the
year. Mr. Allan having lost his first wife, mar-
ried again, and Poe, still received with favor at
the house, was soon compelled to leave it for ever,
doubtless from gross misconduct on his part, for
Mr. Allan had proved himself a much-enduring
benefactor.
Poe was now thrown upon his own resources.
He had already written a number of verses, said
to have been produced between his sixteenth and
nineteenth years, which were published in Balti-
more in 1829, with the title Al Aaraaf, Tamer-
lane, and Minor Poems.i Taking the standards
of the country, and the life of the young author
in Virginia into consideration, they were singular
productions. A certain vague poetic luxury and
sensuousness of mere sound, distinct from definite
meaning, peculiarities which the author refined
upon in his latest and best poems, characterize
these juvenile effusions. Al Aaraaf is an oriental
poetic mystification, with some fine chanting in
* Griswold's MemoirB, x.
t Baltimore : Hatch & Dunning, 1829. Svo. pp. 71.
^:J
it, particularly a melodious dithyrambic on one of
the poet's airy maidens, Ligeia.
A certain longing of passion, without hearty
animality, marked thus early the ill-regulated dis-
position of a man of genius uncontrolled by the
restraint of sound principle and profound literary
motives. Other young writers have copied this
strain, and have written verses quite as nonsen-
sical without any corruption of heart ; but with
Poe the vein was original. His whole life was
cast in that mould ; his sensitive, spiritual organi-
zation, deriving no support from healthy moral
powers, became ghostly and unreal.* His rude
contact with the world, which might have set up
a novelist for life with materials of adventure,
seems scarcely to have impinged upon his percep-
tions. His mind, walking in a vain show, was
taught nothing by experience or suffering. Alto-
gether wanting in the higher faculty of humor,
he could extract nothing from the rough usages
of the world but a cold, frivolous mockery of its
plans and pursuits. His intellectual enjoyment
was in the power of his mind over literature as an
art ; his skill, in forcing the mere letters of the al-
phabet, the dry elements of the dictionary, to take
forms of beauty and apparent life which would
command the admiration of the world. This
may account for his sensitiveness as to the recep.
* A lady of this city wittily mentioned lic-r first impressions
of his unhappy, distant air, in the opening lines of Goldsmith's
Traveller:
Eemote. unfriended, melancholy, slow,
Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po.
A gentleman, who was a fellow-cadet with him at West
Point, has described to us his utter inefficiency and state of ab-
stractedness at that place. He could nut or would not follow
its mathematical requirements. His- mind was off from the
matter-of-fact routine of the drill, which in such a case as his
seemed practical joking, on some etherial, visionary expedi-
tion. He was marked, says our informant, for an early death,
if only from the incompatibility of soul and body. They had
not the usual relations to each other, and were on such distant
terms of acquaintance that a separation seemed inevitable !
538
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
tion of his writings. He could afford to trust
nothing to the tilings themselves, since they had
no root in realities. Hence his delight in the ex-
ercise of his powers as a destructive critic, and
his favorite proposition that literature was all a
trick, and that he could construct another Para-
dise Lost, or something equivalent to it, to order,
if desirahle.
"With this fine, sensitive organization of the
intellect, and a moderate share of scholarship,
Poe went forth upon the world as an author. It
is a little singular, that, with intellectual powers
sometimes reminding us, in a partial degree, of
those of Coleridge, — poetic exercises, take Kubla
Khan for instance, being after Poe's ideal, — the
two should have had a similar adventure in the
common ranks of the army. Coleridge, it will
he remembered, was for a short time a dragoon
in London, under the assumed name of Comber-
hatch ; Poe enlisted in the ranks and deserted.*
About this time, in li33, a sum was offered by
the Baltimore Saturday Yi>itor for a prize poem
and tale. Mr. Kenned}-, the novelist, was on the
committee. Poe sent in several tales which he
had composed for a volume, and readily secured
the prize for his MS. found in a Bottle, — inci-
dentally assisted, it is said, by the beauty of his
handwriting. Mr. Kennedy became acquainted
with the author, then, as almost inevitable with
a man of genius depending upon such scanty re-
sources as the sale of a few subtle productions, in
a state of want and suffering, and introduced him
to Mr. T. W. White, the conductor of the South-
ern Literary Messenger, who gave him employ-
ment upon his publication. Poe in 1835 removed
to Richmond, and wrote chiefly in the critical
department of the magazine. He was rapidly
making a high reputation for the work in this
particular, by his ingenuity, when the connexion
was first interrupted and soon finally severed, in
1837, by his irregularities. At Richmond he mar-
ried his cousin Virginia Cleinm, a delicate and
amiable lady, who after a union of some ten years
fell a victim of consumption.
In 1S38 a book from Poe's pen, growing out of
some sketches which he had commenced in the
Messenger, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym
of Nantucket, was published by the Harpers.t It
is a Action of considerable ingenuity, but the au-
thor, who was generally anything but indifferent
to the reception of his writings, did not appear in
his conversation to pride himself much upon it.
This book was written in New York at the close
of the year. Poe settled in Philadelphia, and was
employed by Burton, the comedian, upon his Gen-
tleman's Magazine, with a salary of ten dollars a
week. His Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque,
a collection of his scattered magazine stories, were
* Griswold's Memoirs, xi.
+ The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket, com-
prising the details of a Mutiry and atrocious Butchery on board
■the American brig Grampus, on her way to the South Seas, in
the month of June. 1S27, with an Account of the Recapture of
the Vessel by the Survivors; their Shipwreck and subsequent
horrible Sufferings from Famine ; their Deliverance by means
of the British schooner Jane Gray; the biief Cruise of'this lat-
ter Vessel in the Antarctic Ocean: her Capture, and the Mas-
sacre of her Crew among a Group of Islands in the Eighty-
fourth parallel of Southern Latitude; together with the incre-
dible Adventures and Discoveries still farther South to which
that distressing Calamity gave rise. Itarper & Brothers, 1SS3.
12mo. pp. 201.
published in two volumes by Lea and Blanchard,
Philadelphia, in 1840.
The arrangement with Burton lasted more than
a year, when it was broken up, it is said, by Poe's
wanton depreciation of the American poets who
came under review, and by a final fit of intoxica-
tion. He then projected a new magazine, to be
called after William Penn, but it was a project only.
When Graham established his magazine in 1840
he engaged Poe as its editor, and the weird, spirit-
ual tales, and ingenious, slashing criticisms were
again resumed, till the old difficulties led to a ter-
mination of the arrangement at the end of a year
and a half. Several of his most striking tales, The
Gold Ring, The Murders of the Rue Morgue, were
written at this period. A development of the
plot of Barnaby Rudge, in Graham's Magazine,
before the completion of that novel in England,
secured the admiration of Dickens.
In 1844 Poe took up his residence in New York,
projecting a magazine to be called The Stylus,
and anticipating the subscriptions to the work,
which never appeared. When Morris and "Willis
commenced this year the publication of the Even-
ing Mirror, Poe was for a while engaged upon it,
though his sympathies with the actual world were
far too feeble for a daily journalist.
The poem of the Eaten, the great hit of Poe's
literary career, was published in the second num-
ber of Colton's Whig Review, in February, 1845.
The same year he commenced the Broadway Jour-
nal, in conjunction with Mr. Charles F. Briggs,
and had actually perseverance enough to continue
it to its close in a second volume, alter it had been
abandoned by his associate, in consequence of dif-
ficulties growing out of a joint editorship. It was
during this period that Poe accepted an invitation
to deliver a poem before the Boston Lyceum.
"When the time for its deliver)- came Poe was un-
prepared with anything for the occasion, and read,
with more gravity than sobriety in the emergency,
bis juvenile publication Al Aaraaf. The ludi-
crous affair was severe]}- commented upon by the
Bostonians, and Poe made it still more ridiculous
by stating in his Broadway Journal that it was
an intentional insult to the genius of the Frog
Pond ! Poe next wrote a series of random sketches
of The New York Literati* for Godey's Lady's
Book. In one of them he chose to caricature an
old Philadelphia friend, Dr. Thomas Dunn Eng-
lish, who retaliated in a personal newspaper article.
The communication was reprinted in the Evening
Mirror in New York, whereupon Poe instituted
i a libel "suit against that journal, and recovered
several hundred dollars, with which he refitted a
small cottage he now occupied on a hill-side at
Fordham, in W:estchester county, where he lived
with his wife and his mother-in-law, Mrs. Maria
' Clernm, by whose unwearied guardianship he was
protected in his frequently recurring fits of illness,
and by whose prudent and skilful management he
was provided for at other times.
* They are dow included in a thick volume of the authors
works, published by Redfield. which contains the memoir by
Dr. Giiswold. It is entitled, The Literati: Some Honest Opi-
nions about Autorial Merits and Demerits, with occasional
Words of Personality : together with Marginalia, Suggestions,
and Essays. With here and there a nice observation, the
sketches of the Literati are careless papers, sometimes to be
taken for nothing mure than mere jest. Some of the longer
I critical papers are admirable.
EDGAR A. POE.
539
In 1848 he delivered a lecture at the Society
Library in New York, entitled Eureka, an Essay
on the Material and Spiritual Universe ; the in-
genious obscurities of which are hardly worth
the trouble of unravelling, if they are at all intel-
ligible.
His wife was now dead, and he was preparing
for marriage with a highly-cultivated lady of
New England, when the union was broken off.
After this, in 18 49, he made a tour to Maryland
and Virginia, delivering lectures by the way, and
having concluded a new engagement of marriage
was on his way to New York to make some ar-
rangements, when he fell into one of his now fre-
quently recurring fits of intoxication at Balti-
more, was carried in a fit of insanity from the
street to the hospital, and there died on Sunday
morning, October 7, 1849, at the age of thirty-
eight.
At the close of this melancholy narrative a feel-
ing of deep sorrow will be entertained by those
familiar with the author's undoubted genius. It
will be difficult to harmonize this wild and reck-
less life with the neatness and precision of his
writings. The same discrepancy was apparent
in his personal conduct. Neat to fastidiousness
in his dress, and, as we have noticed, in his hand-
writing; ingenious in the subtle employment of
his faculties, witli the nice sense of the gentleman
in his conduct and intercourse with others while
personally before them — there were influences
constantly reversing the pure, healthy life these
qualities should have represented. Had he been
really in earnest, with what a solid brilliancy his
writings might have shone forth to the world.
With the moral proportioned to. the intellectual
faculty he would have been in the first rank of
critics. In that large part of the critic's percep-
tions, a knowledge of the mechanism of c >mposi-
tion, lie has been unsurpassed by any writer in
America ; but lacking sincerity, his forced and con-
tradictory critical opinions are of little value as
authorities, though much may be gathered from
them by any one willing to study the peculiar
mood in which they were written. In ingenuity
of invention, musical effects, and artificial ter-
rors for the imagination, his poems as well as his
prose sketches are remarkable. His intricate po-
lice story, The Murders of the Rue Morgue, se-
cured admiration when it was translated in Paris,
where such details are of frequent occurrence.
The mesmeric revelation of The Fa::ts in the Case
of M. Valdcmar, published in the Whig Review,
imposed upon some innocent philosophic people
in England as a report of actual phenomena. As
a good specimen of his peculiar literary logic we
may refer to his article TJie Philosophy of Com-
position, in which he gives the rationale of his
creation of the poem The Raven. Having first
determined to write a popular poem, he deter-
mines the allowable extent : it must be brief
enough to be read at a single sitting, and the bre-
vity " must be in the direct ratio of the intensity
of the intended effect;" one hundred lines are the
maximum, and the poem turns out, " in fact, one
hundred and eight." The length being settled,
the "effect" was to be universally appreciable,
and " beauty" came to be the object of the poem,
as he holds it to be the especial object of all true
poetry ; then the " tone" must be sad, " beauty in
its supreme development invariably exciting the
sensitive soul to tears." As " an artistic piquan-
cy" he brings in "the refrain" as an old approved
resource, and as its most effective form, a single
word. The sound of that word was important,
and the long 6 being " the most sonorous vowel,"
and r "the most producible consonant," never-
wiore came to hand, "in fact it was the very first
. which presented itself." To get the word in often
enough, stanzas were to be employed, and as a ra-
tional creature would be out of his senses uttering
j the sptdl, "a non-reasoning creature capable of
| speech" was called for, hence the Raven. Death
is the theme, as universal and the saddest, and
most powerful in alliance with beauty : so the
death of a beautiful woman is invoked. The
rest is accounted for d priori in the same explicit
manner in this extraordinary criticism.
Though in any high sense of the word, as in
the development of character, Poe would hardly
be said to possess much humor, yet with his skill
in language, and knowledge of effects, he was a
master of ridicule, and could turn the merest non-
sense to a very laughable purpose. Instances of
I this will occur to the reader of his writings, espe-
cially in his criticisms and satiric sketches; but
they will hardly bear to be detached for quotation,
i as they must be approached along his gradual
! course of rigmarole. With more practical know-
ledge of the world, and more stamina generally,
he might have been a veiw powerful satirist. As
it was, too frequently he wasted his efforts on
paltry literary puerilities.
His inventions, both in prose and verse, take
I a sombre, morbid hue. They have a moral as-
I pect, though it is not on the surface. Apparently
they are but variations of the forms of the terrible,
in its quaint, melodramatic character: in reality
they are the expressions of the disappointment
and despair of the soul, alienated from happy hu-
man relations ; misused faculties :
Sweet bells jangled, out of tune, and harsh.
While we admire their powerful eccentricity, and
resort to them for a novel sensation to our jaded
mental appetites, let us remember at what cost
of pain, suffering, and disappointment they were
produced; and at what prodigal expense of hu-
man nature, of broken hopes, and bitter experi-
ences, the rare exotics of literature are sometimes
grown.
THE HAUNTED PALACE.
In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace —
Radiant palace — reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion —
It stood there !
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This — all this — was in the olden
Time long ago.)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odour went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
540
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute's well-tuned law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
"Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn ! — for never sorrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out for ever
And laugh — but 6mile no more.
Ah! broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown
forever !
Let the bell toll !— a saintly soul floats on the Sty-
gian river ;
And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear ? — weep now
or never more!
See ! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love,
Lenore!
Come ! let the burial rite be read — the funeral song
be sung! —
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so
young—
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so
young.
" Wretches ! ye loved her for her wealth and hated
her for her pride,
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her —
that she died !
How shall the ritual, then, be read? — the requiem
how be sung
By you — by yours, the evil eye, — by yours the
slanderous tongue
That did to death the innocence that died, and died
so young ?"
Peccavimus ; but rave not thus ! and let a Sabbath
song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no
wrong !
The sweet Lenore hath " gone before," with Hope,
that flew beside,
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should
have been thy bride —
For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly
lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her
eyes —
The life still there, upon her hair — the death upon
her eyes.
" Avaunt ! to-night my heart is light. No dirge will
I upraise,
But waft the angel on her flight with a Psean of old
days!
Let no bell toll ; — lest her sweet soul, amid its hal-
lowed mirth,
Should catch the note, as it doth float — up from the
damned Earth.
To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant
ghost is riven —
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the
Heaven —
From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the
King of Heaven."
THE EAVEN.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered,
weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgot-
ten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there
came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my cham-
ber door.
" 'Tis some visiter," I muttered, " tapping at my
chamber door —
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak De-
cember,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost
upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow ; — vainly I had sought
to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the
lost Lenore —
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels
name Lenore —
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple
curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never
felt before ;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood
repeating
" "Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my cham-
ber door —
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber
door ; —
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating then
no longer,'
" Sir," snid I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I
implore ;
. But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you
came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my
chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened
wide the door ; —
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there
wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to
dream before ;
Bnt the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave
no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered
word, "Lenore !"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the
word, "Lenore !"
Merely this, and nothing more.
EDGAR A. POE.
541
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within
me burning.
Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than
before.
" Surely," said I, " surely that is something at my
window lattice ;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery
explore —
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery
explore ; —
Tis the wind and nothing more !"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a
flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days
of yore ;
Not the least obeisance made he ; not an instant
stopped or stayed he ;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my
chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my cham-
ber door —
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into
smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance
it wore,
" Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I
said, " art. sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the
Nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plu-
tonian shore !"
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear dis-
course so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy
bore ;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human
being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his
chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his
chamber door,
With such a name as " Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke
only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did
outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then
he fluttered —
Till 1 scarcely more than muttered, " Other friends
have flown before —
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have
flown before."
Then the bird said " Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly
spoken,
" Doubtless," said I, " what it utters is its only stock
and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful
Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one
burden bore —
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden
bore
Of ' Never — nevermore.' "
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into
smiling, *
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird,
and bust, and door ;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to
linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird
of yore —
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and omi-
nous bird of yore
Meant in croaking " Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable ex-
pressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my
bosom's core ;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease
reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight
gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight
gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed
from an unseen censer
Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on
the tufted floor.
" Wretch," I cried, " thy God hath lent thee — by
these angels he hath sent thee
Bespite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories
of Lenore !
Quaff, oh, quaff, this kind nepenthe and forget this
lost Lenore !"
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if
bird or devil ! —
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed
thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land en-
chanted—
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I
implore —
Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell
me, I implore !"
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore."
" Prophet!" said I, " thing of evil — prophet still, if
bird or devil !
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God
we both adore —
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the dis-
tant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels
name Lenore —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels
name Lenore."
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore."
" Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!"
I shrieked, upstarting —
" Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's
Plutonian shore !
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul
hath spoken !
Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above
my door !
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form
from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore."
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is
sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber
door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that
is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his
shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating
on the floor
Shall be lifted — nevermore I
542
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
A DESCENT INTO THE MAEI.STP.OM.
The ways of God in Nature, as in Providence, are not as our
ways; m>r are the models tli.it we frame any way commensu-
rate to the vastness, profundity, and uDsearcbableness of His
works, which hare a depth in them greater than Hie well of
JJemocritus. — Joseph Glantilte.
We had now readied the summit of the loftiest
crag. For some minutes the old man seemed too
much exhausted to speak.
" Not long ago," said he at length, " and I could
have guided you on this route as well as the young-
est of my sons ; but, about three years past, there
happened to me an event such as never happened
before to mortal man — or at least such as no man
ever survived to tell of — and the six hours of deadly
terror which I then endured have broken me up
body and soul. You suppose me a very old man —
but I am not. It took less than a single day to
change these hairs from a jetty black to white, to
weaken ray limbs, and to unstring my nerves, so that
I tremble at the least exertion, and am frightened at
a shadow. Do you know I can scarcely look over
this little cliff without getting giddy?"
The " little cliff," upon whose edge he had so care-
lessly thrown himself down to rest that the weightier
portion of his body hung over it, while he was only
kept from falling by the tenure of his elbow on its
extreme and slippery edge — this "little cliff" arose,
a sheer unobstructed precipice of black shining rock,
some fifteen or sixteen hundred feet from the world
of crags beneath us. Nothing would have tempted
me to within half a dozen yards of its brink. In
truth so deeply was I excited by the perilous position
of my companion, that I fell at full length upon the
ground, clung to the shrubs around me, and dared
not even glance upward at the sky — while I struggled
in vain to divest myself of the idea that the very
foundations of the mountain were in danger from the
fury of the winds. It was long before I could reason
myself into sufficient courage to sit up and look out
into the distance.
" You must get over these fancies," said the guide,
" for I have brought you here that you might have
the best possible view of the scene of that event
I mentioned — and to tell you the whole story with
the spot just under your eye."
********
" You have had a good look at the whirl now,"
said the old man, " and if 3'ou will creep round this
crag, so as to get in its lee, and deaden the roar of
the water. I will tell you a story that will convince
you I ought to know something of the Moskoe-
strom."
I placed myself as desired, and he proceeded.
" Myself and my two brothers onee owned a
schooner-rigged smack of about seventy tons burthen,
with which we were in the habit of fishing among
the islands beyond Moskoe, nearly to Vurrgh. In
all violent eddies at sea there is good fishing, at
proper opportunities, if one has only the courage to
attempt it ; but among the whole of the Lofoden
coastmen, we three were the only ones who made a
regular business of going out to the islands, as I tell
you. The usual grounds are a great way lower
down to the southward. There fish can be got at. all
hours, without much risk, and therefore these places
are preferred. The choice spots over here among
the rocks, however, not only yield the finest variety,
but in far greater abundance ; so that we often got
in a single day, what the more timid of the craft
could not scrape together in a week. In fact, we
made it a matter of desperate speculation — the risk
of life standing instead of labor, and courage answer-
ing for capital.
" We kept the smack in a cove about five miles
higher up the coast than this ; and it was our prac^
tice, in fine weather, to take advantage of the fifteen
minutes' slack to push across the mam channel of the
Moskoe-strom. far above the pool, and then drop
down upon anchorage somewhere near Otterholm, or
Sandflesen, where the eddies are not so violent as
elsewhere. Here we used to remain until nearly
time for slack-water again, when we weighed and
made for home. We never set out upon this expedi-
tion without a steady side-wind for going and coming
— one that we felt sure would not fail us before our
return — and we seldom made a miscalculation upon
this point. Twice, during six years, we were forced
to stay all night at anchor 011 account of a dead
calm, which is a rare thii g indeed just about here ;
and once we had to remain on the grounds nearly a
week, starving to death, owing to a gale which blew
up shortly after our arrival, and made the channel
too boisterous to be thought of. Upon this occasion
we should have been driven out to sea in spite of
everything (for the whirlpools threw us round and
round so violently, that, at length, we fouled our
anchor and dragged it), if it had not been that we
drifted into one of the innumerable cross currents —
here to-day and gone to-morrow — which drove us
under the lee of Ilimen, where, by good luck, we
brought up.
"I could not tell you the twentieth part of the
difficulties we encountered ' on the grounds' — it is a
bad spot to be in, even in good weather— but we
made shift always to run the gauntlet of the Moskoe-
strom itself without accident ; although at times my
heart has been in my mouth when we happened to
be a minute or so behind or before the slack. The
wind sometimes was not as strong as we thought it
at starting, and then w~e made rather less way than
we could wish, while he current rendered the smack
unmanageable. My eldest brother hadason eighteen
years old, and I had two stout boys of my own.
These would have been of great assistance at such
times, in using the sweeps, as well as afterward in
fishing — but, somehow, although we ran the risk
ourselves, we had not the heart to let the yourg ones
get into the danger — for, after all is said and done, it
was a horrible danger, and that is the truth.
" It is now within a few days of three years since
what I am going to tell you occurred. It was on the
tenth day of July, 18 — , a day which the people of
this part of tiie world will never forget — for it was
one in which blew the most terrible hurricane that
ever came out of the heavens. And yet all the
morning, and indeed until late in the afternoon, there
was a gentle and steady breeze from the south-west,
while the sun shone brightly, so that the oldest sea-
man amongst us could not have foreseen what was to
follow.
" The three of us — my two brothers and myself—
had crossed over to the islands about two o'clock,
p.m., and had soon nearly loaded the smack witli fine
fish, which, we all remarked, were more plenty that
day than we had ever known them. It was just
seven, by my watch, when we weighed and started
for home, so as to make the worst of the Strom at
slack water, which we knew would be at eight.
" We set out with a fresh wind on our starboard
quarter, and for some time spanked along at a great
rate, never dreaming of danger, for indeed we saw
not the slightest reason to apprehend it. All at
once we were taken aback by a breeze from over
Helsegsen. This was most unusual — something that
had never happened to us before — and I began to
feel a little uneasy, without exactly knowing why.
We put the boat on the wind, but could make no
headway at all for the eddies, and I was upon the
point of proposing to return to the anchorage, when.
EDGAR A. POE.
513
looking astern, I saw the -whole horizon covered with
a singular copper-colored cloud that rose with the
most amazing velocity.
" In the meantime the breeze that had headed us
off fell away, and we were dead becalmed, drifting
about in every direction. This state of things, how-
ever, did not last long enough to give us time to
think about it. In less than a minute the storm was
upon us — in less than two the sky was entirely
overcast — and what with this and the driving spray,
it became suddenly so dark that we could not see
each other in the smack.
"Such a hurricane as then blew it is folly to
attempt describing. The oldest seaman in Norway
never experienced any thing like it. We had let
our sails go by the run before it cleverly took us;
but, at the first puff, both our masts went by the
board as if they had been sawed off — the mainmast
taking with it my youngest brother, who had lashed
himself to it for safety.
" Our boat was the lightest feather of a thing that
ever sat upon water. It had a complete flush deck,
with only a small hatch near the bow, and this hatch
it had always been our custom to batten down wheu
about to cross the Strom, by way of precaution
against the chopping seas. But for this circumstance
we should have foundered at once — for we lay
entirely buried for some moments. How my elder
brother escaped destruction I cannot say, for I never
had an opportunity of ascertaining. For my part,
as soon as I had let the foresail run, I threw myself
flat on deck, with my feet against the narrow gun-
wale of the bow, and witli my hands grasping a
ring-holt near the foot of the foremast. It was mere
instinct that prompted me to do this — which was
undoubtedly the very best thing I could have done
— for I was too much flurried to think.
"For some moments we were completely deluged,
as I say, and all this time I held my breath, and
clung to the bolt When I could stand it no longer
I raised myself upon my knees, still keeping hold
with my hands, and thus got my head clear. Pre-
sently our little boat gave herself a shake, just as a
dog does in coming out of the water, and thus rid
herself, in some measure, of the seas. I was now try7-
ing to get the better of the stupor that hail eome over
me, and to collect my senses so as to see what was to
be done, when I felt somebody grasp my arm. It
was my elder brother, and my heart leaped for joy,
for I had made sure that he was overboard — but the
next moment all this joy was turned into horror —
for he put his mouth close to my ear, and screamed
out the word ' Moskoe-strom !'
" No one ever will know what my feelings were at
that moment. I shook from head to foot as if I had
had the most violent fit of the ague. I knew what
he meant by that one word well enough — I knew
what lie wished to make me understand. With the
wind that now drove us on, we were bound for the
whirl of the Strom, and nothing could save us!
" You perceive that in crossing the Strom channel,
we always went a long way up above the whirl,
even in the calmest weather, and then had to wait
and watch carefully for the slack — but now we were
driving right upon the pool itself, and in such a
hurricane as this! 'To be sure,' I thought, 'we
shall gettherejust about the slack — there is some little
hope in that' — but in the next moment I cursed my-
self for being so great a fool as to dream of hope at
all. I knew very well that we were doomed, had
we been ten times a ninety-gun ship.
" By this time the first fury of the tempest had
spent itself, or perhaps we did not feel it so much, as
we scudded before it, but at all events the seas, which
at first had been kept down by the wind, and lay
flat and frothing, now got up into absolute mountains.
A singular change, too, hail come over the heavens.
Around in every direction it was still as black as
pitch, but nearly overhead there burst out, all at
once, a circular rift of clear sky — as elenr as I ever
saw — and of a deep bright blue — and through it
there blazed forth the full moon with a lustre that I
never before knew her to wear. She lit up every-
thing about us with the greatest distinctness — but,
0 God, what a scene it was to light up !
" 1 now made one or two attempts to speak to my
brother — but, in some manner which I could not
understand, the din had so increased that I could not
make him hear a single word, although I screamed at
the top of my voice in his ear. Presently he shook
his head, looking as pale as death, and held up oue
of his fingers, as if to say ' listen !'
" At first I could not make out what he mepnt —
but soon a hideous thought flashed upon me. I
dragged my watch from its fob. It was not going.
1 glanced at its face by the moonlight, and then burst
into tears as I flung it far away into the ocean. It
had run down at seven o'clock I We were behind the
time of the slack, and the whirl of the Strom icas in
full fury !
" When a boat is well built, properly trimmed,
and not deep laden, the waves in a strong gale, when
she is going large, seem always to slip from beneath
her — which appears very strange to a landsman —
and this is what is called riding in sea phrase. Well,
so far we had ridden the swells very cleverly ; but
presently a gigantic sea happened to take us right
under the counter, and bore us with it as it rose — up
— up — as if into the sk}'. 1 would not have believed
that any wave could rise so high. And then down
we came with a sweep, a slide, and a plunge, that
made me feel sick and dizzy, as if I was falling from
some lofty mountain-top in a dream. But while we
were up I had thrown a quick glance around — and
that one glance was all-sufficient. I saw our exact
position in an instant. The Moskoe-strom whirlpool
was about a quarter of a mile dead ahead — but no
more like the every-day Moskoe-strom, than the
whirl as you now see it is like a mill-race. If I had
not known where we were, and what we had to ex-
pect, I should not have recognised the place at all.
As it was, I involuntarily closed my eyes in horror.
The lids clenched themselves together as if in a
spasnf.
" It could not have been more than two minutes
afterward until we suddenly felt the waves subside,
and were enveloped in foam. The boat made a
sharp half turn to larboard, and then shot off in its
] new direction like a thunderbolt. At the same mo-
ment the roaring noise of the water was completely
drowned in a kind of shrill shriek — such a sound as
you might imagine given out by the waste pipes of
many thousand steam-vessels, letting off their steam
all together. We were now in the belt of surf that
always surrounds the whirl ; and I thought, of
course, that another moment would plunge us into
the abyss — down which we could only see indis-
tinctly on account of the amazing velocity with
which we were borne along. The boat did not seem
to sink into the water at all, but to skim like an air-
bubble upon the surface of the surge. Her starboard
side was next the whirl, and on the larboard arose
the world of ocean we had left. It stood like a
huge writhing wall between us and the horizon.
" It may appear strange, but now, when we were
in the very jaws of the gulf, I felt more composed
than when we were only approaching it. Having
made up my mind to hope no more, I got rid of a
great deal of that terror which unmanned meat first.
1 suppose it was despair that strung my nerve*.
5U
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
" It may look like boasting — but what I tell you
is truth — I began to reflect how magnificent a tiling
it was to die in such a manner, and how foolish it
was in me to think of so paltry a consideration as my
own individual life, in view of so wonderful a mani-
festation of God's power. I do believe that I blushed
with shame when this idea crossed my mind. After
a little while I became possessed with the keenest
curiosity about the whirl itself. I positively felt a
wish to explore its depths, even at the sacrifice I
was going to make; and my principal grief was that
I should never be able to tell my old companions on
shore about the mysteries I should see. These, no
doubt, were singular fancies to occupy a man's mind
in such extremity — and I have often thought since,
that the revolutions of the boat around the pool
might have rendered me a little light-headed.
" There was another circumstance which tended to
restore my self-possession ; and this was the cessation
of the wind, which could not reach us in our present
situation — for, as you saw yourself, the belt of surf
is considerably lower than the general bed of the
ocean, and this latter now towered above us, a high,
black, mountainous ridge. If you have never been
at sea in a heavy gale, you can form no idea of the
confusion of mind occasioned by the wind and spray
together. They blind, deafen, and strangle you, and
take away all power of action or reflection. But we
were now, in a great measure, rid of these annoy-
ances— just as death-condemned felons in prison are
allowed petty indulgences, forbidden them while
their doom is yet uncertain.
" How often we made the circuit of the belt it is
impossible to say. We careered round and round
for perhaps an hour, flying rather than floating,
getting gradually more and more into the middle of
the surge, and then nearer and nearer to its horrible
inner edge. All this time I had never let go of the
ring-bolt. My brother was at the stern, holding on
to a small empty water-cask which had been securely
lashed under the coop of the counter, and was the
only thing on deck that had not been swept over-
board when the gale first took us. As we approached
the brink of the pit he let go his hold upon this, and
made for the ring, from which, in the agony of his
terror, he endeavored to force my hands, as it was
not large enough to afford us both a secure grasp. I
never felt deeper grief than when I saw him attempt
this act — although I knew he was a madman when
he did it — a raving maniac through sheer fright. I
did not eare, however, to contest the point with him.
I knew it could make no difference whether either
of us held on at all ; so I let him have the bolt, and
went astern to the cask. This there was no great
difficulty in doing ; for the smack flew round steadily
enough, and upon an even keel— only swaying to
and fro, with the immense sweeps and swelters of the
whirl. Scarcely had I secured myself in my new
position, when we gave a wild lurch to starboard,
and rushed headlong into the abyss. I muttered a
hurried prayer to God, and thought all was over.
" As 1 felt the sickening sweep of the descent, I
had instinctively tightened my hold upon the barrel,
and closed my eyes. For some seconds I dared not
open them — while I expected instant destruction,
and wondered that I was not already in my death-
struggles with the water. But moment after mo-
ment elapsed. I still lived. The sense of falling had
ceased ; and the motion of the vessel seemed much
as it had been before while in the belt of foam, with
the exception that she now lay more along. I took
courage, and looked once again upon the scene.
" Never shall I forget the sensations of awe, horror,
and admiration with which I gazed about me. The
boat appeared to be hanging, as if by magic, midway
down, upon the interior surface of a funnel vast in
circumference, prodigious in depth, and whose per-
fectly smooth sides might have been mistaken for
ebony, but for the bewildering rapidity with which
they spun around, and for the gleaming and ghastly
radiance they shot forth, as the rays of the full moon,
from that circular rift amid the clouds which I have
already described, streamed in a flood of golden
glory along the black walls, and far away down
into the inmost recesses of the abyss.
" At first I was too much confused to observe any-
thing accurately. The general burst of terrific
grandeur was all that I beheld. When I recovered
myself a little, however, my gaze fell instinctively
downward. In this direction I was able to obtain
an unobstructed view, from the manner in which the
smack hung on the inclined surface of the pool. She
was quite upon an even keel — that is to say, her
deck lay in a plane parallel with that of the water
— but this latter sloped at an angle of more than
forty-five degrees, so that we seemed to be lying
upon our beam-ends. I could not help observing,
nevertheless, that I had scarcely more difficulty in
maintaining my hold and footing in this situation,
than if we had been upon a dead level ; and this, I
suppose, was owing to the speed at which we
revolved.
" The rays of the moon seemed to search the very
bottom of the profound gulf ; but still I could make
out nothing distinctly, on account of a thick mist in
which everything there was enveloped, and over
which there hung a magnificent rainbow, like that
narrow and tottering bridge which Mussulmen sayiB
the only pathway between Time and Eternity. This
mist, or spray, was no doubt occasioned by the
clashing of the great walls of the funnel, as they all
met together at the bottom — but the yell that went
up to the Heavens from out of that mist, I dare not
attempt to describe.
" Our first slide into the abyss itself, from the belt
of foam above, had carried us a great distance down
the slope ; but our farther descent was by no means
proportionate. Round and round we swept — not
with any uniform movement — but in dizzying swings
and jerks, that sent us sometimes only a few hundred
yards — sometimes nearly the complete circuit of the
whirl. Our progress downward, at each revolution,
was slow, but very perceptible.
" Looking about me upon the wide waste of liquid
ebony on which we were thus borne, I perceived
that our boat was not the only object in the embrace
of the whirl. Both above and below us were visible
fragments of vessels, large masses of building timber
and trunks of trees, with many smaller articles, such
as pieces of house furniture, broken boxes, barrels
and staves. I have already described the unnatural
curiosity which had taken the place of my original ter-
rors. It appeared to grow upon me as I drew nearer
and nearer to my dreadful doom. I now began to
watch, with a strange interest, the numerous things
that floated in our company. I must have been deliri-
ous— for I even sought amusement in speculating upon
the relative velocities of their several descents toward
the foam below. ' This fir tree,' I found myself at
one time saying, ' will certainly be the next, thing
that takes the awful plunge and disappears.' — and
then I was disappointed to find that the wreck of a
Dutch merchant ship overtook it and went down be-
fore. At length, after making several guesses of this
nature, and being deceived in all — this fact— the
fact of my invariable miscalculation — set me upon a
train of reflection that made my limbs again tremble,
and my heart beat heavily once more.
" It was not a new terror that thus affected me,
but the dawn of a more exciting hope. This hope
CHARLES SUMNER.
54r
arose partly from memory, and partly from present
observation. I called to mind the great variety of
buoyant matter that strewed the coast of Lofoden,
having been absorbed and then thrown forth by the
Moskoe-strom. By far the greater number of the
articles were shattered in the most extraordinary
way — so chafed and roughened as to have the
appearance of being stock full of splinters — but then
I distinctly recollected that there were some of them
which were not disfigured at all. Now I could not
account for this difference except by supposing that
the roughened fragments were the only ones which
had been completely absorbed — that the others had
entered the whirl at so late a period of the tide, or,
for some reason, had descended so slowly after enter-
ing, that they did not reach the bottom before the
turn of the Mood came, or of the ebb, as the case
might be. I conceived it possible, in either instance,
that they might thus be whirled up again to the
level of the ocean, without undergoing the fate of
those which had been drawn in more early, or
absorbed more rapidly. I made, also, three important
observations. Tiie first was, that, as a general rule,
the larger the bodies were, the more rapid their de-
scent— the second, that, between two masses of equal
extent, the one spherical, and the other of any other
shape, the superiority in speed of descent was wit'.i
the sphere — the third, that, between two masses of
equal size, the one cylindrical, and the other of any
other shape, the cylinder was absorbed the more
slowly. Since my escape, I have had several con-
versations on this subject with an old school-master
of the district ; and it was from him that I learned
the use of the words ' cylinder' and 'sphere.' lie
explained to me — although I have forgotten the ex-
planation— how what I observed was, in fact, the
natural consequence of the forms of the floating frag-
ments— and showed me how it happened that a
cylinder, swimming in a vortex, offered more resist-
ance to its suction, and was drawn in with greater
difficulty than an equally bulky body, of any form
whatever.
" There was one startling circumstance which
•went a great way in enforcing these observations,
and rendering me anxious to turn them to account,
and this -was that, at every revolution, we passed
something like a barrel, or else the yard or the mast
of a vessel, while many of these things, which had
been on our level when I first opened my eyes upon
the wonders of the whirlpool, were now 'high up
above us, and seemed to have moved but little from
their original station.
" I no longer hesitated what to do. I resolved to
lash myself securely to the water cask upon which I
now held, to cut it loose from the counter, and to
throw myself with it into the water. I attracted my
brother's attention by signs, pointed to the floating
barrels that came near us, and did everything in my
power to make him understand wdiat I was about to
do. _ I thought at length that he comprehended my
design— -but, whether this was the ease or not, he
6hook his head despairingly, and refused to move
from his station by the ring-bolt. It was impossible
to reach him; the emergency admitted of no delay;
and so, with a bitter struggle, I resigned him to his
fate, fastened myself to the cask by means of the
lashings which secured it to the counter, and precipi-
tated myself with it into the sea, without another
moment's hesitation.
"The result was precisely what I had hoped it
might be. As it is myself who now tell you this tale
— as yon see that 1 did escape — and as you are
already in possession of the mode in which this
escape was effected, and must therefore anticipate all
that 1 have farther to say — I will bring my storv
vol. ii. — 35
quickly to conclusion. It might have been an hour,
or thereabout, after my quitting the smack, wdiea,
having descended to a vast distance beneath me, it
made three or four wild gyrations in rapid succession,
and, bearing my loved brother with it, plunged
headlong, at once and forever, into the chaos of foam
below. The barrel to which I was attached sunk
very little farther than half the distance between the
bottom of the gulf and the spot at winch I leaped
overboard, before a great change took place in the
character of the whirlpool. The slope of the sides
of the vast funnel became momently less and less
steep. The gyrations of the whirl grew, gradually,
less and less violent. By degrees, the froth and the
rainbow disappeared, and the bottom of the gulf
seemed slowly to uprise. The sky was clear, the
winds had gone down, and the full moon was setting
radiantly in the west, when I found myself on the
surface of the ocean, in full view of the shores of
Lofoden, and above the spot where the pool of tho
Moskoe-strom had been. It was the hour of the
slack — but the sea still heayed in mountainous waves
from the effects of the hurricane. I was borne vio-
lently into the channel of the Strom, and in a few
minutes was hurried down the coast into the ' grounds'
of the fishermen. A boat picked me up — exhausted
from fatigue — and (now that the danger was re-
moved) speechless from the memory of its horror.
Those who drew me on board were my old matc3
and daily companions — but they knew me no more
than they would have known a traveller from the
spirit-land. My hair, which had been raven-black
the day before, was as white as you see it now.
They say too that the whole expression of my
countenance had changed. I told them my story —
they did not believe it. I now tell it to you — and I
can scarcely expect you to put more faith in it than
did the merry fishermen of Lofoden."
CHARLES SUMNER.'
CriAiiLEs Sumner was born at Boston, January
6, 1811. His father, Charles Pinckney Sumner,
was high sheriff of Suffolk county, Massachu-
setts. Mr. Sumner was prepared for college at tho
Latin school, Boston, and graduated at Harvard in
1830. In 1831 he entered the law school of the
same university, and while pursuing his studies,
wrote several articles for the American Jurist,
and soon after became editor of hat periodical.
He commenced the practice of his profession in
Boston in 183-1, was soon after appointed reporter
to the Circuit Court, and published three volumes
of reports. He also lectured during three suc-
cessive winters at the Cambridge Law School, at
the request of the Faculty, during the absence of
Professors Greenleaf and Story.
£\ y£W
In 1836 he edited "A Treatise on the Practice
of the Courts of Admiralty in Civil Causes of
Maritime Jurisdiction, by Andrew Dunlap," add-
ing an appendix equal in extent to the original
work. In 1837 he sailed for Europe, where he
remained three years, enjoying unusual advan-
tages of social intercourse with the most distin-
guished men of the day.
"While in Paris, at the request of the Minister,
* Iiortog's Hundred Boston Orators.
540
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
General Cass, lie -wrote a defence of the American
claim to the north-eastern boundary, which was
republished from Galignani's Messenger, where it
originally appeared, in the leading American
journals, and universally regarded as an able pre-
sentation of the argument. It was during the
same visit to Paris that he suggested to Mr.
Wheaton the project of writing a History of the
Law of Nations. The impression made by Mr.
Sumner in England may be judged of from the
complimentary remark made by Baron Parke, on
the citation in the Court of Exchequer, of Sum-
ner's Reports, in a case under consideration, to
the effect that the weight of the authority was
not "entitled to the less attention because re-
ported by a gentleman whom we all knew and
respected."
After his return, he again, in 1843, lectured in
Cambridge, and in 1844-G edited an edition of
Vesey's Reports in twenty volumes, to which he
contributed a number of valuable notes, many of
which are concise treatises on the points in
question. He also introduced a number of bio-
graphical notices of the eminent persons whose
names occur in the text.
After the death of Judge Story, in 1845, Mr.
Sumner was universally spoken of as his appro-
priate successor in the Law School, an opinion in
accordance with the openly expressed wish of the
deceased. He, however, expressed a disinclina-
tion to accept the post, and the appointment was
not tendered.
Mr. Sumner took an active part as a public
speaker in opposition to the annexation of Texas,
and in support of Mr. Van Buren for the Presi-
dency in the canvass of 1848. In 1851 lie was
elected the successor of Mr. "Webster in the
United States Senate.
Mr. Sumner's name is prominently identified
with the Peace party — some of his finest oratori-
cal efforts having been made in favor of the pro-
ject of a Congress of Nations as the supreme
arbiter of international disputes.
Mr. Sumner's Orations and Speeches were col-
lected and published in Boston in two stout duo-
decimo volumes in 1850. The collection opens
with an oration delivered before the authorities
of the city of Boston, July 4, 1845, entitled The
True Grandeur of Nations, in which the speaker
enforced his peace doctrines by arguments drawn
not only from the havoc and desolation attend-
ant on and following the conflict, but by an enu-
meration of the cost of the state of preparation,
maintained, not in view of impending danger, but
as an every-day condition of military defence.
In the next oration, The Scholar, the jurist, the
Artist, the Philanthropist, delivered before the
Phi Beta Kappa Society at Harvard, in 184C, we
have a feeling and eloquent memorial of John
Pickering, Joseph Story, Washington Allston, and
William Ellery Channing.
This is followed by a Lecture on Wln'te Slavery
in the Barhary States, a curious and picturesquely
presented chapter of history. We have next an
Oration on Fame and Glory, occupied in a great
measure by an argument en the superior honors
of peace.
The Law of Human Progress, a Phi Beta
Kappa Society Oration at Union College in
1848, follows, in which a history is given of the
gradual recognition of the doctrine of the pro-
gress of the human race, and a brilliant series of
sketches of Leibnitz, Herder, Descartes, Pascal,
Turgot, Condorcet, and others of its early advo-
cates, presented. The address exhibits to advan-
tage the speaker's varied learning, and his happy
art in the disposal of his acquirements.
The second volume opens with an address before
the American Peace Society, entitled The War
System of the Commonwealth of Nations,"m a
portion of which the author has followed the plan
of his last mentioned discourse by tracing through
the record of history the progress of the cause, and
the advocates to whom that progress was in great
measure due.
The remainder of the work is occupied by a
number of speeches delivered on various political
occasions, touching on the Mexican war, the
Free Soil party, the Fugitive Slave Law and
other matters growing out of the slavery question,
maintaining decided views with an energy and
ability which have been followed by rapid politi-
cal elevation.
In addition to the works we have mentioned,
Mr. Sumner is the author of a small volume on
White Slavery in the Barhary States.
Mr. George Sunnier, the brother of Charles
Sumner, is the author of An Address on the Pro-
gress of Reform in France, delivered in 1853,
and of other similar productions. He has passed
several years in Europe, and has acquired a
thorough knowledge of the politics, social condi-
tion, and intellectual products of its leading
states. He possesses a taste for statistics and
unwearied industry in research, combined with
the ability to place the results of investigation
before the public in a pleasing and attractive
form.
I need not dwell now on the waste and cruelty
of war. These stare us wildly in the face, like lurid
meteor-lights, as we travel the page of history. We
see the desolation and death that pursue its de-
moniac footsteps. We look upon sacked towns,
upon ravaged territories, upon violated homes ; we
behold all the sweet charities of life changed to
wormwood and gall. Our soul is penetrated by
the sharp moan of mothers, sisters, and daughters —
of fathers, brothers, and sons, who, in the bitterness
of their bereavement, refuse to be comforted. Our
eyes rest at last, upon one of those fair fields, where
nature, in her abundance, spreads her cloth of gold,
spacious and apt for the entertainment of mighty
mtdtitudes — or, perhaps, from the curious subtlety
of its position, like the carpet in the Arabian tale,
seeming to contract so' as to be covered by a few
only, or to dilate so as to receive an innumerable
host. Here, under a bright sun, such as shone at
Austerlitz or Bnena Vista — Amidst the peaceful har-
monies of nature — on the Sabbath of peace — we
behold bands of brothers, children of a common
Fath'er, heirs to a common happiness, struggling
together in the deadly fight, with the madness of
fallen spirits, seeking with murderous weapons the
lives of brothers who have never injured them or
their kindred. The havoc rages. The ground is
soaked with their commingling blood. The air is
rent by their commingling cries. Horse and rider
are stretched together on the earth. More revolt-
ing than the mangled victims, than the gashed limbs,
than the lifeless trunks, than the spattering brains,
ROBERT T. CONRAD.
547
are the lawless passions which sweep, tempest-like,
through the fiendish tumult.
Nearer comes the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful
on.
Speak. Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost and who has
won ?
" Alas ! jilas ! I know not; friend and foe together fall,
O'er the dying rush the living; pray, my sister, for them
all ! "
Horror-struck, we ask, wherefore this hateful con-
test? The melancholy, but truthful answer cornea,
that this is the established method of determining
justice between nations !
The scene changes. Far away on the distant path-
way of the ocean two siiips approach each other,
with white canvas broadly spread to receive the
flying gales. They are proudly built. All of human
art has been lavished in their graceful proportions,
and in their well compacted sides, while they look
in dimensions like floating happj- islands of the sea.
A numerous crew, with costly appliances of com-
fort, laves in their secure shelter. Surely these two
travellers shall meet in joy and friendship ; the flag
at the mast-head shall give the signal of fellowship ;
the happy sailors shall cluster in the rigging, and
even on the yard-arms, to look each other in the
face, while the exhilarating voices of both crews
shall mingle in accents of gladness uncontrollable.
It is not so. Not as brothers, not as friends, not as
wayfarers of the common ocean, do they come to-
gether; but as enemies. The gentle vessels now
bristle fiercely with death-dealing instruments. On
their spacious decks, aloft on all their masts, flashes
the deadly musketry. From their sides spout cata-
racts of flame, amidst the pealing thunders of a
fatal artillery. They, who had escaped " the dread-
ful touch of merchant-marring rocks" — who had
sped on their long and solitary way unharmed by
wind or wave — whom the hurricane had spared —
in whose favor storms and seas had intermitted
their immitigable war — now at last fall by the
hand of each other. The same spectacle of horror
greets us from both ships. On their decks, red-
dened with blood, the murders of St. Bartholomew
and of the Sicilian Vespers, with the fires of Smith-
field, seem to break forth anew, and to concentrate
their rage. Each has now become a swimming
Golgotha. At length these vessels — such pageants
of the sea — onee so stately — so proudly built — but
now rudely shattered by cannon-balls — with shivered
masts and ragged sails— exist only as unmanageable
wrecks, weltering on the uncertain waves, whose
temporary lull of peace is now their only safety.
In amazement at tills strange, unnatural contest —
away from country and home — where there is no
country or home to defend — we ask again, where-
fore this dismal duel? Again the melancholy but
truthful answer promptly comes, that this is the
established method of determining justice between
nations.
ROBERT T. CONRAD.
Robt/rt T. Conrad, the author of the highly suc-
cessful tragedy of Aylraero, was born in Philadel-
phia about the year 1810. After completing his
preliminary education, lie studied law with his
uncle, Mr. Thomas Kittera ; but in place of the
practice of the profession, devoted himself to an
editorial career, by the publication of the Daily
Commercial Intelligencer, a periodical he subse-
quently merged in the Philadelphia Gazette.
In consequence of ill health he was forced to
abandon the toil of daily editorship. He returned
to the practice of the law, and was immediately
appointed Recorder of the Recorder's Court,
Philadelphia. After holding this office for two
years, he became a judge of the Court of Crimi-
nal Sessions; and on the abolition of that tribunal,
was appointed to the bench of the Geueral Ses-
sions established in its place.
10. C^^
Mr. Conrad occupies a prominent place in, and
is now Mayor of Philadelphia, having been
elected to that office by the Native American
party.
Mr. Conrad wrote his first tragedy before his
twenty-first year. It was entitled Conradin, and
performed with success.
Aylmere was written some years after. It is
the property of Mr. Edwin Forrest, and has
proved one of his most successful plays. The
hero, Jack Cade, assumes the name of Aylmere
during his concealment in Italy, to escape the
consequences of a daring act of resistance to
tyranny in his youth. lie returns to England,
and heads the insurrection which bears his name
in history. The democratic hero is presented
with energy, and the entire production abounds
in spirited scenes and animated language. The
tragedy was published by the author in 1S52 in
a volume entitled Aylmere, or the Bondman of
Kent; and Other Poems. The leading article of
I the latter portion of the collection, The Sons of
| the Wilderness — Reflections beside an Indian
' Mound, extending to three hundred and seventy
i lines, is a meditative poem on the Indians, recit-
ing their wrongs and sympathizing with their
fate in a mournful strain. The remaining pieces
are for the most part of a reflective character.
Whence but from God can spring the burning love
Of nature's liberty ? Why does the eye
Watch, raised and raptured, the bright racks that
rove,
Heaven's free-born, frolic in the harvest sky?
f
548
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
The wind which bloweth where it listeth, why
Hath it a charm ? Why love we thus the sea,
Lbrdless and limitless? Or the cataract cry,
With which Niagara tells eternity
That she is chainless now, and will for ever be !
Or why, in breathing nature, is the slave
Thiit ministers to man, in lowly wise,
Or beast or bird, a thing of scorn ! Where wave
The prairie's purple seas, the free horse flies,
With mane wide floating, and wild-flashing eyes,
A wonder and a glory ; o'er his way,
The ne'er-tamed eagle soars and fans the skies.
Floating, a speck upon the brow of day,
He scans the unbourned wild — and who shall say
him nay ?
If Freedom thus o'er earth, sea, air, hath east
Her spell, and is Thought's idol, man may well,
To star-crowned Sparta in the glimmering past,
Turn from the gilded agonies which swell
Wrong's annals. For the kindling mind will dwell
Upon Leonidas and Washington,
And those who for God's truth or fought or fell,
When kings whose tombs arc pyramids, arc gone.
Justice and Time are wed: the eternal truth lives
on.
Ponder it, freemen ! It will teach that Time
Is not the foe of Right! and man may be
All that he pants for. Every thought sublime
That lifts us to the right where truth makes free,
Is from on high. Pale virtue ! Yet with thee
Will gentle freedom dwell, nor dread a foe !
Self-governed, calm and truthful, why should she
Shrink from the future? 'Neath the last sun's
glow,
Above expiring Time, her starry flag shall flow !
For, even with shrinking woman, is the Right
A cherished thought. The hardy hordes which
threw
Rome from the crushed world's empire, caught the
light
That led them from soft eyes, and never knew
Shame, fear, nor fetter. The stern Spartan drew,
From matrons weeping o'er each recreant son,
His spirit ; and our Indian thus will woo
The stake — his forest Portia by — smile on,
Till the death-rattle ring and the death-song is done.
Fame is man's vassal ; and the Maid of France,
The shepherd heroine, and Padilla's dame,
Whose life and love and suffering mock romance,
Are half forgotten. Corday — doth her name
Thrill you? Why, Brutus won eternal fame:
Was Ids, a Roman man's, a bolder blow
Than that weak woman's? For the cause the
same — ■
Marat a worse than Cssar. Elood may flow
In seas for Right, and ne'er a holier offering know !
* * * * * * * -*
The desert rock may yield a liberty —
, The eagle's ; but in cities, guarded Right
Finds her first home. Amid the many, she
Gives union, strength, and courage. In the night
Of time, fiom leaguered walls, her beacon light
Flashed o'er the world. And Commerce, whose
white wing
Slakes the wide desert of the ocean bright,
Is Freedom's foster nurse ; and though she fling
Her wealth on many a shore, on none where fetters
ring!
And wcath diffused is Freedom's child and aid.
Give me- — such is her prayer — nor poverty,
Nor riches ! For while penury will degrade,
A heaped-up wealth corrupts. Rut to the free
The angel hope is Knowledge. It may be,
Has been, a despot ; for, with unspread glow.
Truth is a rayless sun, whose radiance we,
However blight it burn, nor feel, nor know.
'Tis power ; and power unshared is curst, and works
but woe !
Make it an atmosphere that all may breathe,
And all are free. Each struggle in the past
That llight smiles o'er, was truthful Laurels
wreathe
All who, — as when our country rose — have cast
Oppression down ; that act all time will last,
The Ararat of History, or whose brow
The sacred ark of Liberty stood fast,
Sunned in the truth ; while the tame, turbid flow
Of Slavery's deluge spread o'er all the world below.
* * * * , * * * *
Labor on Freedom waits (what hope to cheer
The slave to toil ?), the labor blithe, whose day
Knows not a want, whose night knows not a tear ;
And wealth; and high-browed science; and the
play
Of truth-enamoured mind, that mocks the sway
Of court or custom ; beauty-loving art ;
And all that scatters flowers on life's drear way.
Hope, courage, pride, Joy, conscious mirth upstart,
Beneath her smile, to raise the mind and glad the
heart.
********
Twin-born with Time was Freedom, when the soul,
Shoreless and shining, met the earliest day:
But o'er Time's tomb — when passes by the scroll
Of the scorched sky — she'll wing her radiant way,
Freed from the traitor's taint, the tyrant's sway ;
Chastened and bright, to other spheres will flee ;
Sun her unruffled joys in Heaven's own ray, —
Where all the crushed are raised, the just are
free —
Her light the living God — her mate eternity !
FEEDEEICK WILLIAM THOMAS.
F. W. Thomas was born in Baltimore about the
year 1810. In 1830 he removed to Cincinnati,
and on his descent of the Ohio composed a poem
of some six or eight stanzas, which appeared in
the Commercial Daily Advertiser on his arrival
at his destination. This lie subsequently enlarged
and recited in public, and in 1833 published with
the title — The Emigrant, or Reflections when de-
scending the Ohio.
In 1835 Mr. Thomas published the novel of
Clinton Bradshaw. The hero of this story is a
young lawyer, who is brought in the course of
his professional pursuits in contact with crimi-
nals, while his desire to advance himself in poli-
tics introduces him to the low class of hangers-on
and wire-pullers of party.
The publication made a sensation by the spirit
and animation with which it was written and the
bold delineations of character it contained. It
was followed in 1836 by East and West, a story
which introduces us in its progress to the two
great geographical divisions of our country, and
possesses animation and interest. An account
of a race between two Mississippi steamboats,
terminating in the usual explosion, is deservedly
celcbrated as a passage of vigorous description.
In 1840 Mr. Thomas published Howard Pinck-
ney, a novel of contemporary American life. He is
also the author of The Beechen Tree, a Tale told
in Bhyme, published by the Harpers, and of seve-
HORACE GREELEY ; ANDREW PRESTON PEABODY.
5i9
ral fugitive poems of merit. The song which "vve
quote has attained a wide popularity.
'tis said that absence conquees love.
Tis said that absence conquers love !
But, oh! believe it cot;
I've tried, alas ! its power to prove,
But thou art not forgot.
Lady, though fate has bid us part,
Yet still thou art as dear —
As fixed in this devoted heart,
As when I clasped thee here.
I plunge into the busy crowd,
And smile to hear thy name ;
And yet, as if I thought aloud,
They know me still the same ;
And when the wine-cup passes round,
I toast some other fair; —
But when I ask my heart the sound,
Thy name is echoed there.
And when some other name I learn,
And try to whisper love,
Still will my heart to thee return,
Like the returning dove.
In vain ! I never can forget,
And would not be forgot ;
For I must bear the same regret,
Whate'er may be my lot.
E'en as the wounded bird will seek
Its favorite bower to die,
So, lady ! I would hear thee speak,
And yield my parting sigh.
Tis said that absence conquers love !
But, oh ! believe it not ;
I 've tried, alas! its power to prove
But thou art not forgot.
HORACE GREELEY.
Horace Greeley, a prominent journalist, was
horn at Amherst, New Hampshire, February 3,
1811. He received a limited common school
education, the deficiencies of which he, however,
in some measure supplied by unwearied activity
from his earliest years in the pursuit of know-
ledge. At the age of fourteen, ins parents having
fy-Csh&^C^ C^jW^
in the meantime removed to Vermont, lie ob-
tained employment as an apprentice in the office
of the Northern Spectator, Pultney, Vermont.
In 1830, the paper was discontinued and he re-
turned home ; but soon after made a second en-
gagement to work as an apprentice in Erie, Pa.,
for fifty dollars a year, out of which he saved
enough in a few months to expend twenty-five
or thirty dollars for his father, then a farmer
on the line between Chautauque county, New
York, and Pennsylvania, and pay his travelling
expenses to New York, where he arrived in Au-
gust, 1831, " with a suit of blue cotton jean, two
brown shirts, and five dollars in cash." He ob-
tained work as a journeyman printer, and con-
tinued thus employed for eighteen months. In
1834, he cjmmenced with Jonas Winchester, af-
terwards the publisher of the Now World, a
weekly paper of sixteen pages quarto, called the
New Yorker. It was conducted with much ability
as a political and literary journal, but was not suc-
cessful. Its conductors gave it a long and fair trial
of several years, and were finally compelled to
abandon the enterprise. While editing this jour-
nal Mr. Greeley also conducted, in 1838, the Jef-
fersonian, published by the Whig Central Com-
mittee of the State, and the Log Cabin, a "cam-
paign" paper, published for six months preceding
the presidential election of 1840.
Mr. Greeley's next enterprise was the publica-
tion of the New York Tribune, the first number
of which appeared on Saturday, April 10, 1841.
It soon took the stand which it has since main-
tained of a thoroughly appointed, independent,
and spirited journal. In the July after its com-
mencement, its editor formed a partnership with
Mr. Thomas McElrath, in conjunction with whom
the paper has been since conducted.
In 1848 Mr. Greeley was elected a member of
the House of Representatives. In 1S51 he visit-
ed Europe, and was chosen chairman of one of
the juries of the World's Fair at London. His
letters written during his journey to the Tribune,
were collected on bis return in a volume, with the
title Glances at Europe. In 1853 he edited a
volume of papers from the Tribune, Art and In-
dustry as Represented in the Exhibition at the
Crystal Palace, New York. A number of ad-
dresses delivered by him on various occasions have
been also collected in a volume, with the title of
Hints towards Reforms.
Mr. Greeley has been fortunate in securing,
during an early stage of his career, a biographer
who combines in an unusual degree the essential
characteristics of enthusiasm, research, and good
sense. Mr. J. Parton has presented to the public
in The Life of Horace Greeley, a volume well
balanced in its proportions, and attractive in
style.
ANDREW PRESTON PEABODY,
The present editor of the North American Re-
view, was born in Beverley, Mass., March 19, 1811.
He was graduated at Harvard in 1826 ; studied at
the Cambridge Divinity School ; remained a year
at the college as mathematical tutor in 1S32 and
1833 ; and was ordained in the latter year pastor
of the South Congregational Church in Ports-
mouth, N. II. , to which he is still attached.
In the course of his ministerial life he has pub-
lished in 1844, Lectures on Christian Doctrine,
and in 1847, Sermons of Consolation. He has
written memoirs, and edited the writings of the
Iiev. Jason Whitman, James Kinnard, Jr., J. W.
Foster, and Charles A. Cheever, M. D. His pub-
lished sermons and pamphlets are numerous. It
is chiefly as a periodical writer that Mr. Pea-
body has become generally known. He was for
several years one of the editors of the Christian
Register, and has been for a long time a promi-
nent contributor to the Christian Examiner and
North American Review, of which he became
the editor on the retirement of Mr. Francis Bowen,
at the commencement of 1854.*
* To recapitulate the different editorships of the North
American, from a p:u;sa£re to our hand in the recently published
" Memoirs of Youth and Manhood," by Prof. Sidney Willard,
of Harvard. Mr. William Tudor commenced the work in
550
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Mr. Peabody's. review articles cover most of
the social and educational questions of the day,
with the discussion of many topics of miscellane-
ous literature. He handles a ready and vigorous
pen, is clear and animated in style, and well skill-
ed in the arts of the reviewer. His address be-
fore the united literary societies of Dartmouth
College on " the Uses of Classical Literature," is a
suggestive analysis of this important question.
Mr. Peabody is at present engaged in editing
and preparing for the press, a Memoir of the late
Gov. William Plumer of New Hampshire, from a
manuscript life, left by his son the late Hon. Wil-
liam Plumer.
FIRST VIVID IMPRESSIONS IN THE ANCIENT CLASSICS.*
The Greek and Roman authors lived in a newer,
younger world than ours. They were in the process
of learning many things now well known. They
were taking first glances, witli earnestness and
wonder, at many tilings now old and trite, — no less
worthy of admiration than they were then, but
dropped from notice and neglected. They give us
first impressions of many forms of nature and of life,
— impressions, which we can get nowhere else.
They show us ideas, sentiments, and opinions in the
process of foimation, — exhibit to us their initial ele-
ments,— reveal their history. Tiiey make known to
us essential steps in human culture, which, in these
days of more rapid progress, we stride over unmark-
ed. They are thus invaluable aids in the study of
the human mind, and of the intellectual history of
the race, — in the analj-sis of ideas and opinions, — in
ascertaining, apart from our artificial theories, the
ultimate, essential facts in every department of
nature and of human life. For these uses, the
classics have only increased in value with the lapse
of time, and must still grow more precious with
every stage of human progress and refinement, so
that classical literature must ever be a favorite hand-
maid of sound philosophy.
On subjects of definite knowledge, what we call
the progress of knowledge is, in one aspect, the
growth of ignorance. As philosophy becomes more
comprehensive, it becomes less minute. As it takes
in broader fields of view, it takes less accurate cog-
nizance of parts and details. Even language parti-
cipates in tins process. Names become more general.
Definitions enumerate fewer particulars. What are
called axioms, embrace no longer self-evident propo-
sitions alone, but those also, which have been so
established by the long and general consent of man-
kind, that the proofs on which they rest, and the
truths which they include, are not recurred to. A
schoolboy now takes on trust, and never verifies,
principles, which it cost ages of research to discover
and mature. What styles itself analysis goes not
back to the " primordia rerum." Now, the more.
rigid and minute our analysis, the more accurate of
course our conceptions. Indeed, we do not fully un-
derstand general laws or comprehensive truths, until
we have traced them out in detail, and seen them
mirrored back from' the particulars which they in-
clude. A whole can be faithfully studied only in its
parts; and every part obeys the law, and bears the
May. 1815, and edited it for two years: Then, from May, 1S17.
to March, ISIS, inclusive, it was edited bv Jared Sparks;
from May, 1S18, to Oct. 1819, inclusive, by Edward T. Chan-
ning; from Jan. 16211, to Oct. 1823, inclusive, by Edward
Everett ; from Jan. 1824, to April, 1ES0, inclusive, by Jared
Sparks; from .Tuly,lS30, to Oct. iS35, bv Alexander II. Everett ;
from Jan. 1886, to Jan. 1843, by John' G. Palfrey ; from 1843
to 1853, by Francis Eowen; and since, by Andrew P. Pea-
body.
* From the address on the "Uses of Classical Literature."
type of the system, to which it belongs, so that, the
more numerous the parts with which we are eonver-
I saut, the more profound, intimate, vivid, experimen-
tal, is our knowledge of the whole. This minute,
exhausting analysis we may advantageously prose-
cute by the aid of ancient philosophy and science.
Laugh as we may at the puerile theories in natural
history, broached or endorsed by Aristotle and by
Pliny, they often, by their detailed sketches of facts
and phenomena, which we have left unexamined be-
cause we have thought them well known, invest
common tilings with absorbing interest, a9 the expo-
nents of far reaching truths and fundamental laws.
In like manner, in Plato's theories of the universe
and of the human soul, or in the ethical treatises of
Cicero, though we detect in them much loose and
vague speculation, and many notions which shun
the better light of modern times, we often find the
constituent elements of our own ideas, — the parent
' thoughts of our truest thoughts, — those ultimate facts
in the outward and the spiritual universe, which
suggest inquiry and precede theory.
A similar train of remark applies emphatically to
the departments of rhetoric and eloquence. I know
I of no modern analysis of the elements and laws of
, written or uttered discourse, which can bear a mo-
! nient's comparison with those of Cicero or Quintilian..
I We may, indeed, have higher moral conceptions of
| the art of writing and of oratory than they had.
We may perhaps hold forth a loftier aim. We may
see more clearly than they did, the intrinsic dignity
of the author's or the orator's vocation ; and may
feel, as none but a Christian can, of what incalcula-
ble moment for time and for eternity his influence
may be. But these eighteen centuries have only
generalized, without augmenting, the catalogue of
instruments by which mind is to act on mind, and
heart on heart, — of the sources of argument and
modes of appeal, which those master-rhetoricians
defined in detail. Nor is it possible that, eighteen
centuries hence, the " De Oratore" of Cicero should
seem less perfect, or be less fruitful, or constitute a
less essential part, than now, of the training of him,
who would write what shall live, or utter what is
worthy to be heard. Modern rhetoricians furnish
us with weapons of forensic attack and defence,
ready cast and shaped, and give us technical rules
for their use. Cicero takes us to the mine and to
the forge, — exhibits every stage of elaboration
through which the weapons pass, — proves their
temper, tries their edge for us. By his minute sub-
division of the whole subject of oratory, by his de-
tailed description of its kinds, its modes, and its in-
struments, by his thorough analysis of arguments,
and of the sources whence they are drawn, he wrote
in anticipation a perfect commentary on thepteeepts
of succeeding rhetoricians ; and we must look to him
to test the principles and to authenticate the laws,
which they lay down. And this preeminence be-
longs not to his transcendent genius alone ; but is,
to a great degree, to be traced to the fact, that he
wrote when oratory as an art was young in Rome,
and had perished before it grew old in Greece, —
when it had no established rules, no authoritative
canons, no prescriptive forms, departure from which
was high treason to the art, when therefore it was
incumbent on the orator to prove, illustrate, and
defend whatever rules or forms he might propose.
The view of ancient literature now under consi-
deration obviously extends itself to the whole field
of poetry. In our habitual straining after the vast
and grand, we pass by the poetry of common and
little things, and are hardly aware how much there
is worthy of song in daily and unnoticed scenes and
events, — in
"WILLIAM INGRAHAM KIP.
551
the unenduring clouds,
In flower and tree. in every pebbly stone
That paves the brooks, the stationary rocks,
The moving waters, tbc invisible air.
The region of the partly known and dimly seen, the
confines of the unexplored, constitute in all ages the
poet's chosen field. But that field lias been con-
tinually diminishing before the resistless progress of
truth and fact. Science has measured the stars,
sounded the sea, and made the ancient hills tell the
story of their birth. Fancy now finds no hiding-
place in grove or cavern, — no shrine so secluded, so
full of religious awe, as to have been left unmeasur-
ed and uucatalogued. Poetry, impatient of the line
and compass of exact science, is thus driven from
almost every earthly covert ; and dreary, prosaic
faet, is fast establishing its undivided empire over
land, and sea, and sky. It is therefore refreshing
and kindling to go back in ancient song to
The power, the beauty, and the majesty
That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain,
Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring,
Or chasms and watery depths.
Then the world was young, and infant science had
not learned to roam. Mystery brooded over the
whole expanse of nature. Darkness was upon the
face of the deep. The veil was unremoved from
grotto and from forest.
We often talk of the poetry of common life. What
now styles itself thus, is, for the most part, stupid
prose on stilts. The real poetry of common life was
written when what is our common life was poetic,
— heroic, — .when our merest common-places of ex-
istence were rare and grand. The themes of ancient
song are almost all of this class ; and the great
poems of antiquity derive an absorbing, undying
interest and charm from the fact, that they bring
out the wayside poetry of ordinary life, which gun-
powder, steam, the loadstone, and the march of
mind have banished from the present age, and which
ean never be written again unless the world strides
back to barbarism. The expedition of the Argo-
nauts,— so vast that they paused two years on their
way to gather strength and courage, — a tourist of
the cockney class, darting through the Hellespont on
the fire-wings of modern navigation, would hardly
enter on his journal. The shipmaster, who could
not shun Carybdis without falling into Scylla, would
be remanded without a dissenting voice to the fore-
castle. The Odyssey was founded on a mere coast-
ing voyage; its chief adventures turn upon nautical
blunders, which would cast shame on the most awk-
ward skipper of a modern fishing smack. The siege
of Troy would now be finished in a fortnight; and
the Latian war would hardly fill a newspaper para-
graph. The ex-Governor of New Hampshire pub-
lishes fifty-two Georgics a year, each containing more
of agricultural science than Virgil could have glean-
ed through the whole Roman empire ; while Virgil's
beautiful fictions about the bees have been supplant-
ed by Huber's stranger facts.
Such are the, themes of classic song, — thus trite,
unromantic, prosaic, as now regarded and handled.
But, they arc in fact what they were in the glowing
verse of antiquity. Abridged and materialized
though they be in our mechanical age, they are full
of the richest materials for poetry, of grand and
beautiful forms, of the types of an infinite presence,
and of skill and power beyond thought, — full too of
thrilling human experience, of man's vast aims and
wild darings, of his wrath and his tenderness, his
agony and his triumph. What though the loiterer
on the steamboat deck heeds not the " monstra na-
tantia,"' which made the hair of the ancient helnis-
jiuin erect with fear? They are none the less there
— fearful, marvellous, and mighty. What though
I we have analysed the thunder-bolt, and know how
to turn it harmless from our homes ? Still, when we
hear at midnight the voice that breaks the cedars,
we feel that not a trait of majesty or beauty has
faded from that ineffably sublime passage of Vir-
■ gil ,—
Ipse pater, media nimborum in nocte, corusca
Fulmlna molitur dexlra : quo maxima mota
Terra tremit, t'ugere forte, et mortalia corda
Per geutes bumilis stravitpavor.
What though any farmer's boy would laugh to scorn
the river-goddess's recipe for replenishing the wast-
ed beehive? Time has taken nothing from the truth
to nature and to actual life, from the deep pathos
and intense beauty of her son's lamentation, and of
her own quick maternal sympathy, and anxious,
persevering love. Yes ; this ancient poetry, wide
as it often is of faet, is full of truth. It boats
throughout with the throbbings of the universal hu-
man heart, — of that heart, which, under the present
reign of iron and steam, dares not full and free ut-
terance; but which, in those simple days, spoke as
it felt, and has left us, in verse that cannot die, its
early communings with itself, with nature, with
life's experience, and with the infinite Unknown.
WILLIAM IXGF.AIIAM KIP.
The first member oftlic old New York family of
Ki]!, who appears in history, was EiilotT de Kype,
a partisan of the Duke of Guise in the French
civil wars connected with the Reformation. He
was a native of Brittany, and on the defeat of Ms
party took refuge in Holland. He afterwards
joined the army of the Duke of Anjou, and was
killed in battle near Jarnac. His son Ruloff
became a Protestant, and remained in Holland,
where the next in descent, Henry, was born in
1576. On arriving at manhood, he took an
active part in "The Company of Foreign
Countries," an association formed for the purpose
of obtaining access to the Indies, by a different
route from that possessed by Spain and Portugal.
They first attempted to sail round the northern
seas of Europe and Asia, but their expedition,
despatched in 1594, was obliged to return on
account of the ice in the same year. In 1 (109, they
employed Henry Hudson to sail to the westward,
in the lit tie Half Moon, with happier results.
Henry Kype catno to New Amsterdam in
1635. He returned to Holland, but his sons
remained, and rose to important positions as
citizens and landed proprietors. One, Hcndrick,
became in 1647 and 1649 one of the council
chosen by the people, to assist Governor Stuyve-
sant in the administration. Another, Jacobus,
was Secretary of the city council, and received a
grant of land on Kip's Bay, East River, where 'he
built a house in 1641, which remained standing
until 1850, when it was demolished on the opening
of Thirty-fifth street. A third, Jacob, owned the
ground now occupied by the Park. Five genera-
tions of the family were born at the house at Kip's
Bay, a portion of whom settled at Rhinebeck. The
mansion was occupied for a brief period by
General Washington, and after the capture of the
city as the head-quarters of the British officers.
The proprietor, Jacobus Kip, was a Whig, and his
son served in the American army. Other mem-
bers of the family were officers in the British
service.
552
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
; faffiosA-*^ '■■*>'■ ■■'••'-■'■
William Ingraham Kip is the eldest son of
Le mard Kip, for many years President of the
North River Bank, and is connected through his
mother's family with Captain Ingraham, the
spirited liberator of Martin Kozsta. He was
born in New York, October 3, 1811, and prepared
for college at schools in that city. After passing
a twelvemonth at Rutgers College, he completed
the remaining three years of his college course at
Yale, in 1831. He commenced and continued for
some time the study of law, which he then
changed for that of Divinity, and was graduated
from the General Theological Seminary of the
Protestant Episcopal Church, and ordained
Deacon in 1835. His first parochial charge was
at St. Peter's Church, Morristown, New Jersey,
where he remained a year. He was next Assis-
tant Minister of Grace Church, New York, and
in 1838 called to the Rectorship of St. Peter's
Church, Albany, where he remained, with the
exception of a portion of the years 1844 and
1845, passed in Europe, until his consecration as
Missionary Bishop of California, in October, 1853.
He soon after removed to San Francisco, where
he now resides, actively engaged in the arduous
duties of his important position.
In 1843 he published The Lenten Fast, a
volume in which the origin, propriety, and ad-
vantages of the observance of the season are
pointed out. It has passed through six editions.
In 1844, The Double Witness of the Church, an
exposition of the Via Media between Roman
Catholic and unepiscopal Protestant doctrines,
appeared. It is regarded as one of the most
valuable of the many works on the subject, and
has passed through several editions. The Christ-
mas Holidays in Rome, a volume derived from
the author's observations in 1844, appeared in the
following year. In 1846 he prepared The Early
Jesuit Missions in North America, an interesting
and valuable volume, drawn from the Lettres
Edifianteset Curieusesecrites des Missions Etran-
gcres, the original narratives of the Jesuit mis-
sionaries and other contemporary records.
In 1851 he issued in London, and afterwards in
this country, a work on Tlxe Early Conflicts of
Christianity — the conflicts including those of
heresies within as well as opponents without
the Early Church. The volume gives an animat-
ed picture of the varied scenes of the period.
Bishop Kip's latest publication is a volume on
The Catacombs of Borne, published in 1854. It
contains a description, drawn from personal
inspection, of these venerated resting-places of
the fathers and confessors of the church of the
first three centuries ; and an account of the in-
scriptions and symbols which they contain,
accompanied with pictorial representations and
fac-similes, from Arringhi's folio and other early
and rare works.
These volumes are all written for popular cir-
culation in a popular style, and are of moderate
size. The_y, however, indicate ample and thorough
research, and have given their author, in connex-
ion with his highly successful pulpit composi-
tions, and numerous articles in the New York
Review, Church Review, Evergreen, American
Monthly Magazine, Churchman, and other peri-
odicals, a high position as a theologian and
scholar, as well as author.
ELIHU BUEEITT.
Elihu Bureitt, "the learned Blacksmith," was
born at New Britain, Connecticut, December 8,
1811, of an old New England family. His father
was a shoemaker, a man of ready apprehension
and charitable sympathies and action. He had
ten children, and of his five sons the eldest and the
youngest have both attained literary distinction.
The former, Elijah, early developed a fondness for
the mathematics. His friends sent him to college.
The fruits of his studies have been a work enti-
tled Log Arithmetic, published before he was
twenty-one, and his Geography of the Reatens,
which is in general use as a schoolbook.
(qUAasIAs Jo.
AAs1^r'Li/
^te
The youngest of the sons was Elihu. ne had
received only a limited district- school education,
when, on his father's death, he was apprenticed
ELIHU BURRITT.
at the age of seventeen to a blacksmith. He had
acquired, however, a taste for the observations
written in books from the narratives of the old
revolutionary soldiers who came to his father's
house. He wished to know more, and life thus
taught him the use of books. When his appren-
ticeship was ended he studied with his brother,
who, driven from his career as a schoolmaster at
the South, had returned to establish himself in this
capacity in his native town, learning something
of Latin, French, and Mathematics. At the end
of six months he returned to the forge, watching
the castings in the furnace with a copy of the
Greek grammar in his hand. He took some in-
tervals from his trade for the study of his favorite
grammars, gradually adding to his stock of lan-
guages till he attacked the Hebrew. To procure
oriental books he determined to embark from
Boston as a sailor, and spend his wages at the first
European port in books, but was diverted from
this by the inducements of the library of the An-
tiquarian Society at Worcester, the happily en-
dowed institution of Isaiah Thomas, in a thrifty
manufacturing town which offered employment
for his arm as well as his brain. Here, in 1837,
he forged and studied, recording in his diary such
entries as these. " Monday, June 18, headache ;
forty pages Cuvier's Theory of the Earth, sixty-
four pages French, eleven hours forging. Tues-
day, sixty-five lines of Hebrew, thirty pages of
French, tun pages Cuvier's Theory, eight lines
Syriac, ten ditto Danish, ten ditto Bohemian, nine
ditto Polish, fifteen names of stars, ten hours forg-
ing." When the overwearied brain was arrested
by a headache he worked that off by a few hours'
extra forging.
Thus on his sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
A letter to a friend inquiring for employment
as a translator of German, and telling his story,
readied Edward Everett, then Governor of Mas-
sachusetts, who read the account at a public
meeting, and Burritt became at once installed
among the curiosities of literature. He was in-
vited to pursue his studies at Harvard, but he
preferred the forge at Worcester, airing his gram-
matical knowledge by the publication < if a monthly
periodical to teach French entitled The Literary
Gemini. This was published in 1839 and con-
tinued for a year. In 1840 he commenced as a
lecturer, one of the few profitable avenues of lite-
rary occupation open in the country, which he
has since pursued with distinguished success. He
translated Icelandic sagas and papers from the
Samaritan, Arabic; and Hebrew, for the Eclectic
Review, still add ng to Ins stock of languages. In
1844 he commenced at Worcester a paper called
The Christian Citizen, in which he was diverted
from philology to philanthropy, advocating peace
and fraternity. He published his Olive Leaves at
this time from the same office. He became en-
gaged in circulating a mutual system of addresses
in behalf of peace between England and America,
and in 1846 was the proprietor and editor of The
Peace Advocate. His Bond of Brotherhiod was a
periodical tract which he circulated among tra-
vellers. In the same year he went to England,
where lie enjoyed a cordial reception and full em-
ployment among the philanthropists, writing for
Douglas Jerrold's weekly newspaper, and fonming
peace associations. One of his latest employments
of this kind was the distribution, in 1852, of a
series of "friendly addresses" from Englishmen
through the different departments of France.
Burritt's latest publication (1854) is entitled
Tlionyhts and Things at Home and Abroad, a
collection of various contributions to the press,
written with a certain enthusiasm, without exact-
ness of thought and expression, in the form of
sketches, and covering the favorite topics of the
writer in war, temperance, and kindred subjects.
wnT I LEFT THE ANVIL.
I see it, you would ask me what I have to say for
myself for dropping the hammer and taking up the
quill, as a member of your profession. I will be ho-
nest now, and tell you the whole story. I was trans-
posed from the anvil to the editor's chair by the ge-
nius of machinery. Don't smile, friends, it was even
so. I had stood and looked for hours on those
thoughtless, iron intellects, those iron-fingered, sober,
supple automatons, as they caught up a bale of cot-
ton, and twirled it in the twinkling of an eye, into a
whirlwind of whizzing shreds, and laid it at my feet
in folds of snow-white cloth, ready for the use of our
most voluptuous antipodes. They were wonderful
things, those looms and spindles; but they could not
spin thoughts ; there was no attribute of Divinity in
them, and I admired them, nothing more. They
were excessively curious, but I could estimate the
whole compass of their doings and destiny in finger
power; so I am away and left them spinnings
cotton.
One day I was tuning rny anvil beneath a hot iron,
and busy with the thought, that there was as much
intellectual philosophy in my hammer as in any of
the enginery agoing in modern times, when a most
unearthly screaming pierced my ears : I stepped to
the door, and there it was, the great Iron Horse !
Yes, he had come looking for all the world like the
great Dragon we read of in Scripture, harnessed to
half a living world and just landed on the earth,
where he stood braying in surprise and indignation
at the " base use" to which he had been turned. I
saw the gigantic hexiped move with a power that
made the earth tremble for miles. I saw the army
of human beings gliding with the velocity of the
wind over the iron track, and droves of cattle tra-
vellings their stables at the rate of twenty miles an
hour towards their city-slaughter-house. It was
wonderful. The little busy bee-winged machinery
of the cotton factory dwindled into insignificance be-
fore it. Monstrous beast of passage and burden ! it
devoured the intervening distance, and welded the
cities together! But for its furnace heart and iron
sinews, it was nothing but a beast, an enormous ag-
gregation of — horse power. And I went back to the
forge with unimpaired reverence for the intellectual
philosophy of my hammer. Passing along the street
one afternoon I heard a noii e in an old building, as
of some one puffing a pair of bellows. So without
more ado, I stepped in, and there, in a corner of a
room, I saw the chef dVeuvre of all the machinery
that has ever been invented since the birth of Tubal
Cain. In its construction it was as simple and unas-
suming as a cheese press. It went with a lever —
with a lever, longer, stronger, than that, with which
Archimedes promised to lift the world.
" It is a printing press," said a boy standing by the
ink trough with a queueless turban of brown paper
on his heal. "A printing press!" I queried mu-
singly to myself. "A printing press? what do you
print*" I asked. " Print?" said the boy, Btaring at
554:
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
me doubtfully, " why we print thoughts." " Print
tliuughts!'' I slowly repeated after him; and we
stood looking for a moment at each other in mutual
admiration, he in the absence of an idea, and I in
pursuit of one. But I looked at him the hardest, and
he left another ink mark on his forehead from a pa-
thetic motion of his left hand to quicken his appre-
hension of my meaning. " Why, yes," he reiterated,
in a tone of forced confidence, as if passing an idea,
which, though having been current a hundred years,
might still be counterfeit, for all he could show on
the spot, " we print thoughts, to be sure." " But,
my boy," I asked in honest soberness, " what are
thoughts, and how can you get hold of them to print
them ?" " Thoughts are what come out of the peo-
ple's minds," he replied. " Get hold of them, indeed?
Why minds arn't nothing you can get hold of, nor
thoughts either. All the minds thut ever thought,
and all the thoughts that minds ever made, wouldn't
make a ball as big as your fist. Minds, they say, are
just like air; you eau't see them ; they don't make
any noise, nor have any color; they don't weigh
anything. Bill Deepeut, the sexton, sa3Ts, that a man
weighs just as much when his mind has gone out of
him as he did before. — 2<o, sir, all the minds that ever
lived wouldn't weigh an ounce troy."
"Then how do you print thoughts?" I asked. "If
minds are thin as air, and thoughts thinner still, and
make no noise, and have no substance, shade, or
color, and are like the winds, and more than the
winds, are anywhere in a moment ; sometimes in
heaven, and sometimes on earth and in the waters
under the earth ; how can you get hold of them ?
how can you see them when caught, or show them
to others?"
Ezekiel's eyes grew luminous with a new idea, and
pushing his ink-roller proudly across the metallic
page of the newspaper, replied, "Thoughts work and
walk in things what make tracks ; and we take them
tracks, and stamp them on paper, or iron, wood,
stone, or what not. This is the way we print
thoughts. Don't you understand V
The pressman let go the lever, and looked interro-
gatively at Ezekiel, beginning at the patch on his
stringless brogans, and following up with Ids eye to the
top of the boy's brown paper buff cap. Ezekiel com-
prehended the felicity of his illustration, and wiping
his hands on his tow apron, gradually assumed an
attitude of earnest exposition. I gave him an encou-
raging wink, and so he went on.
" Thoughts make tracks," he 'continued impres-
sively, as if evolving a new phase of the idea by re-
peating it slowly. Seeing we assented to this propo-
sition inquiringly, he stepped to the type-case, with
his eye fixed adrnonishingly upon us. "Thoughts
make tracks," he repeated, arranging in his left hand
a score or two of metal slips, " and with these here
letters we can take the exact impression of every
thought that ever went out of the heart of a human
man ; and we can print it too," giving the inked form
a blow of triumph with his fist, " we can print it too,
give us paper and ink enough, till the great round
earth is blanketed around with a coverlid of
thoughts, as much like the pattern as two peas."
Ezekiel seemed to grow an inch at every word, and
the brawny pressman looked first at him, and then
at the press, with evident astonishment. "Talk
about the mind's living for ever !" exclaimed the boy,
pointing patronizingly at the ground, as if mind were
lying there incapable of immortality until the printer
reached it a helping hand, " why the world is brim-
ful of live, bright, industrious thoughts, which would
have been dead, as dead as a stone,' if it hadn't been
for boys like me who have run the ink rollers. Im-
mortality, indeed ! why, people's minds," he con-
tinued, with his imagination climbing into the pro-
fanely sublime, " people's minds wouldn't be im-
mortal if 'twasn't for the printers — at any rate, in
this here planetary burying-ground. We are the
chaps what manufacture immortality for dead men,"
he subjoined, slapping the pressman graciously on
the shoulder. The latter took it as if dubbed. a
knight of the legion of honor, for the boy had put
the mysteries of his profession in sublime apo< alypse.
" Give us one good healthy mind," resumed Izekiel,
" to think for .us, and we will furnish a dozen worlds
as big as this with thoughts to order. Give us such
a man, and we will insure his life ; we will keep him
alive for ever among the living. He can't die, no
way you can fix it, when once we have touched him
with these here bits of inky pewter. He shan't die
nor sleep. We will keep his mind at work on all the
minds that live on the earth, and all the minds
that shall come to live here as long as the world
stands."
" Ezekiel," I asked, in a subdued tone of reve-
rence, " will you print my thoughts too ?"
" Yes, that I will," he replied, "if you will think
some of the right kind." " Yes, that we will,"
echoed the pressman.
And I went home and thought, and Ezekiel has
printed my " thought-tracks" ever since.
ALFEED B. STREET.
Tire early associations of Mr. Street were of a
kind favorable to the development of the tastes
•which mark his literary productions. The son of
the Hon. Randall S. Street, he was born at
Poughkeepsie, on the Hudson, and at an early
age removed witli his father to Monticello in Sul-
livan county, then almost a wilderness. The
scenery of these beautiful regions is reproduced
in his poems, and the faithfulness and minuteness
of the picture show the firmness of the impres-
sion upon the youthful mind.
J*i\jlXH<$<^uM-
Mr. Street studied law as well as nature, at
Monticello, and on Ids admission to the bar re-
ALFRED B. STREET.
moved to Albany,' where lie has since resided.
He married a daughter of Mr. Smith Weed, of
that place, and has for several years hell the ap-
pointment of state librarian.
Mr. Street commenced his literary career at an
early age as a poetical writer for the magazines.
His first volume, The Burning of Schenectady, and
other Poems, was published in 1842. The leading
poem is a narration of a well known incident of
the colonial history of New York ; the remain-
ing pieces are of a descriptive character. A
second collection, Drawings and Tintings, ap-
peared in 1814. It includes a poem on Nature,
of decided merit in its descriptions of the phe-
nomena of the seasons, which was pronounced by
the author in 1810 before the Euglossian Society
of Geneva College.
In 1849 Mr. Street published in London, and in
the same year in this country, Frontenac, or the
Atotarho of the Iroquois, a Metrical Romance, a
poem of some seven thousand lines in the octo-
syllabic measure, founded on the expedition of
Count Frontenac, governor-general of Canada,
against the powerful Indian tribe of the Iroquois.
The story introduces many picturesque scenes of
Indian lite, and abounds in passages of descrip-
tion of natural scenery, in the author's best vein
of careful elaboration.
In 1842, a collection of the poems of Mr.
Street, embracing, with the exception of a few
juvenile pieces and the romance of Frontenac,
all that he had written to that period, was
published in New York. He has since contri-
buted to various magazines a number of pieces
sufficient to form a volume of similar size. He
haj also written a narrative poem, of which La
Salle is tUo-hero, extending to some three thou-
sand lines, which still remains in manuscript.
He is besides the author of a number of prose
tale sketches, which have appeared with success
in tin? magazines of the day.
Mr. Street's poems are chiefly occupied with
descriptions of the varied phases of American
scenery. He has won a well merited reputation
by the fidelity of his observation. As a descriptive
writer he is a patient and accurate observer of
Nature, — daguerreotyping the effects of earth
and air, and the phenomena of vegetable and
animal lite in their various relation to the land-
scape. He has been frequently described by
critics by comparison with the minute style
of the painters of the Dutch school. Mr. Tucker-
man, in an article in the Democratic Review,
has thus alluded to this analogy, and to the
home atmosphere of the author's descriptions
of American nature : — " Street is a true Flemish
painter, seizing upon objects in all their verisimi-
litude. As we read him, wild flowers peer up
from among brown leaves; the drum of the par-
tridge, the ripple of waters, the flickering of au-
tumn light; the sting of sleety snow, the cry of
the panther, the roar of the winds, the melody of
birds, and the odor of crushed pine-boughs are
present to our senses. In a foreign land his
poems would transport us at once to home. He
is no second-band limner, content to furnish in-
sipid copies but draws from reality. His pic-
tures have th ■ freshness of qrigina's. Th;y ara
graphic, detai _<1, never untrue, and of.ui vi-
gorous ; he is essentially an American poet."
TITE SETTLEK.
His echoing axe the settler swung
Amid the sea-like solitude,
And rushing, thundering, down were flung
The Titans of the wood ;
Loud shrieked the eagle as he dashed
From out his mossy nest, which crushed
With its supporting bough,
And the first sunlight, leaping, flashed
On the wolf's haunt below.
Rude was the garb, and strong the frame
Of him who plied his ceaseless toil :
To form that garb, the wild-wood game
Contributed their spoil ;
The soul that warmed that frame, disdained
The tinsel, gaud, and glare, that reigned
Where men their crowds collect;
The simple fur, untrimmed, unstained,
This forest tamer decked.
The paths which wound 'mid gorgeous trees,
The streams whose bright lips kissed their
flowers,
The winds that swelled their harmonies
Through those sun-hiding bowers,
The temple vast — tlie green arcade,
The nestling vale, the grassy glade,
Dark cave and swampy lair ;
These scenes and sounds majestic, made
His world, his pleasures, there.
His roof adorned, a pleasant spot,
'Mid the black logs green glowed the grain,
And herbs ami plants the woods knew not,
Throve in the sun and rain.
The smoke-wreath curling o'er the dell,
The low — the bleat — the tinkling bell,
All made a landscape strange, ■
Which was the living chronicle
Of deeds that wrought the change.
The violet sprung at Spring's first, tinge,
The rose of Summer spread its glow,
The maize hung on its Autumn fringe,
Rude Winter brought his snow ;
And still the settler labored there,
His shout and whistle woke the air,
As cheerily he plied
His garden spade, or drove his share
Along the hillock's side.
lie marked the flre-storm's blazing flood
Roaring and crackling on its path,
And scorching earth, and melting wood,
Beneath its greedy wrath;
He marked the rapid whirlwind shoot,
Trampling the pine tree with its foot,
And darkening thick the day
With streaming bough and severed root,
Hurled whizzing on its way.
Flis gaunt hound yelled, his rifle flashed,
The grim bear hushed its savage growl,
In blood and foam the panther gnashed
Its fangs with dj'ing howl ;
The fleet deer ceased its flying bound,
Its snarling wolf foe bit the ground,
And with its moaning cry,
The beaver sank beneath the wound
Its pond-built Venice by.
Humble the lot, yet his the race i
When liberty sent forth her cry,
Who thronged in Conflict's deadliest place,
To fight. — to bleed — to die.
Who cumbered Bunker's height of red,
By hope, through weary years were led,
And witnessed Yorktown's sun
556
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Blaze on a Nation's banner spread,
A Nation's freedom won.
AX AUTUMN LANDSCAPE.
A knoll of upland, shorn by nibbling sheep
To a rich carpet, woven of short grass
And tiny clover, upward leads my steps
By the seamed pathway, and my roving eye
Drinks in the vassal landscape. Far and wide
Nature is smiling in her loveliness,
Masses of woods, green strips of fields, ravines,
Shown by their outlines drawn against the hills,
Chimneys and roofs, trees, single and in groups,
Bright curves of brooks, and vanishing mountain
tops
Expand upon my sight. October's brush
The scene has colored ; not with those broad hues
Mixed in his later palette by the frost,
And dashed upon the picture, till the eye
Aches with the varied splendor, but in tints
Left by light scattered touches. Overhead
There is a blending of cloud, haze and sky;
A silvery sheet with spaces of soft hue ;
A trembling veil of gauze is stretched athwart
The shadowy hill-sides and dark forest-flanks ;
A soothing quiet broods upon the air,
And the faint sunshine winks with drowsiness.
Far sounds melt mellow on the ear: the bark —
The bleat — the tinkle — whistle — blast of horn —
The rattle of the wagon-wheel — the low —
The fowler's shot — the twitter of the bird,
And e'en the hue of converse from the road.
The grass, with its low insect-tones, appears
As murmuring in its sleep. This butterfly
Seems as if loth to stir, so lazily
It flutters by. In fitful starts and stops
The locust sings. The grasshopper breaks out
In brief harsh strains ; amidst its pausing chirps
The beetle glistening in its sable mail,
Slow climbs the clover-tops, and e'en the ant
Darts rouud less eagerly.
What difference marks
The scene from yester-noontide. Then the sky
Showed such rich, tender blue, it seemed as if
'Twould melt before the sight. The glittering
clouds
Floated above, the trees danced glad below
To the fresh wind. The sunshine flashed on streams,
Sparkled on leaves, and laughed on fields and woods.
All, all was life and motion, as all now
Is sleep and quiet. Nature in her change
Varies each day, as in the world of man
She moulds the differing features. Yea, each leaf
Is variant from its fellow. Yet her works
Are blended in a glorious harmony,
For thus God made His earth. Perchance His
breath
Was music when he spake it into life,
Adding thereby another instrument
To the innumerable choral orbs
Sending the tribute of their grateful praise
In ceaseless anthems toward His sacred throne.
THEODORE PARKER
Is a native of Massachusetts, born in or about
the year 1812, at Lexington, the son of a farmer,
and grandson of a Revolutionary soldier. He
studied theology among the Unitarians at Cam-
bridge; became a graduate of its theological
school in 1836, and was afterwards settled as
minister of the Second Church in Roxbury. From
1840 to 1842 he was a contributor to the Dial
and Christian Examiner, of papers chiefly on
theological topics, which he collected in a volumo
of Critical and Miscellaneous Writings in 1843.
In 1842 he published a treatise, A Discourse of
Matters relating to Religion, in an octavo vo-
lume. It was the substance of a series of lectures
delivered the previous season in Boston, and con-
stituted a manifesto of the growing changes of
the author in his doctrinal opinions, which had
widely departed from points of church authority,
the inspiration of the scriptures and the divine cha-
racter of the Saviour. He had previously in
May, 1841, startled his associates by his Discourse
on the Transient and Permanent in Christianity,
preached at the ordination of Mr. Charles C.
Shackford, in Harris Place Church in Boston.
Both these publications were met and opposed in
the Christian Examiner.
Theodore Parker.
Proscribed by the Unitarian Societies of Boston
on account of the promulgation of his new views,
Mr. Parker organized, by the aid of his friends, a
congregation, which met in the old Melodeon in the
city, and has since transferred itself to the ample
accommodations of the new Music Hall. He has
published a memorial of this change, in Two Ser-
mons, on leaving an old and entering a new place
of worship. His title, as appears from his printed
discourses, is Minister of the Twenty-Eighth Con-
gregational Society in Boston. In his new quar-
ters he holds an independent service, delivering a
weekly discourse on Sunday morning, frequently
taking for his theme some topic of the times or
point of morality. The questions of slaver)',
war, social and moral reforms of various kinds, are
discussed with much acute analysis, occasional
effective satire, and a rather unprofitable reliance
on the powers of the individual. As a practical
teacher, he is in the unfortunate position of a
priest without a church, and a politician without
a state. Though he interweaves some elegance
of fancy in his discourses, yet it is of a dry quali-
ty, a flower of a forced growth, and his manner
and matter seem equally unaffected by tender -
poetic imagination. He has nothing of the air
of hearty impulse of a democratic leader of revo-
lutionary opinion, as might be supposed, from the
drift of his printed discourses. As a speaker he
is slow, didactic, positive, and self-sufficient.
Mr. Parker has published several series of dis-
courses, entitled Sermons of Theism, Atheism, and
WILLIAM HAYNE SIMMONS ; JAMES WKIGIIT SIMMONS.
55
ihe Popular Theology, and Ten Sermons of liel.i-
c/ion, from which his moral views may be gather-
ed.
He has borne a prominent part in the agitation
of the Fugitive Slave Law, of which he is a vigor-
ous denouncer. A number of his discourses on
this and other social topics are included in his
two volumes, Speeches, Addresses, and Occasional
Sermons, published in 1852. In 1848 he delivered
an elaborate critical essay on the character of
John Quincy Adams, immediately after the death
of that statesman, and a similar discourse, re-
markable for its severity, on Daniel Webster.
As a specimen of Mr. Parker's manner on a
topic of more general agreement than most of his
writings afford, we may cite a few passages from
a sermon published by him in 1854 on
OLD AGE.
I cannot tell where childhood ends, and manhood
begins ; nor where manhood ends, and old age be-
gins. It is a wavering and uncertain line, not
straight and definite, which borders betwixt the two.
But the outward characteristics of old age are ob-
vious enough. The weight diminishes. Man is com-
monly heaviest at forty, woman at fifty. After that,
the body shrinks a little ; the height shortens as the
cartilages become thin and dry. The hair whitens and
falls awa3r. The frame stoops, the bones become small-
er, feebler, have less anim:d and more mere earthy
matter. The senses decay, slowly and handsomely.
The eye is not so sharp, and while it penetrates fur-
ther into space, it has less power clearly to define
the outline of what it sees. The ear is dull ; the ap-
petite less. Bodily heat is lower ; the breath pro-
duces less carbonic acid than before. The old man
consumes less food, water, air. The hands grasp less
strongly ; the feet less firmly tread. The lungs
6uck the breast of heaven with less powerful col-
lapse. The eye and car take not so strong a hold
upon the world: —
And tha b:g manly voice,
Taming again to childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
The animal life is making ready to go out. The very
old man loves the sunshine and the fire, the arm-
chair and the shady nook. A rude wind would jostle
the full-grown apple from its bough, full-ripe, full-
colored, too. The internal characteristics corres-
pond. General activity is less. Salient love of new
things and of new persons, which bit the young
man's heart, fades away. He thinks the old is bet-
ter. He is not venturesome ; he keeps at home.
Passion once stung him into quickened life ; now that
gad-fly is no more buzzing in his ears. Madame de
Stael finds compensation in Science for the decay of
the passion that once fired her blood ; but Heathen
Socrates, seventy years old, thanks the gods that he
is now free from that " ravenous beast," which had
disturbed his philosophic meditations for many a
year. Romance is the child of Passion and Imagi-
nation ; — the sudden father that, the long protracting
mother this. Old age has little romance. Only some
rare man, like Wilhelm Von Humboldt, keeps it
still fresh in his bosom.
In intellectual mutters, the venerable man loves to
recall the old times, to revive his favorite old men,
— no new ones half so fair. So in Homer, Nestor,
who is the oldest of the Greeks, is always talking of
the old times, before the grandfathers of men then
living had come into being; " iot such as live in
these degenerate days." Verse-loving John Quincy
Adams turns off from Byron and Shelley and Wic
land and G-oethe, and returns to Pope,
Who pleased his childhood and informed his youth.
The pleasure of hope is smaller; that of memory
greater. It is exceeding beautiful that it is so. The
venerable man loves to set recollection to beat the
roll-call, and summon up from the grave the old
time, " the good old time," — the old places, old
friends, old games, old talk, nay, to his ear the old
familiar tunes are sweeter than anything that Men-
delssohn, or Strauss, or Rossini can bring to pass.
Elder Brewster expects to hear St. Martins and
Old Hundred chanted in Heaven. Why not? To
him Heaven conies in the long-used musical tradition,
not in the neologies of sound.
# * * # *- * * *
Then the scholar becomes an antiquary; he likes
not young men unless he knew their grandfathers
before. The young woman looks in the newspaper
for the marriages, the old man for the deaths. The
young man's eye looks, forward ; the world is " all be-
fore him where to choose." It is a hard world ; he
does not know it: he works a little, and hopes much.
The middle-aged man looks around at the present ;
he has found out that it is a hard world; he hopes
less and works more. The old man looks back on
the fields lie has trod; "this is the tree I planted;
this is my footstep," and he loves his old house, his
I old carriage, cat, dog, staff, and friend. In lands
i where the vine grows, I have seen an old man sit all
l day long, a sunny autumn day, before his cottage
I door, in a great arm-chair, his old dog couched at
his feet, in the genial sun. The autumn wind played
with the oil man's venerable hairs ; above him on
the wall, purpling in the sunlight, hung the full
clusters of the grape, ripening and maturing yet
more. The two were just alike; the wind stirred
the vine leaves, and they fell; stirred the oil man's
hair and it whitened yet more. Both were waiting
for the spirit in them to be fully ripe. The young
man looks forward ; the old man looks back. How
long the shadows lie in the setting-sun; the steeple
a mile long reaching across the plain, as the sun
stretches out the hills in grotesque dimensions. So
are the events of life in the old man's consciousness.
WILLIAM IIAYNE SIMMONS— JAMES WEIGHT
SIMMONS.
Dr. W. II. Simmons is a native of South Caro-
lina, and at present a resident of East Florida.
He is a graduate of the medical school of Phila-
delphia, but has never practised the profession.
He published anonymously some years since at
Charleston, an Indian poem, with the title, Onea,
which contains descriptive passages of merit.
Mr. Simmons is also the author of a History of
the Seminolcs. The following is from his pen : —
TEE BELL BIBD.*
Here Nature, clad in vestments rich and gay,
Sits like a bride in gorgeous palace lone ;
* "It is generally supposed," says the Eev. K. Walsh, in his
Notices of Brazil, "tint the woods abound witli birds whose
flight and note continually enliven the forest, but nothing can
be more still and solitary than everything around. The silence
is appalling, and the desolation awful ; neither are disturbed
by the sight or voice of any living thing, save one — which only
adds to the impression. Among the highest trees, and in tho
deepest glens, a sound is sometimes heard so singular, that the
noise seems quite unnatural. It is like the clinking of metals,
as if two lumps of brass were struck together: and resembles
sometimes the distant and solemn tolling of a church bell,
struck at long intervals. This extraordinary sound proceeds
from a bird called Araponga, or Quiraponga. It is about the
558
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Andsees naught move, and hears no sound all day,
Save from its cloudy source the torrent tumbling,
And to the mountain's foot its glories humbling,
Or wild woods to the desert gale that moan I
Or, far, the Araponga's note deep toiling
From the tall pine's glossy spine, where the breeze,
Disporting o'er the green and shoreless seas,
Impels the leafy billows, ever rolling.
It comes again! sad as the passing bell,
That solitary note I — unseen whence swell
The tones so drear — so secret is the shade
Where that coy dweller of the gloom has made
His perch. On high, behind his verdant screen,.
He nestles; or, like transient snow-flake's flash,
Or flying foam that winds from torrent's dash,
Plunges to stiller haunts, where hangs sublime
The traveling water vine, its pitcher green
Filled from the cloud, where ne'er the bear may
climb,
Or thirsting savage, when the summer ray
Has dried each fount, and parched the desert way.
Here safe he dips refreshed his pearly bill
In lymph more pure than from a spring or rill ;
No longer by the wand'ring Indian shared,
The dewy draught he there may quaff unscared, —
For vacant now glooms ev'ry glen or grove
Where erst he saw the quivered Red Man rove;
Saw, like the otter's brood upon the stream,
His wild-eyed offspring sport, or, 'neath the tree,
Share with the birds kind nature's bounty free.
Changed is the woodland scene like morning dream!
The race has vanished, to return no more,
Gone from the forest's side, the river's shore.
Is it for this, thou lone and hermit bird !
That thus thy knell-like -note so sad is heard?
Soundirg from ev'ry desert shade and dell
Where once they dwelt, where last they wept fare-
well !
They fled — till, wearied by the bloody chase ;
Or stopped by the rich spoil, their brethren pale,
Sated, the dire pursuit surceased a space.
While Memory's eye o'er the sad ] ieture fills,
They fade! nor leave behind or wreck or trace;
The valiant tribes forgotten on their hills,
And seen no more in wilderness or vale.
James Wp.igitt Simmons, a younger brother of
the preceding, was born in South Carolina. He
studied at Harvard, wrote verses, afterwards tra-
velled in Europe, and returned to America to
reside in the West. In 1852 lie published at Bos-
ton a poem, The Greek Girl ; a sketch in the
desultory style made fashionable by Don Juan,
and so well adapted to the expression of emotion.
It breathes a poetic spirit, and bears traces of the
author's acquaintance with books and the world.
Mr. Simmons has written several other poems of
an occasional or satirical character, and is also the
author of a series of metrical tales, Woodnotes
from the West, which are still in manuscript.
The following, from the volume containing the
"Greek Girl," are in a striking vein of reflec-
tion.
size of a small pigeon ; white, with a red circle round the eyes.
It tits on tiie tops of the highest trees, and in the deepest for-
ests; and though constantly heard in the most desert places, is
very rarely seen. It is impossible to conceive anything of a
more solitary character than the profound silence of the
woods, broken only by the metallic and almost preternatu-
ral sound of this invisible bird, wherever you go. I have
watched with great perseverance when the sound seemed quite
near to me, and never once caught a glimpse of the cause. It
passed suddenly over the tops of very high trees, like a large
flake of snow, and immediately disappeared."
TO DIM WHO CAN ALONE SIT FOE THE PICTURE.
If to be free from aught of guile,
Neither to do nor suffer wrong ;
Yet in thy judgments gentle still,
Serene — inflexible in M'ill,
Only where some great duty lies ;
Prone to forgive, or, with a smile,
Reprove the errors that belong
To natures that fall far below
The height of thy empyreal brow :
Of self to make a sacrifice,
Rather than view another's woe;
And guided by the same fixed law
Supreme, to yield, in argument,
The bootless triumph that might draw
Down pain upon thy opponent:
By fate oppressed, " in each hard instance tried,"
Still seen with Honor walking b}- thy side;
E'en in those hours when all unbend,
And by some thoughtless word offend,
Thy conscious spirit, great and good,
Neither upborne, nor yet subdued,
Impressed by sense of human ill,
Preserv'st its even tenor still;
While 'neath that calm, clear surface lie
Thoughts worthy of Eternity !
And passions— shall I call them so?
Celestial attributes! that glow
Radiant as wing of Seraphim,
Lighting thy path, in all else dim.
Placed on their lofty eminence,
Thou see'st the guerdons that to thee belong,
Passed to the low-browed temple, burn intense —
Standing between thee and the throng
Of noble minds, thy great compeers I
And still the same serenity appears,
Like stars in its own solitude —
Setting its seal on thy majestic blood !
If elements like these could give
The record that might bid them live,
The mighty dead — Saint, Sophist, Sage,
Achilles in his tent- —
Might claim in vain a brighter page,
A haughtier monument.
TWILIGHT THOUGHTS.
Ye're fading in the distance dim,
Illusions of the heart!
Yes, one by one, recalled by Him —
I see ye all depart.
The swelling pride, the rising glow,
The spirit that would mount !
The mind that sought all things to know —
And drank at that dread fount.
Over whose waters, dark and deep,
Their sleepless vigils still
Those melancholy Daughters keep,
Or by thy sacred Hill !
Deep Passion's concentrated fire,
The soul's volcanic light!
A Phoenix on her fun'ral pyre,
The Eden of a night !
The wish to be all things — to soar,
And comprehend the universe;
Yet doomed to linger on the shore,
And feel our fettered wings a curse !
To drink in Beauty at a glance,
Its graces and its bloom;
Yet weave the garlands of Romance
To decorate the tomb !
To sigh for some dear Paradise,
Exempt from age or death ;
FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD.
To live for ever in those eyes,
And breathe but with that breath !
To be awakened from such dream,
With the remembrance clinging still !
Like llowers reflected in a stream,
When all is changed and chill.
To feci that life can never bring
_Its Rainbow back to our lost sky!
Plucks from the hand of death its sting,
The grave its victory!
FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD.
Mrs. Osgood was a member of a family dis-
tinguished by literary ability. Mrs. Wells,* the
author of a graceful volume of Poems, was the
daughter of Frances's mother by a previous mar-
riage, and her youngest sister, Mrs. E. D. Harring-
ton, and her brother, A. A. Locke, are known as
successful magazine writers. Their father, Mr.
Joseph Locke, was a well educated merchant of
Boston, where his daughter Frances was born
about the year 1812.
The chief portion of her childhood was passed
in the village of -Hi ogham, a locality peculiarly
adapted by its beautiful situation for a poetic
culture, which soon developed itself in her youth-
fid mind. She was encouraged in writing verses
by her parents, and some of her productions
being seen by Mrs. Lydia Maria Child, were so
highly approved, as to be inserted by her in a
juvenile Miscellany which she at that time con-
ducted. They were rapidly followed by others
from the same facile pen, which soon gave their
signature, " Florence," a wide reputation.
In 1834, Miss Locke formed the acquaintance
of Mr. S. S. Osgood, a young painter already
favorably known in his profession. She sat to
him for her portrait, and the artist won the
heart of the sitter. Soon after their marriage
they went to London, where they remained
four years, during which Mr. Osgood pursued
his art of portrait-painting with success ; and
his wife's poetical compositions to various
periodicals met with equal favor. In 1839,
a collection of her poems was issued by a Lon-
don publisher, with the title of A Wreath of
Wild Flowers from New England. A dramatic
poem, Elfrida, in the volume, impressed her
friend James Sheridan Knowles the dramatist, so
favorably, that he urged her to write a piece for
the stage. In compliance with the suggestion,
she wrote The Happy Release or the Triumphs of
Love, a play in three acts. It was accepted by
one of the theatres, and would have been pro-
duced had not the author, while engaged in the
reconstruction of a scene, been suddenly sum-
moned home by the melancholy news of the
death of her father. She returned with Mr.
Osgood to Boston in 1840. They soon after-
wards removed to New York, where, with a few
intervals of absence, the remainder of her life was
passed. Her poetical contributions appeared at
brief intervals in the magazines, for which she
also wrote a few- prose tales and sketches. In
1841 she edited The Poetry of Flowers and
Flowers of Poetry, and in 1847, The Floral
Offering, two illustrated gift books.
* Anna Maria Foster was born about 17!)4 in Gloucester, a
sea-port towu of Massachusetts. Her father (lied during her
infancy, and her mother marrying some years after Mr. Joseph
Locke, became the mother" of Mrs. Osgood. Miss Foster
married in 1S29 Mr. Thomas Wells, an officer of the United
States revenue service, and the author of a few prize poems.
In 1S31 she published Poems and Jurenile SkeUtlies in a
small volume, and lias since occasionally contributed to period-
icals, her chief attention having been given to a young ladies1
school.
Mrs. Osgood's physical frame was as delicate as
her mental organization. She suffered frequently
from ill health, and was an invalid during the
whole of the winter of 1847-8. During the suc-
ceeding winter she rallied, and her husband,
whose own health required the reinvigorating
influence of travel, with a view to this object,
and to a share in the profitable adventure which
at that time was tempting so many from their
homes, sailed for California in February, 1849.
He returned after an absence of a year, with
restored health and ample means, to find his wife
fast sinking in consumption. The husband
carried the wife in his arms to a new residence,
where, with the happy hopefulness characteristic
of her disorder, she selected articles for its furni-
ture and decoration, from patterns brought to her
bedside. The rapidly approaching termination
of her disorder was soon gently made known to
her, and received, after a few tears at the thought
of leaving her husband and two young children,
with resignation. The evening but one after she
wrote for a young girl at her side, who was mak-
ing and teaching her to make paper flowers, the
following lines : —
You've woven roses round my way,
And gladdened all my being ;
How much I thank you, none can say,
Save only the All-seeing.
I m going through the eternal gates,
Ere June's sweet roses blow ;
Death's lovely angel leads me there,
And it is sweet to go.
The touching prophecy was fulfilled, by her
calm death, five days after, on Sunday afternoon,
May 12, 1850. Her remains were removed
to Boston, and laid beside those of her mother
and daughter, at Mount Auburn, on Wednesday
of the same week.
5C0
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
Mrs. Osgood's poems ■we're collected and pub- !
lished in New York, in 1846, and in one of the
series of illustrated volumes of the works of Ame-
rican poets, by A. Hart of Philadelphia, in 1849.
In 1851 a volume containing contributions by
her many literary friends, entitled the Memorial,
was published by G. P. Putnam of New York. It
contained a memoir from.the pen of Mr. Griswold.
It was an illustrated gift-book, and the profits of
its sale were intended for the erection of a monu-
ment to the gifted writer, in whose honor it was
issued.
Of a rare gracefulness and delicacy, Mrs. Osgood
lived a truly poetic life. Her unaffected and
lively manners, with her ready tact in conversa-
tion, combined with an unusual facility in writing
verses, charmed a large circle of friends, as her j
winning lines' in the periodicals of the day
engaged the attention of the public. As an
instance of her playfulness of mind, she wrote a
collection of ludicrous and humorous verses for a
child's book, to set off some rude engravings of
The Cries of New York. The fanciful and the
delicate in sentiment, supplied the usual themes
of her verses, touched at times with passionate
expression, and a darker shade, as the evils of life
closed around her.
TO TnE SPIEIT OF POETF.T.
Leave me not yet! Leave me not cold and lonely.
Thou dear Ideal of my pining heart!
Thou art the friend — the beautiful — the only,
Whom I would keep, tho' all the world depart !
Thou, that dost veil the frailest flower with glory,
Spirit of light and loveliness and truth !
Thou that didst tell me a sweet, fairy story,
Of the dim future, in my wistful youth !
'Thou, who canst weave a halo round the spirit,
Thro' which naught mean or evil dare intrude,
Resume not yet the gift, which I inherit
From Heaven and thee, that dearest, holiest
good!
Leave me not now ! Leave me not cold and lonely,
Thou starry prophet of my pining heart !
Thou art the friend — the tenderest — the only,
With whom, of all, 'twould be despair to part.
Thou that cam'st to me in my dreaming childhood,
Shaping the changeful clouds to pageants rare,
Peopling the smiling vale, and shaded wildwood,
With airy beings, faint yet strangely fair;
Telling me all the sea-born breeze was saying,
While it went whispering thro' the willing ieaves,
Bidding me listen to the light rain playing
Its pleasant tune, about the household eaves;
Tuning the low, sweet ripple of the river',
Till its melodious murmur seemed a soDg,
A tender and sad chant, repeated ever,
A sweet, impassioned plaint of love and wrong !
Leave me not yet! Leave me not cold and lonely,
Thou star of promise o'er my clouded path !
Leave not the life, that borrows from thee only
All of delight and beauty that it hath !
Thou, that when others knew not how to love me,
Nor eared to fathom half my yearning soul,
Didst wreathe thy flowers of light, around, above me,
To woo and win me from my griefs control.
By all my dreams, the passionate, the holy,
When thou hast sung love's lullaby to me,
By all the childlike worship, fond and lowly.
Which I have lavished upon thine and thee.
By all the layB my Eimple lute was learning,
To echo from thy voice, stay w"ith me still !
Once flown — alas! for thee there's no returning!
The charm will die o'er valley, wood, and hill.
Tell me not Time, whose wing my brow has shaded,
Has withered spring's sweet bloom within my
heart,
Ah, no ! the rose of love is yet unfaded,
Tho' hope and joy, its sister flowers, depart.
Well do I know that I have wronged thine altar,
With the light offerings of an idler's mind,
And thus, with shame, my pleading prayer I falter,
• Leave me not, spirit ! deaf, and dumb, and blind!
Deaf to the mystic harmony of nature,
Blind to the beauty of her stars and flowers.
Leave me not, heavenly yet human teacher,
Lonely and lost in this cold world of ours !
Heaven knows I need thy music and thy beauty
Still to beguile me on my weary way,
To lighten to my soul the cares of duty,
And bless with radiant dreams the darkened day:
To charm ray wild heart in the worldly revel.
Lest I, too, join the aimless, false, and vain ;
Let me not lower to the soulless level
Of those whom now I pity and disdain !
Leave me not yet! — leave me not cold and pining,
Thou bird of paradise, whose phimes of light,
Where'er they rested, left a glory shining ;
Fly not to heaven, or let me share thy flight !
Labor is rest — from the sorrows that greet us ;
Rest from all petty vexations that meet us,
Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us.
Rest from world-syrens that lure us to ill.
Work — and pure slumbers shall wait on the pillow,
Work — thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow ;
Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping willow7 !
Work with a stout heart arid resolute will !
Labor is health ! Lo the husbandman reaping,
How through his veins goes the life current leaping;
How his strong arm, in its stalwart pride sweeping,
Free as a sunbeam the swift sickle guides.
Labor is wealth — in the sea the pearl groweth,
Rich the queen's robe from the frail cocoon floweth,
From the fine acorn the strong forest bloweth,
Temple and statue the marble block hides.
Droop not, tho' shame, sin, and anguish are round
thee!
Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound
thee ;
Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee,
Rest not content in thy darkness — a clod !
Work — for some good be it ever so slowly;
Cherish some flowTer be it ever so lowly;
Labor! — all labor is noble and holy;
Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God-
Pause not to dream of the future before us ;
Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us :
Hark how Creation's deep, musical chorus,
Unintermitting, goes up into Heaven !
Never the ocean-wave falters in flowing ;
Never the little seed stops in its growing ;
More and more richly the Rose-heart keeps glowing.
Till from its nourishing stem it is riven.
" Labor is worship !" — the robin is singing,
" Labor is worship !" — the wild bee is ringing,
Listen ! that eloquent whisper upspringing,
Speaks to thy soul from out nature's great heart.
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower;
From the rough sod blows the soft breathing flower,
From the small insect — the rich coral bower,
Only man in the plan shrinks from his part.
SEBA SMITH; ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.
561
labor is life ! — 'tis the still water faileth ;
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth :
Keep the watch wound for the dark rust assaileth !
Flowers droop and die iu the stillness of noon.
Labor is glory! — the flying cloud lightens;
Only the waving wing changes and brightens ;
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens ;
Play the sweet keys wouldst thou keep them
in tune 1
BONG — SITE LOVES IIIM YET.
She loves him yet !
I know by the blush that rises
Beneatli the curls,
That shallow her soul-lit cheek ;
She loves him yet !
Through all love's sweet disguises
In timid girls,
A blush will be sure to speak.
But deeper signs
Than the radiant blush of beauty,
The maiden finds,
"Whenever his name is heard ;
Her young heart thrills,
Forgetting herself — her duty —
Her dark eye fills,
And her pulse with hope is stirred.
She loves him yet ! —
The flower the false one gave her
"When last he came,
Is still with her wild tears wet.
She'll ne'er forget,
Howe'er his faith may waver,
Through grief and shame,
Believe it — she loves him yet.
His favorite songs
She will sing — she heeds no other;
With all her wrongs,
Her life on his love is set.
Oh ! doubt no more !
She never can wed another;
Till life be o'er.
She loves — she will love him yet.
TO A DEAR LITTLE TRUANT.
When are you coming? The flowers have come!
Bees in the balmy air happily hum:
Tenderly, timidly, down in the dell
Sighs the sweet violet, droops the Harebell :
Soft in the wavy grass glistens the dew —
Spring keeps her promises — why do not you ?
Up in the air, love, the clouds are at play ;
You are more graceful and lovely than they I
Birds in the woods carol all the day long ;
When are you coming to join in the song?
Fairer than flowers and purer than dew !
Other sweet things are here — why are not vou ?
When are you coming? We've welcomed the Rose!
Every light zephyr, as gaily it goes,
Whispers of other flowers met on its way ;
Why has it nothing of you, love, to say ?
Why does it tell us of music and dew ?
Hose of the South ! we are waiting for you !
Do, darling, eome to us! — 'mid the dark trees,
Like a lute murmurs the musical breeze;
Sometimes the Brook, as it trips by the flowers,
Hushes its warble to listen for yours I
Pure as the Violet, lovely ami true!
Spring should have waited till she cauld bring you !
VOL. II. — 36
SEBA SMITH— ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.
TnE maiden name of this lady was Prince. She
is descended on both her father's and mother's side
from distinguished Puritan ancestry, and was
born in the vicinity of Portland, Maine.
Miss Prince, at an early age, was married to
Mr. Seba Smith, then editing a newspaper in Port-
land, who has since, under the " nom de plume"
of Jack Downing, obtained a national reputation.
In addition to the original series of the famous
letters bearing the signature wo have named, col-
lected in a volume in 1833, and which are among
the most successful adaptations of the Yankee
dialect to the purposes of humorous writing, Mr.
Smith is the author of Powhatan, a Metrical Ro-
mance, in seven cantos, published in New York in
1841, and of several shorter poems which have ap-
peared in the periodicals of the day. He is also a
successful writer of tales and essays for the maga-
zines, a portion of which were collected in 1855,
with the title Down East. In 1850 he published an
elaborate scientific work entitled New Elements of
Geometry.
Mrs. Smith's earliest poems were contributed to
various periodicals anonymously, but in conse-
quence of business disasters in which her husband
became involved, she commenced the open profes-
sion of authorship as a means of support for her
family. She has since been a constant contributor
in prose and verse to the magazines.
An early collection of Mrs. Smith's poems pub-
lished in New York, was followed in 18-f3 by The
Sinless Child and Other Poems. The leading
production of this volume originally appeared in
the Southern Literary Messenger. It is a romance,
with several episodes, written in the ballad style.
As an indication of its measure and frequent
felicities of expression we quote a few stanzas.
MIDSUMMER.
"lis the summer prime, when the noiseless air
In perfumed chalice lies,
And the bee goes by with a lazy hum,
Beneatli the sleeping skies :
When the brook is low, and the ripples bright,
As down the stream they go,
The pebbles are dry on the upper side,
And dark and wet below.
562
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
The tree that stood where the soil's athirst.
And the mulleins first appear,
Hath a dry and rusty-colored bark,
And its leaves are curled and sere ;
But the dogwood and the hazel-bush
Have clustered round the brook —
Their roots have stricken deep beneath,
And they have a verdant look.
To the juicy leaf the grasshopper clings,
And he gnaws it like a file ;
The naked stalks are withering by,
Where he lias been erewhile.
The cricket hops on the glistering rock,
Or pipes in the faded grass ;
The beetle's wing is folded mute,
Where the steps of the idler pass.
llrs. Smith is also the author of The Roman
Tribute, a tragedy in five act?, founded on the ex-
emption of the city of Constantinople from de-
struction, by the tribute paid by Theodosius to the
conquering Attila, and Jacob Leisler, a tragedy
founded upon a well known dramatic incident in
the colonial history of New York.
She has also written The Western Captke, a
novel, which appeared in 1842, and a fanciful
prose tale, The Salamander ; a Legend for Christ-
mas. In 1851 she published Woman and her
Needs, a volume on the Woman's Eights question,
of which Mrs. Smith has been a prominent advo-
cate by her pen, and occasionally as a public
lecturer. Her last publication, Bertha and Lily,
or the Parsonage of Beech Glen, a Romance, is
a story of American country life. It contains
some good sketches of character, and is in part
devoted to the development of the author's social
views.
STRENGTII FROM THE niLLS.
Come up unto the hills — thy strength is there.
Oli, thou hast tarried long,
Too long amid the bowers and blossoms fair,
"With notes of summer song.
Why dost thou tarry there? What though the bird
Pipes matin in the vale — ■
The plough-boy whistles to the loitering herd,
As the red daylight fails.
Yet come unto the hills, the old strong hills,
And leave the stagnant plain ;
Come to the gushing of the newborn rills,
As sing they to the main ;
And thou with denizens of power shalt dwell
Beyond demeaning care;
Composed upon his rock, 'mid storm and fell,
The eagle shall be there.
Come up unto the hills — the shattered tree
Still clings unto the rock,
And fiingeth out his branches wild and free,
To dare again the shock.
Come where no fear is known : the seabird's nest
On the old hemlock swings,
And thou shalt taste the gladness of unrest,
And mount upon thy wings.
Come up unto the hills. The men of old —
They of undaunted wills —
Grew jubilant of heart, and strong, and bold,
On the enduring hills —
Where came the soundirgs of the sea afar,
Borne upward to the ear,
And nearer grew the morn and midnight star,
And God himself more near.
THE POET.
Non vox sed votnim.
Sing, sing — Poet, 6ing !
With the thorn beneath thy breast.
Robbing thee of all thy rest ,
Hidden thorn for ever thine,
Therefore dost thou sit and twine
Lays of sorrowing —
Lays that wake a mighty gladness.
Spite of all their sorrowing sadness.
Sing, sing — Poet, sing!
It doth ease thee of thy sorrow —
" Darkling" singing till the morrow ;
Never weary of thy trust,
Hoping, loving, as thou must,
Let thy music ring ;
Noble cheer it doth impart,
Strength of will and strength of heart.
Sing, sing — Poet, sing !
Thou art made a human voice ;
Wherefore shouldst thou not rejoice
That the tears of thy mute brother
Bearing pangs henia}* not smother,
Through thee are flowing —
For his dim, unuttered grief,
Through thy song hath found relief!
Sing, sing — Poet, sing!
Join the music of the stars,
Wheeling on their sounding cars;-.
Each responsive in its place
To the choral hymn of space —
Lift, oh lift thy wing —
And the thorn beneath thy breast,
Though it pain, shall give thee rest.
CAROLINE M. KIP.KXAND.
Caroline M. Stansbury was born in the city
of New York. Her grandfather was the author
of several popular humorous verses on the events
of the Revolution, which were published in Riv-
ingtoivs Gazette and other newspapers- of the
time. Her father was a bookseller and publisher
of New York. After his death, the family re-
moved to the western part of the state, where
Miss Stansbury married Mr. William Kirkiand.*
After a residence of several years at Geneva, Mr.
and Mrs. Kirkiand removed to Michigan, where
they resided for two years at Detroit, and for six
months in the interior, sixty miles west of the
city. In 1843 they removed to the city of New
York.
Mrs. Kirkland's letters from the' West were so
highly relished by the friends to W'hom Jhey were
addressed, that the writer was induced to prepare
a volume from their contents. A New Home —
Who'll Follow ? by Mrs. Mary Clarers, appeared
* Mr. Kirkiand was a cultivated scholar, and at one time a
member of the Facnlty of Hamilton College. He was tho
author of a series of Letters* from Abroad, written after a resi-
dence in Europe, and of numerous contributions to the peri-
odical press, among which may be mentioned, an article on
the London Foreign Quarterly Review, in the Columbian,
"English and American Monthlies 'in Godcy's Magazine. " Our
English Visitors " in the Columbian, "The Tyranny of Public
Opinion in the United States'1 in the Columbian, "The West,
the Faradise of the Poor " in the Democratic Review, and
"The United States Census for 1630 " in Hunt's Merchants'
Magazine.
In 1S46 Mr. Kirkiand, not long before his death, commenced
with the Rev. H. W. Bellows, the Christian Iuquirer, a week-
ly journal of the Unitarian denomination.
CAROLINE M. KIRKLAND.
563
in 1839. Its delightful humor, keen observation,
and fresh topic, made an immediate impression.
Forest, Life, and Western Clearings, gleanings
from the same field, appeared in 1842 and 1846.
In 1846 Mrs. Kirkland published An Essay on
the Life and Writings of. Spenser, accompanied
by a reprint of the first book of the Fairy Queen.
In July, 1847, she commenced the editorship of
the Union Magazine, — a charge she continued for
eighteen months, until the removal of the period-
ical to Philadelphia, where it was published with
the title of Sartain's Magazine, when Prof. John
S. Hart, an accomplished literary gentleman of
that city, was associated with Mrs. Kirkland in
the editorship.
^ /^. /r^^e^ZZ
In 1848 Mrs. Kirkland visited Europe, and on
her return published two pleasant volumes of her
letters contributed to the magazine during her
journey, with the title Holidays Abroad, or Europe
from the West.
Li 1852 Mrs. Kirkland published The Evening
Booh, or Fireside Talk on Morals and. Manners,
with Sketches of Western Life, and in 1853, a
companion volume, A Booh for the Home Circle,
or Familiar Thoughts on Various Topics, Literary,
Moral ', and Social, containing a number of pleasant-
ly written and sensible essays on topics of interest
in every-day society, with a few brief stories. In
1853 she wrote the letterpress for The Boole of
Home Beauty, a holiday volume, containing the
portraits of twelve American ladies. Mrs. Kirk-
land's text has no reference to these illustrations,
but consists of a slight story of American socie-
ty, interspersed with poetical quotations.
Mrs. Kirkland's writings are all marked by clear
common sense, purity of style, and animated
thought. Her keen perception of character is
brought to bear on the grave as well as humorous
side of human nature, on its good points as well
as its foibles. Ever in favor of a graceful cultiva-
tion of the mind, her satire is directed against the
false refinements of artificial life as well as the
rude angularities of the back-woods. She writes
always with heartiness, and it is not her fault if
the laugh which her humorous sketches of cha-
racter excites is not a good-natured one, in which
the originals she has portraj'ed would do well to
join with the rest of the world.
MEETING OF THE " FEMALE BENEFICENT SOCIETY."
At length came the much desired Tuesday, whoso
destined event was the first meeting of the society.
I had made preparations for such plain and simple
cheer as is usual at such feminine gatherings, and
began to think of arranging my dress with the de-
corum required by the occasion, when, about one
hour before the appointed time, came Mrs. Nippers
and Miss Clinch, and ere they were unsliawled and
unliooded, Mrs. Flyter and her three children — the
eldest four years, and the youngest six months. Then
Mrs. Muggl'es and her crimson baby, four weeks old.
Close on her heels, Mrs. Briggs and her little boy of
about three years' standing, in a long tailed coat,
with vest and decencies of scarlet Circassian. And
there I stood in my gingham wrapper and kitchen
apron ; much to my discomfiture and the undisguised
surprise of the Female Beneficent Society.
" I always calculate to be ready to begin at
the time appointed," remarked the gristle-lipped
widow.
" So do I," responded Mrs. Flyter and Mrs. Mug-
gles, both of whom sat the whole afternoon with
baby on knee, and did not sew a stitch.
■" What ! isn't there any work ready ?" continued
Mrs. Nippers, with an astonished aspect ; " well, 1
did .suppose that such smart officers as we have would
have prepared all beforehand. We alwaj's used to
at the East."
Mrs. Skinner, who is really quite a pattern-woman
in all that makes woman indispensable, viz., cookery
and sewing, took up the matter quite warmly, just
as I slipped away in disgrace to make the requisite
reform in my costume.
When I returned, the work was distributed, and
the company broken up into little knots or coteries;
every head bowed, and every tongue in full play. I
took my seat at as great a distance from the sharp
widow as might, be, — though it is vain to think of
eluding a person of her ubiquity, — and reconnoitred
the company who were " done off" (indigenous) " in
first-rate style," for this important occasion. There
were nineteen women with thirteen babies — ot; at
least " young 'uns," (indigenous.) who were not above
gingerbread. Of these thirteen, nine held largo
chunks of gingerbread, or dough-nuts, in trust, for
the benefit of the gowns of the society; the remain-
ing four were supplied with bundles of maple-
sugar, tied in bits of rag, and pinned to their
shoulders, or held dripping in the fingers of their
mammas.
Mrs. Flyter was "slicked up" for the occasion in
the snuff-colored silk she was married in, curiously
I enlarged in the back, and not as voluminous in the
floating part as is the wasteful custom of the present
day. Her three immense children, white-haired and
blubber-lipped like their amiable parent, were in
pink ginghams and blue-glass beads. Mrs. Nippers
wore her unfailing brown merino and black apron;
Miss Clinch her inevitable scarlet calico ; Mrs. Skin-
ner her red merino, with baby of the same; Mrs.
Baker shone out in her very choicest city finery,
(where else could she show it, poor thing?) and a
dozen other Mistresses shone in their "'t other
gowns," and their tamboured collars. Mrs. Double-
day's pretty black-eyed Dolly was neatly stowed in
a small willow basket, where it lay looking about
with eyes full of sweet wonder, behaving itself with
marvellous quietness and discretion, as did most of
the other little torments, to do them justice.
564
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Much consultation, deep and solemn, was held as
to the most profitable kinds of "work to be under-
taken by the Society. Many were in favor of mak-
ing up linen, cotton linen of course, but Mrs. Nippers
assured the company that shirts never used to sell
well at the East, and therefore she was perfectly cer-
tain that they would not do here. Pincushions and
such like feminilities were then proposed ; but at
these Mrs. Kippers held up both hands, and showed
a double share of blue-white around her eyes. No-
body about her needed pincushions, and besides,
where should we get materials ! Aprons, capes, caps,
collars, were all proposed with the same ill suc-
cess. At length Mrs. Doubleday, with an air of
great deference, inquired what Mrs. Kippers would
recommend.
The gooil lady hesitated a little at this. It was
more her forte to object to other people's plans, than
to suggest better ; but, after a moment's conside-
ration, she said she should think fancy-boxes,
watch-eases, and alum-baskets, would be very pretty.
A dead silence fell on the assembly, but of course
it did not last long. Mrs. Skinner went on quietly
cutting out shirts, and in a very short time furnished
each member with a good supply of work, stating
that any lady might take work home to finish if she
liked.
Mrs. Nippers took her work, and edged herself
into a coterie of which Mrs. Flyter had seemed till
then the magnet. Very soon 1 heard, " I declare it's
a shame !" " I don't know what '11 be done about it !"
" She told me so with her own mouth !" " 0, b.ut I
was there myself!" etc., etc., in many different
voices; the interstices wrell filled with undistinguish-
able whispers " not loud but deep."
It was not long before the active Widow transferred
her seat to another corner ; Miss Clinch plying her
tongue, not her needle, in a third. The whispers
and the exclamations seemed to be gaining ground.
The few silent members were inquiring for more
work.
" Mrs. Nippers has the sleeve ! Mrs. Nippers, have
you finished that sleeve?"
Mrs. Nippers colored, said " No," and sewed four
stitches. At length the " storm grew loud apace."
" It will break up the society "
"What is that?" asked Mrs. Doubleday, in her
sharp treble. "What is it, Mrs. Nippers? You
know all about it."
Mrs. Kippers replied that she only knew what she
had heard, etc., etc., but, after a little urging, con-
sented to inform the company in general, that there
was great dissatisfaction in the neighborhood ;
that those who lived in log-houses at a little dis-
tance from the village, had not been invited to join
the society ; and also that many people thought
twenty-five cents quite too high for a yearly sub-
scription.
Many looked aghast nt this. Public opinion is
nowhere so strongly felt as in this country, among
new settlers. ABd as many of the present com-
pany still lived in log-houses, a tender string was
touched.
At length, an old lady, who had sat quietly in a
corner all the afternoon, looked up from behind the
great woollen sock she was knitting —
"Well, now! that's queer!" said she, addressing
Mrs. Kippers with an air of simplicity simplified.
" Miss Turner told me you went round her neigh-
borhood last Friday, and told that Miss Clavers and
Miss Skinner despised every body that lived in log-
houses ; and you know you told Miss Briggs that
you thought twenty-five cents was too much ; didn't
she. Miss Briggs?" Mrs. Briggs nodded.
The widow blushed to the very centre of her
pale eyes, but " e'en though vanquished," she lost
not her assurance. " Why, I'm sure I only said
that we only paid twelve-and-a-half cents at the
East ; and as to log-houses, I don't know, 1 can't just
recollect, but I didn't say more than others did."
But human nature could not bear up against the
mortification ; and it had, after all, the scarce credi-
ble effect of making Mrs. Kippers sew in silence for
some time, and carry her colors at half-mast the re-
mainder of the afternoon.
At tea each lady took one or more of her babies
in her hip and much grabbing ensued. Those who
wore calicoes seemed in good spirits and appetite,
for green tea at least, but those who had unwarily
sported silks and other unwashables, looked acid and
uncomfortable. Cake flew about at a great rate,
and the milk and water, which ought to have quiet-
ly gone down sundry juvenile throats, was spirted
without mercy into various wry faces. But we
got through. The astringent refreshment produced
its usual crisping effect upon the vivacity of the
company. Talk ran high upon almost all Montacu-
tian themes.
" Do you have any butter now ?" " When are you
going to raise your barn?" 'Is your man a going
to kill this week ?" " I ha'n't seen a bit of meat
these six weeks." " AVas you to nieetin' last Sab-
bath ?" "Has Miss White got any wool to sell?"
" Do tell if you've been to Detroit?" " Are you out
of candles?" "Well, I should think Sarah Teals
wanted a new gown !" " I hope we shall have milk
in a week or two," and so on ; for, be it known, that,
in a state of society like ours, the bare necessaries
of life are subjects of sufficient interest for a good
deal of conversation. More than one truly respecta-
ble woman of our neighborhood has told me, that it
is not very many years since a moderate allow-
ance of Indian meal and potatoes was literally all
that fell to their share of this rich world for weeks
together.
" Is your daughter Isabella well?" asked Mrs. Kip-
pers of me solemnly, pointing to little Bell who sat
munching her bread and butter, half asleep, at the
fragmentious table.
" Yes, I believe so, look at her cheeks."
" Ah, yes! it was her cheeks 1 was looking at. They
are so very rosy. I have a little niece who is the
very image of her. I never see Isabella without
thinking of Jerushy ; and Jerushy is most dreadfully
scrofulous "
Satisfied at having made roe uncomfortable,
Mrs. Nippers turned to Mrs. Doubleday, who was
trotting her pretty babe with her usual proud
fondness.
" Don't you think your baby breathes rather
strangely ?" said the tormenter.
"Breathes! how!" said the poor thing, off her
guard in an instant.
" Why, rather croupish, I think, if /am any judge.
I have never had any children of my own to be
sure, but I was with Mrs. Green's baby when it died,
and "
" Come, we'll be off!" said Mr. Doubleday, who
had come for his spouse. " Don't mind the envious
vixen " — aside to his Polly.
Just then, somebody on the opposite side of the
room happened to say, speaking of some cloth affair,
" Mrs. Kippers says it ought to be sponged."
"Well, sponge it then by all means," said Mr.
Doubleday, " nobody else knows half as much about
sponging:" and, with wife and baby in tow, off
walked the laughing Philo, leaving the widow abso-
lutely transfixed.
"What cotiWMr. Doubleday mean by that?" was
at length her indignant exclamation.
CAROLINE M. KIRKLAND.
565
Nobody spoke.
"I aia sure," continued the crest-fallen Mrs. Cam-
pnspe, with an attempt at a scornful giggle, " I am
sure if any body understood him, I would be glad to
know what he did mean."
" Well now, I can tell you," said the same simple
old lady in the corner, wiio had let out the secret of
Mrs. Nippers's morning walks. " Some folkscall that
sponging when you go about getting your dinner
here and your tea there, and sicli like ; as you know
yon and Meesy there does. That was what he meant,
I guess.*' And the old lady quietly put up her knit-
ting and prepared to go home.
There have been times when I have thought that
almost any degree of courtly duplicity would be
preferable to the brusquerie of some of my neigh-
bors: but on this occasion I gave all due credit to a
simple and downright way of stating the plain truth.
The scrofulous hint probably brightened my mental
and moral vision somewhat.
Mrs. Nippers's claret cloak and green bonnet, and
Miss Clinch's ditto ditto, were in earnest requisition,
and I do not think that either of them spent a day
out that week.
HOSPITALITY.
Like many other virtues, hospitality is practised
In its perfection by the poor. If the rich did. their
share, how would the woes of this world be lighten-
ed! how would the diffusive blessing irradiate a
wider and a wider circle, until the vast confines of
society would bask in the reviving ray ! If every
forlorn widow wliose heart bleeds over the recollec-
tion of past happiness made bitter by contrast with
present poverty and sorrow, found a comfortable
home in the ample establishment of her rich kins-
man ; if every young man struggling for a foothold
on the slippery soil of life, were cheered and aided
by the countenance of some neighbor whom fortune
had endowed with the power to confer happiness ;
if the lovely girls, shrinking and delicate, whom we
see every day toiling timidly for a mere pittance to
sustain frail life and guard the sacred remnant of
gentility, were taken by the hand, invited and en-
couraged, by ladies who pass them by with a cold
nod — but where shall we stop in enumerating the
cases in which true, genial hospitality, practised by
the rich ungrudgingly, without a selfish drawback —
in short, practised as the poor practise it — would
prove a fountain of blessedness, almost an antidote
to half the keener miseries under which Bociety
groans !
Yes: the poor— and children — understand hos-
pitality after the pure model of Christ and his apos-
tles. We can cite two instances, both true.
In the western woods, a few years since, lived a
very indigent Irish family. Their log-cabin scarce-
ly protecte 1 them from the weather, and the potato
field made but poor provision for the numerous rosy
cheeks that shone through the unstopped chinks
when a stranger was passing by. Yet when another
Irish family poorer still, and way-worn, and travel-
soiled, stopped at their door — children, household
goods and all — they not only received and enter-
tained them for the night, but keptthemmany days,
sharing with this family, as numerous as their own,
tire one room and loft which made up their poor
dwelling, and treating them in all respects as if they
had been invited guests. And the mother of the
same family, on hearing of the death of a widowed
sister who had lived in New York, immediately set
on foot an inquiry as to the residence of the chil-
dren, with a view to coming all the way to the city
to take the orphans home to her own house and
bring them up with her owu children. We never
heard whether the search was successful, for the cir-
cumstance occurred about the time that we were
leaving that part of the country ; but that the inten-
tion was sincere, and would be carried into effect if
possible, there was no shadow of doubt.
As to the children and their sincere, generous
little hearts, we were going to say, that one asked
his mother, in all seriousness, " Mamma, why don't
you ask the poor people when you have a party ?
Doesn't it say so in the Bible ?" A keen reproof,
and unanswerable.
The nearest we recollect to have observed to this
construction of the sacred injunction, among those
who may be called the rich — iu contradistinction to
those whom we usually call the poor, though our
; kind friends were far from being what the world consi-
ders rich — was in the case of a city family, who lived
well, and who always on a Christmas day, Thanks-
giving, or other festival time, when a dinner more
generous than ordinary smoked upon the board,
took care to invite their homeless friends who
lived somewhat poorly, or uncomfortably — the
widow from her low-priced boarding house ; the
young clerk, perhaps, far from his father's comforta-
ble fireside; the daily teacher, whose only deficien-
cy lay in the purse — these were the guests cheered
at this truly hospitable board ; and cheered heartily
—-not with cold, half-reluctant civility, but with the
warmest welcome, and the pleasant appendix of the.
long, merry evening with music and games, and the
frolic dance after the piano. We would not be un-
derstood to give this as a solitary instance, but we
wish we knew of many such.
The forms of society are in a high degree inimical
to true hospitality. Pride has crushed genuine social
feeling out of too many hearts, and the consequence is
a cold sterility of intercourse, a soul-stifling ceremoni-
ousuess, asleepless vigilancefor self, totally incompa-
tible with that free, flowing, genial intercourse with
humanity, so nourishing to all the better feelings. The
sacred love of home — that panacea for many of life's
ills — surfers with the rest. Few people have homes
nowadays. The fine, cheerful, every-day parlor, with
its table covered with the implements of real occu-
pation and real amusement ; mamma on the sofa,
with her needle ; grandmamma in her great chair,
knitting; pussy winking at the fire between them,
is gone. In its place we have two gorgeous rooms,
arranged for company but empty of human life ;
tables covered with gaudy, ostentatious, and useless
articles — a very mockery of anything like rational
pastime — the light of heaven as cautiously excluded
as the delicious music of free, childish voices ;
every member of the family wandering in forlorn
loneliness, or huddled in some " back room " or
" basement," in which are collected the only means of
comfort left them under this miserable arrangement.
This is the substitute which hundreds of people accept
in place of home ! Shall we look in such places for
hospitality ? As 60011 expect figs from thistles.
Invitations there will be occasionally, doubtless, for
" society" expects it; but let a country cousin pre-
sent himself, and see whether he will be put into
the state apartments. Let no infirm and indigent
relative expect a place under such a roof. Let not
even the humble individual who placed the stepping-
stone which led to that fortune, ask a share in
the abundance which would never have had a be-
ginning but for his timely aid. " We have changed
all that!"
But setting aside the hospitality which has any
reference to duty or obligation, it is to be feared that
the other kind — that which is exercised for the sake
of the pleasure it brings — is becoming more and
more rare among us. The deadly strife of emula-
566
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
tion, the mad pursuit of wealth, the suspicion
engendered by rivalry, leave little chance for the
spontaneity, the abandon, the hearty sympathy
which give the charm to social meetings and make
the exercise of hospitality one of the highest pleas-
ures. We have attempted to dignify our simple re-
publicanism by far-away melancholy imitations of
the Old World; but the* incongruity between these
forms and the true spirit of our institutions is such,
that all we gain is a bald emptiness, gilded over witli
vulgar show. Real dignity, such as that of John
Adams when he lived among his country neighbors
as if he had never seen a court, we are learning to
despise. We persist in making ourselves the laugh-
ing-stock of really refined people, b}- forsaking our
true ground and attempting to stand upon that which
shows our deficiencies to the greatest disadvantage.
When shall we learn that the " spare feast — a radish
and an egg," if partaken by the good and the culti-
vated, has a charm which no expense can purchase?
When shall we look at the spirit rather than the
semblance of things — when give up the shadow for
the substance?
P. HAMILTON MTEES
Is the author of a series of well written, popular
American historical romances, commencing with
The First of the Knickerbockers, a tale of 1 673,
published by Putnam in 1848, and speedily fol-
lowed by The Young Patronn, or Christmas in
1690, and The King of the Hurons. Mr. Myers
is also the author of four prize tales, for two of
which Bell Brandon or the Great Eentrip Estate.
and The Miser's Heir or the Young Millionaire,
he received two hundred dollars each, from the
Philadelphia Dollar Newspaper. The others were
entitled The Gold Crushers, and Ellen Welles, or
the Siege of Fort Stanwix.
JF>
4, lici^y^-^/l'
C4/J
These stories are of a pleasing sentiment, and
neat in description. The author is a native of
New York, born in Herkimer village, Herkimer
county, in August, 1812. He is a lawyer by pro-
fession, and now a resident of Brooklyn, New
York. In addition to his story-telling faculty, Mr.
Myers is an agreeable essayist. In 1841 he deli-
vered a poem, Science, before the Euglossian So-
ciety of Geneva College.
THOMAS MACKELLAE
Was born in the city of New York, August 12,
1812. His father came from Scotland to New
York, and married into the Brasher family, once
possessed of a considerable portion of the city
lands. Young Mackellar was provided with a
good education by his father, whose failing for-
tunes soon required his son's aid. Compelled
early in life to seek a living, he learnt the busi-
ness of a printer, and among other engagements
in the calling became proof-reader in the office of
Messrs. Harper & Brothers, doubtless qualified
for the post by a diligent application to books which
had become habitual to him. At this time in his
seventeenth year, he constantly penned verses.
In 1833 he left New York for Philadelphia, en-
tered the stereotype foundry of Mr. L. Johnson
as proof-reader, became foreman, and finally a
partner in this important establishment, to which
he is now attached.
•Mr. Mackellar's volumes of poetry, Droppings
from the Heart, or Occasional Poems, published
in 1844, and Lines for the Gentle and Liming in
1853, are written with earnestness and fluency,
inspired by a devotional spirit and a tender
feeling to the claims of family and friendship, ex-
pressive of the author's hopeful and hearty strug-
gle with the world. They indicate a courage
which meets with success in life, and a sympathy
which finds a ready response from the good and
intelligent.
True to his Scottish lineage, Mr. Mackellar has
a turn for humor as well as sentiment in his
verses. His volume, Tarn's Fortnight's Ramble
and other Poems, puts his notions and opinions
vented in the course of a holiday excursion on
the Hudson River in a highly agreeable light, as
the record of a manly personal experience.
A POET AND HIS SONG.
He was a man endowed like other men
With strange varieties of thought and feeling:
His bread was earned by daily toil; yet when
A pleasing fancy o'er his mind came stealing,
He set a trap and snared it by his art,
And hid it in the bosom of his heart.
He nurtured it and loved it as his own,
And it became obedient to his beck ;
He fixed his name on its submissive neck,
And graced it with all graces to him known.
And then he bade it lift its wing and fly
Over the earth, and sing in every ear
Some soothing souud the sighful soul to cheer,
Some lay of love to lure it to the sky.
BINGING ON TOTE WAY.
Far distant from my father's house
I would no longer stay,
But gird my soul and hasten on,
And sing upon my way !
And sing! and sing!
And sing upon the way !
The skies are dark, the thunders roll,
And lightnings round me play,
Let me but feel my Saviour near,
I'll sing upon the way !
And sing! and sing!
And sing upon my way !
The night is long and drear, I cry ; ;
0 when will come the day?
I see the morning-star arise,
And sing upon the way!
And sing ! and sing !
And sing upon my way !
When care and sickness bow my frame, )
And all my powers decay,
I'll ask Him for his promised grace, / :
And sing upon the way !
And sing! and sing!
And sing upon my way!
He'll not forsake me when I'm old,
And weak, and blind, and grev;
I'll lean upon his faithfulness,
And sing upon the way !
And sing! and sing!
And sing upon my way !
When grace shall bear me home to God —
Disrobed of mortal clay,
J,
WILLIAM STARBUCK MAYO.
567
I'll enter in the pearly gates,
And sing upon the way !
And sing! andsiug!
An everlasting day !
WILLIAM STARBUCK MAYO.
Dr. Mayo is a descendant from the Rev. John
Mayo, a clergyman of an ancient English family,
who came to New England in 1630, and was the
first pastor of the South Church at Boston. On
his mother's side he traces his descent through
the Starbuck family to the earliest settlers of
Nantucket. He was born at Ogdensburg, on the
northern frontier of New York, whither the
family had removed in 1812, and was educated
at the school of the Rev. Josiah Perry, a teacher
of high local reputation. At the age of twelve
years he entered the academy of Potsdam, where
he received a good classical education ; and at
seventeen commenced the study of medicine at
the College of Physicians and Surgeons in the
city of New York. After receiving his diploma,
in 1833, he devoted himself for several years to
the practice of his profession. He then, urged in
part by the pursuit of health and in part by the
love of adventure, determined to make a tour of
exploration to the interior of Africa. He was
prevented, however, from penetrating further
than the Barbary States. After an excursion in
Spain he returned home.
*fy J /7yict<^o
In 1849 Dr. Mayo published Kaloolah, or
Journeyings to the Djebel Kumri, a work which
he had written some time before. It purports to
be the Autobiography of Jonathan Romer, a
youth who, after various romantic and marvellous
adventures in his native American woods, goes to
Africa, where he rivals Munchausen in his travel-
ler's experiences. He finally penetrates to a
purely fictitious Utopia, where he indulges in
some quiet satire at the usages of civilization,
and in his description of the great city of the
region furnishes some valuable hints on munici-
pal sanitary reform. He marries Kaloolah, a
beautiful princess — " not too dark for a brunette"
— whom he has rescued from a slave barracoon
and protected through many subsequent scenes
of danger, and settles down to domestic felicity
in the city of Killoam.
The story is crowded with exciting and varied
incident, and the interest is maintained through-
out with dramatic skill.
Kaloolah was favorably received by the public,
and was followed in 1850 by The Berber, or the
Mountaineer of the Atlas, a story the scene of
which is laid in Africa at the close of the seven-
teenth century. It is of more regular construc-
tion than Kaloolah, and equally felicitous in dra-
matic interest. Both abound in descriptions of
the natural scenery and savage animals of the
tropics and other regions, minutely accurate in
scientific detail.
Dr. Mayo's next volume was a collection of
short tales, which he had previously published
anonymously in magazines, with the title sug-
gested by the prevalent California excitement
of the day — Romance Dust from the Historic
Placer. He soon after married and spent a year
or two in Europe. Since his return he has resided
in New York.
A LION IN THE PATH.
It was early on the morning of the 6ixth, that,
accompanied by Kaloolah and the lively Clefenlia, I
ascended the bank for a final reconnoissance of the
country on the other bank of the river. It was not
my intention to wander far, but, allured by the
beauty of the scene, and the promise of a still better
view from a higher crag, we moved along the edge
of the bank until we had got nearly two miles from
our camp. At this point the line of the bank curved
towards the river so as to make a beetling promon-
tory of a hundred feet perpendicular descent. The
gigantic trees grew quite on the brink, many of
them throwing their long arms far over the shore
below. The trees generally grew wide apart, and
there was little or no underwood, but many of the
trunks were wreathed with the verdure of parasites
and creepers, so as to shut up, mostly, the forest
vistas vrdth immense columns of green leaves and
flowers. The stems of some of these creepers were
truly wonderful : one, from which depended large
bunches of scarlet berries, had, not unfrequently,
stems as large as a man's body. In some eases, one
huge plant of this kind, ascending with an incalcu-
lable prodigality of lignin, by innumerable convolu-
tions, would stretch itself out, and, embracing seve-
ral trees in its folds, mat them together in one dense
mass of vegetation.
Suddenly we noticed that the usual sounds of the
forest had almost ceased around us. Deep in the
woods we could still hear the chattering of monkeys
and the screeching of parrots. Never before had our
presence created any alarm among the denizens of
the tree-tops ; or, if it had, it had merely excited to
fresh clamour, without putting them to flight. We
looked around for the cause of this sudden retreat.
" Perhaps," I replied to Kaloohih's inquiry, " there
is a storm gathering, and they are gone to seek a
shelter deeper in the wood."
We advanced close to the edge of the bank, and
looked out into the broad daylight that poured
down from above on flood and field. There was
the same bright smile on the distant fields and hills ;
the same clear sheen in the deep water; the same
lustrous stillness in the perfumed air ; not a single
prognostic of any commotion among the elements.
568
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAS' LITERATURE.
I placed my gun against a tree, and took a seat
upon an exposed portion of one of its roots. Count-
less herds of animals, composed of quaggas, zebras,
gnus, antelopes, liart-beests, roeboks, springboks,
buffalos, wild-boars, and a dozen other kinds, for
which my recollection of African travels furnished
no names, were roaming over the fields on the other
side of the river, or quietly reposing in the shade of
the scattered mimosas, or beneath the groups of
lofty palms, A herd of thirty or forty tall ungainly
figures eame in sight, and took their way, with awk-
ward but rapid pace, across the plain. I knew them
at once to be giraffes, although they were the first
that we had seen. I was straining my eyes to dis-
cover the animal that pursued them, when Kaloolah
called to me to come to her. She was about fifty
yards farther down the stream than where I was
sitting. With an unaccountable degree of careless-
ness, I arose and went towards her, leaving my gun
leaning against the tree. As I advanced, she ran
out to the extreme point of the little promontory I
have mentioned, where her maid was standing, and
pointed to something over the edge of the cliff.
" Oh, Jon'than ! " she exclaimed, " what a curious
and beautiful flower ! Come, and try if you can get
it for me ! "
Advancing to the crest of the cliff, we stood look-
ing down its precipitous sides to a point some twenty
feet below, where grew a bunch of wild honeysuckles.
Suddenly a startling noise, like the roar of thunder,
or like the boom of a thirty-two pounder, rolled
through the wood, fairly shaking the sturdy trees,
and literally making the ground quiver beneath our
feet. Again it came, that appalling and indescriba-
bly awful sound ! and so close as to completely stun
us. Roar upon roar, in quick succession, now an-
nounced the comii g of the king of beasts. " The
lion ! the lion ! — Oh, God of mercy, where is my
gun ? " I started forward, but it was too late.
Alighting, with a magnificent bound, into the open
space in front of us, the monster stopped, as if some-
what taken aback by the novel appearance of his
quarry, and crouching his huge carcass close to the
ground, uttered a few deep snuffling sounds, not
unlike the preliminary erankings and growlings of a
heavy steam-engine, when it first feels the pressure
of the steam.
He was, indeed, a monster ! — fully twice as large
as the largest specimen of his kind that was ever
condemned, by gaping curiosity, to the confinement
of the cage. His body was hardly less in size than
that of a dray-horse ; his paw as large as the foot of
an elephant ; while his head [ — what can be said of
such a head? Concentrate the fur}', the power, the
capacity and the disposition for evil of a dozen thun- .
der-storms into a round globe, about two feet in
diameter, and one would then be able to get an idea
of the terrible expression of that head and face, en-
veloped and set off as it was by the dark frame-work
of bristling mane.
The lower jaw rested upon the ground; the
mouth was slightly open, showing the rows of white
teeth and the blood-red gums, from which the lips
Were retracted in a majestic and right kingly grin.
The brows and the skin around the eyes were corru-
gated into a splendid glory of radiant wrinkles, in
the centre of which glowe 1 two small globes, like
opals, but with a dusky lustrousness that no opal
ever yet attained.
For a few moments he remained motionless, and
then, as if satisfied with the result of his close
scrutiny, he began to slide along the ground towards
us; slowly one monstrous paw was protruded after
the other; slowly the huge tufted tail waved to and
fro, sometimes striking his hollow flanks, and oc-
casionally coming down upon the ground with a
sound like the falling of heavy clods upon a coffin.
There could be no doubt of his intention to charge
us, when near enough for a spring.
And was there no hope? Not the slightest, at
least for myself. It was barely possible that one
victim would satisfy him, or that, in the contest that
was about to take place, I might, if he did not kill
me at the first blow, so wound him as to indispose
him for any further exercise of his power, and that
thus Kaloolah would escape. As for me, I felt that
my time had come. With no weapon but my long
knife, what chance was there against such a mon-
ster? I cast one look at the gun that was leaning
so carelessly against the tree beyond him, and
thought how easy it would be to send a bullet
through one of those glowing eyes into the depths
of that savage brain. Never was there a fairer
mark ! But, alas ! it was impossible to reach the
gun! Truly, "there was a lion in the path."
I turned to Kaloolah, who was a little behind me.
Her face expressed a variety of emotions; she could
not speak or move, but she stretched out her hand,
as if to pull me back. Behind her crouched the
black, whose features were contracted into the
awful grin of intense terror; she was too much
frightened to scream, but in her face a thousand
yells of agony and fear were incarnated.
I remember not precisely what I said, but, in the
fewest words, I intimated to Kaloolah that the lion
would, probably, be satisfied with attacking me;
that she must run by us as soon as he sprang upou
me, and, returning to the camp, waste no time, but
set out at once under the charge of Hugh and Jack.
She made no reply, and I waited for none, but,
i facing the monster, advanced slowly towards him —
I the knife was firmly grasped in my right hand, my
j left side a little turned towards him, and my left
I arm raised, to guard as much as possible against the
first crushing blow of his paw. Further than this I
had formed no plan of battle. In such a contest the
mind lias but little to do — all depends upon the in-
stinct of the muscles; and well for a man if good
training has developed that instinct to the highest.
I felt that I could trust mine, and that my brain
need not bother itself as to the manner my muscles
were going to act.
Within thirty feet of my huge foe I stopped —
cool, calm as a statue; not an emotion agitated mo,
Ko hope, no fear : death was too certain to permit
either passion. There is something in the conviction
of the immediate inevitableness of death that re-
presses fear; we are then compelled to take a better
look at the king of terrors, and we find that he is
not so formidable as we imagined. Look at him
with averted glances and half-closed eyes, and he
has a most imposing, overawing presence ; but face
him, eye to eye ; grasp his proffered hand man-
fully, and he sinks from a right royal personage
into a contemptible old gate-keeper on the turnpike
of life.
I had time to think of many things, although it
must not be supposed from the leisurely way in which
I here tell the 6tory that the whole affair occupied
much time. Like lightning, flashing from link to
link along a chain conductor, did memory illuminate,
almost simultaneously, the chain of incidents that
measured my path in life, and that connected the
present with the past. I could see the whole of my
back track " blazed " as clearly as ever was a forest
path by a woodman's axe ; and ahead ! ah, there
was not much to see ahead ! 'Twas but a short
view ; death hedged in the scene. In a few minutes
my eves would be opened to the pleasant sights
beyond ; but, for the present, death commanded all
WILLIAM HENRY CHANGING.
569
attention. And such a death! But why such a
death i What better death, except on the battle-
field, in defence of one's country ? To be killed by
a lion ! Surely there is a spiee of dignity about it,
maugre the being eaten afterwards. Suddenly the
monster stopped, and erected his tail, stiff and mo-
tionless, in the air. Strange as it may seem, the
conceit occurred to me that the motion of his tail
had acted as a safety-valve to the pent up mus-
cular energy within : " lie has shut the steam off
from the 'scape-pipe, and now he turns it on to his
locomotive machinery. God have mercy upon me !
— He comes ! "
But he did not come ! At the instaut, the light
figure of Kaloolah rushed past me : " Fly, fly, Jon-
'than ! " she wildly exclaimed, as she dashed forward
directly towards the lion. Qjiiek as thought, I
divined her purpose, an 1 sprang after her, grasping
her dress and pulling her forcibly back almost from
within those formidable jaws. The astonished ani-
mal g ive several jumps sideways and backwards,
and stopped, crouching to the ground and growling
and lashing his sides with renewed fury. He was
clearly taken aback by our unexpected charge upon
him, but it was evident that he was not to be
frightened into abandoning his prey. His mouth
was ma le up for us, and there could be no doubt, if
his motions were a little slow, that he considered us
as good as gorged.
" Fly, fly, Jou'thau ! " exclaimed Kaloolah, as she
struggle 1 to break from my grasp. "Leave me!
Leave me to die alone, bat oh! Bave yourself,
quick! along the bank. You can escape — fly! "
" Never, Kaloolah," I replied, fairly forcing her
with quite an exertion of strength behind me.
"Back, back! Free my arm! Quick, quick! He
comes!" 'Twas no time for gentleness. Roughly
shaking her relaxing grasp from my arm she sunk
powerless, yet not insensible, to the ground, while I
had just time to fa;e the monster and plant one. foot
forward to receive him.
He was in the very act of springing ! His huge
carcass was even rising under the impulsion of his
contracting muscles, when his action was arrested in
a way so unexpected, so wonderful, and so startling,
that my seises were for the moment thrown into
perfect confusion. Could I trust my sight, or was
the whole affair the illusion of a horrid dream ? It
seeme I as if one of the gigantic creepers. I have
mentioned had suddenly quitted the canopy above,
and, endowed with life aid a huge pair of widely
distended jaws, had darted with the rapidity of
lightning upon the crouching beast. There was a
tremendous shaking of the tree tops, and a confused
wrestling, and jumping, and whirling over and
about, amid a cloud of upturned roots, and earth,
and leaves, accompanied with the most terrific
roars and groans. As I looked again, vision grew
more distinct. An immense body, gleaming with
purple, green, and gold, appeared convoluted around
the majestic branches overhead, and stretching
down, was turned two or three times around the
struggling lion, whose head and neck were almost
eoncealel from sight within the cavity of a pair of
jaws still more capacious than his own.
Thus, then, was revealed the cause of the sudden
silence throughout the woods. It was the presence
of the boa that had frightened the monkey and
feathered tribes into silence. How opportunely
was his presence manifested to us! A moment
more and it would have been too late.
Gallantly did the lion struggle in the folds of his
terrible enemy, whose grasp each instant grew more
firm and secure, and most astounding were those
frightful yells of rage and fear. The huge body of
the snake, fully two feet in diameter where it de-
pended from the trees, presented the most curious
appearances, and in such quick succession that the
eye could scarcely follow them. At one moment
smooth and flexile, at the next rough and stiffened,
or contracted into great knots— at one moment
overspread with a thousand tints of reflected color,
the next distended so as to transmit through the
skin the golden gleams of the animal lightning that
coursed up and down within.
Over and over rolled the struggling beast, but in
vain all his strength, in vain all his efforts to free
himself. Gradually his muscles relaxed in their
exertions, his roar subsided to a deep moan, his
tongue protruded from his mouth, and his fetid
breath, mingled with a strong, sickly odor from the
serpent, diffused itself through the air, producing a
sense of oppression, and a feeling of weakness like
that from breathing some deleterious gas.
I looked around. Kaloolah was on her knees, and
the negress insensible upon the ground a few paces
behind her. A sensation of giddiness warned me
that it was time to retreat. Without a word I
raised Kaloolah in my arms, ran towards the now
almost motionless animals, and, turning along the
bank, reached the tree against which my gnu was
leaning.
Darting back I seized the prostrate negress and
bore her off in the same way. By this time both
females had recovered their voices, Clefenha ex-
ercising hers in a succession of shrieks, that com-
pelled me to shake her somewhat rudely, while
Kaloolah eagerly besought me to hurry back to the
camp. There was now, however, no occasion for
hurry. The recovery of my gun altered the state
of the case, and my curiosity was excited to witness
the process of deglutition on a large scale which the
boa was probably about to exhibit. It was impos-
sible, however, to resist Kaloolah's entreaties, and,
after stepping up closer to the animals for one
good look, I reluctantly consented to turn back.
The lion was quite dead, and with a slow motion
the snake was uncoiling himself from his prey and
from the tree above. As well as I could, judge,
without seeing him straightened out, he was be-
tween ninety and one hundred feet in length — not
quite so long as the serpent with which the army
of Regulus had its famous battle, or as many of the
same animals that I have since seen, but, as the
reader will allow, a very respectable sized snake. I
have often regretted that we did not stop until at
least he had commenced his meal. Had I been
alone I should have done so. As it was, curiosity
had to yield to my own sense of prudence, and to
Kaloolah's fears.
We returned to our camp, where we found our
raft all ready. The river was fully half a mile
wide, and it was necessary to make two trips ; the
first with the women and baggage, and the last with
the horses. It is unnecessary to dwell in detail
upon all the difficulties we encountered from the
rapid currents and whirling eddies of the stream ;
suffice it that we got across in time for supper and a
good night's sleep, and early in the morning re-
sumed our march through the most enchanting
country in the world.
WILLIAM HENEY CHAINING,
A graduate of Harvard in 1S2D, and of the Cam-
bridge divinity school in 1833, is a nephew of the
late Dr. William Ellery Channing, and the son of
the late Francis Dana Ohanning. He is the au-
thor of several valuable biographical publications,
including the Memoirs of the Bev. James H. Per-
570
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
him of Cincinnati, an important contribution to
the Margaret Fuller Memoirs, and in 1848 a com-
prehensive Memoir of William Ellery Channing,
with Extracts from his Correspondence and Manu-
scripts. In the arrangement of these works Mr.
Channing, in addition to his own sympathetic
comments, has preserved to the extent of his ori-
ginal materials an autobiographic narrative of the
lives of the subjects, and has drawn together am-
ple illustrations from various other sources. In
1840 he translated for Mr. Ripley's series of Spe-
cimens of Foreign Literature, Jouffroy's Introduc-
tion to Ethics, including a Critical Surrey of
Moral Systems.
A few years since he had charge of an inde-
pendent congregation in New York, and edited a
weekly reform journal, The Present, in the inte-
rests of transcendental socialism, which lasted not
beyond two years. He is now minister of the
Unitarian church in Liverpool, lately under the
care of the Rev. John Hamilton Thorn, the bio-
grapher of Blanco White.
Mr. Channing is not of the Strauss or Parker
school of rationalists, but more devotional and
affirmative, at times approaching Swedenborgian-
ism in his disposition to unite a bold spiritual phi-
losophy with church life and social reorganiza-
tion. He has rare talents as an extempore speaker
and preacher.
William Eli.ert Channing, also a nephew
of the late Dr. Channing, from whom his name is
derived, and the son of Dr. Walter Channing, the
medical writer and professor at Harvard, is the
author of two series of Poems, published in Bos-
ton in 1 S43 and 1 847 ; of a series of psychological ,
essays in The Dial of 1844, entitled Youth of the
Poet and Painter ; a volume of thoughtful ob-
servations, Conversations in Rome: between an
Artist, a Catholic, and a Critic, published in
1847; and The Woodman and other Poems, 1849.
There is much originality and a fine vein of re-
flection in both this author's prose and verse, — ■
touching on the themes of the scholar, the love of
nature, and the poetic visionary.
Each day, new Treasure brings him for his share,
So rich he is he never shall be poor,
His lessons nature reads him o'er and o'er,
As on each sunny day the Lake its shore.
Though others pine for piles of glittering gold
A cloudless Sunset furnishes him enough,
His garments never can grow thin or old,
His way is always smooth though seeming rough.
Even in the winter's depth the Pine-tree stands,
With a perpetual Summer in its leaves,
So stands the Poet with his open hands,
Nor care nor sorrow him of Life bereaves.
For though his sorrows fall like icy rain,
Straightway the clouds do open where he goes,
And e'en his tears become a precious gain ;
"lis thus the heart of Mortals that he knows.
The figures of his Landscape may appear
Sordid or poor, their colors he can paint,
And listening to the hooting he can hear,
Such harmonies as never sung the saint.
And of his gain he maketh no account,
He's rich enough to scatter on the way;
His springs are fed by an unfailing fount,
As great Apollo trims the lamp of day.
'Tis in his heart, where dwells his pure Desire
Let other outward lot be dark or fair ;
In coldest weather there is inward fire,
In fogs he breathes a clear celestial air.
So sacred is his Calling, that no thing
Of disrepute can follow in his path.
His Destiny too high for sorrowing,
The mildness of his lot is kept from wrath.
Some shady wood in Summer is his room,
Behind a rock in Winter he can sit,
The wind shall sweep his chamber, and his loom
The birds and insects, weave content at it.
Above his head the broad Skies' beauties are,
Beneath, the ancient carpet of the earth ;
A glance at that, unveileth every star,
The other, joyfully it feels his birth.
So let him stand, resigned to his Estate,
Kings cannot compass it, or Nobles have,
They are the children of some handsome fate,
He, of Himself, is beautiful and brave.
WILLIAM HAGUE.
The Rev. William Hague, a prominent clergyman
of the Baptist denomination, is a native of the
state of New York. He was graduated at Hamil-
ton College, N. Y., in 1826, and has since filled
important stations in the pulpit of his denomina-
tion at Providence, in Boston, at Newark, N. J.,
and at his present station of Albany, New York.
He is the author of numerous occasional addresses
and orations, including Discourses on the Life and
Character of John Quincy Adams, and the mis-
sionary Adoniram Judson. He has lately, in 1855,
published two volumes, Christianity and States-
manship, with Kindred Topics, and Home Lfe, a
series of lectures. In the former he has treated
of the various relations of go vernment and religion
in matters of home regulation, and especially the
condition of Eastern Europe, now rapidly rising
into new importance : in the latter he pursues the
most prominent circumstances of domestic and
social life. In both cases he shows the man of
reading and of sound moderate opinions.
Margaret Fuller, who met Mr. Hague at Provi-
dence in 1837, has happily characterized his force
as a preacher and lecturer in a passage of her
diary : — " He has a very active intellect, sagacity,
and elevated sentiment ; and, feeling strongly that
God is love, can never preach without earnestness.
His power comes first from his glowing vitality of
temperament. Bis moral attraction is his indi-
viduality. I am much interested in this truly
animated being."*
THE CULTIVATION OF TASTB.
"Nothing is beautiful but what is true," say the
Rhetoricians. This is a universal maxim. Conform-
ity to truth is beauty, real and permanent. Study
nature. Seek truth. The laws of nature are distin-
guished by simplicity, and simplicity has an abiding
charm whether it appear in literature or art, in cha-
racter or manners. Thence affectation always dis-
pleases when it is discovered. Though affectation
be the fashion, yet it appears contemptible as soon
as it loses the delusive charm of novelty or a name.
In France, fashion once declared for an affected ne-
' Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli, 1. 184.
SAMUEL OSGOOD.
571
gligence of dress. Thence we hear Montaigne saying,
" I have never yet been apt to imitate the negligent
garb, observable among the young men of our time,
to wear my cloak on one shoulder, my bonnet on one
side, and one stocking in somewhat more disorder
than the other, meant to express a manly disdain of
such exotic ornaments, and a contempt of art."
There is no beauty in the cultivated negligence even
of trifles. It is only that which is occasional, appro-
priate, and which indicates a mind engaged and
absorbed in something worthy of it which truly
pleases. Scott saw it in his Lady of the Lake,
when he said,
"With head upraised, and look intent,
And eye and ear attentive bent.
And locks flung back, and tips apart,
Like monument of Grecian art,
In listening mood she seemed to stand,
Tiie guardian Naiad of the strand
No kindred grace adorns her of whom it may be said —
Coquet and coy, at once her air,
Both studied, tho' both seem neglected;
Careless she is with artful care,
Affecting to seem unaffected.
Truth to nature, then, is beauty, and to study the
laws of nature is to chasten and develope the taste
for beauty.
Another means of cultivating good taste, is to study
the expression of character or design in which the
beauty of objects consists. In the material world,
every tiling beautiful is a manifestation of certain
qualities which are by nature agreeable to the mind ;
and to ascertain what these are, to point them out
distinctly, to classify them, is a pleasing mode of re-
fining and quickening the taste for beauty. " The
longer I live," said one, " the more familiar I become
with the world around me. Oil ! that I could feel
the keen zestof which I was susceptible when a boy,
and all was new and fair!" "The longer I live,"
Bays another, " the more charmed I become with the
beauties of a picture or a landscape." The first of
these had a natural taste for beauty which he had
never developed by studying the expressions of cha-
racter, which constitute the loveliness of creation.
The other, regarding the outward universe as a
splendid system of signs, directed his attention to the
thing signified ; loved to contemplate the moral qua-
lities which were beaming forth from all the sur-
rounding objects, and thus 6aw open before him a
boundless field, ever glowing with new colors and
fresh attractions. The first, as he heard a piece of
music, might from the mechanism of his nature feel
some pleasure arising from novelty, or a regular suc-
cession of sounds, which familiarity would soon dis-
pel. The other, as he studied the expression of cha-
racter, which those tones gave forth, as for instance,
with the loud sound he associated the ideas of power
or peril, with the low, those of delicacy and gentle-
ness, with the acute, those of fear and surprise, with
the grave, solemnity and dignity; he would become
more and more deeply touched and enraptured,
while listening to the music of nature in the voice
of singing winds or in the plaint of an jEolian harp,
in the crash of thunder or in the roar of the cata-
ract, in the murmur of the brook or in the moan of
the ocean, in the sigh of the zephyr or in the breath
of the whirlwind, or while listening to the music of
art breaking forth from the loud-sounding trumpet,
the muffled drum, or Ziou's lyre which hangs upon
religion's shrine.
SAMUEL OSGOOD.
TnE Rev. Samuel Osgood, of the Unitarian
Church, of New York, is a member of a family
of honorable lineage in the old world and tho
new. The family is of English ancestry, and
seems to have belonged to the solid yeomanry of
the old Saxon times. The American progenitor
was John Osgood, who was born July 23, 1505,
and who emigrated from Atidover, England, pre-
vious to the year 1G39, and who, with Governor
Bradstreet, founded the town of Andover, Mass.,
where his large farm is still held by his descen-
dants. He had four sons, John, Stephen, Chris-
topher, and Thomas.
From the first son John, in the sixth genera-
tion from the father, was descended the Hon.
Samuel Osgood, of Revolutionary memory and of.
Revolutionary virtue, who has a claim of his
own upon attention here as the author of several
productions. He was born February 14, 1748, at
Andover, Mass., was a graduate of Harvard of
1770, and applied himself for. a while to the study
of theology, when the War of Independence
breaking out, he took part in its affairs; was in
the skirmish at Lexington ; became aide to Gene-
ral Ward; then an important member of the pro-
vincial congress of Massachusetts ; a delegate to
the congress of the confederation at Philadelphia
in 1781, and in 1785 First Commissioner of the
National Treasury. He was succeeded in this
latter office, on the new adjustment of the Con-
stitution, by Alexander Hamilton. This duty,
and his appointment by Washington as Post-
master General, kept him at New York, of which
city he was a resident in the latter portion of his
prolonged life, holding various positions of trust
and confidence. His mansion in Franklin square
has an historical name, as the head-quarters of
Washington. His publications were chiefly of a
religious character, " Remarks on Daniel and
Revelations," " A Letter on Episcopacy," a
volume on " Theology and Metaphysics," an-
other of " Chronology." He was an elder of
the Brick Presbyterian Church in Beekman street,
where he was interred at his death, August 12,
1813.*
The Rev. David Osgood, one of the most noted
of the New England divines, of the Federalist
stamp in politics, and of the Arminian school in
theology, was descended from the second son
Stephen, in the fifth generation from the progeni-
tor, John Osgood. He died at the age of seventy-
four, in 1822, having led a distinguished career as
the minister of Medford. His publications were
numerous occasional discourses.
The Rev. Samuel Osgood is descended from the
third son, Christopher Osgood, of Andover, in
the seventh generation from John, the founder
of the family in America. He was born in Charles-
town, Mass., August 30, 1812; became a gra-
duate of Harvard in 1832, and completed his
theological education at Cambridge in 1835.
After two years of travel lie was appointed pas-
tor of the Unitarian Congregational Church in
Nashua, N. H., in 1837 ; and at the close of the
year 1841, took charge of the Westminster Con-
gregational Church in Providence, R. I. In
October, 1849, he succeeded the Rev. Dr. Dewey
* There is a notice of Samuel Osgood, prefatory to a genea-
logical account of the family, la J. B. Holgate's American
Genealogy.
572
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
as pastor of the Church of the Messiah, in Broad-
way, New York.
6S-LS-&C-^ ;
Mr. Osgood lias published translations from the
German of Olshausen on the Passion of Christ,
in Boston, 1839, and DeWette's Practical Ethics,
with an original introduction, Boston, 1842, in
two volumes. His original works are several
volumes of a devotional character, and numerous
articles of research, scholarship, and philosophi-
cal acumen, in the higher periodical literature.
He has published Studies in Christian Biogra-
phy, or Hours with Theologians and Reformers,
including several of the Church fathers, Calvin,
Grotius, George Fox, Swedenborg, Jonathan
Edwards, and others; God with Man, or Foot-
prints of Providential Leaders, devoted to bibli-
cal characters of the Old and New Testament ;
The Hearth Stone ; Thoughts vpon Home Lfe in
our Cities, and Mile-Stoncs in our Lfe Journey,
the latter peculiarly exhibiting the kindly, earnest,
affectionate tone of the author's pastoral minis-:
trations.
Mr. Osgood has been a frequent contributor to
the Christian Examiner, as well as to other lite-
rary and theological journals ; while as one of the
editors of the Christian Inquirer, the weekly
newspaper organ of the Unitarians in New York,
he has diligently completed the round of periodi-
cal literature in all its relations. "Whilst a tem-
porary resident of the West in 1836 and 1837, he
was co-editor of theWestern Messenger, a religious
monthty, published in Kentucky. His associate
in this enterprise was the Rev. James Freeman
Clarke, a graduate of Harvard of 1829 ; formerly
a Unitarian minister at Louisville, Kentucky, and
afterwards at Boston. The Western Messenger
was a monthly magazine, published chiefly at
Louisville, and for a time at Cincinnati. Mr.
Clarke is the author of numerous short poems, of
a portion of the Memoirs of Margaret Fuller, and
of two religious works, " The Doctrine of For-
giveness," and " On Prayer."
Mr. Osgood's published orations, speeches, and
sermons, have also been numerous, and include
the prominent topics of the day connected with
education and literary institutions.* Among his
personal connexions with the latter, is his pro-
minent participation in the management of the
New York Historical Society.
As a speaker, Mr. Osgood is clear, full, and em-
phatic, a well toned voice seconding a ready com-
mand of appropriate language. He is well read
as a scholar, fertile in analysis, and happy in the
use of illustrations from history, biography, or
morals. In his pulpit relations he is ranked
among the more evangelical class of Unitarian
clergymen ; and although a fond student of Ger-
man literature, and an independent thinker, has
never yielded to the rationalism characteristic of
German theology. He usually preaches without
notes, and his sermons and pastoral care are
more strongly marked by love for the associations,
festivals, literature, and men of the ancient
church, than is common with ministers of the
extreme Protestant school to which he belongs
by position. He was brought up under the minis-
try of the Rev. James Walker, the President of
Harvard, took his religious views and philoso-
phical principles from that eminent moralist
and theologian, and has continued to sustain
towards him a close personal and professional
relation.
* The following: arc the principal miscellaneous publications
of Mr. Osgood in pamphlets and periodicals. In the Western
Messenger : — Physical Theory of Another Life. 1836 : Dewey's
Old World and New, 1S86 ; Love of the Trauic, 1637; Robes-
pierre, 1837; D'Holbach's System of Nature, 1838; Prescott, Ban-
croft, and Carlyle, 1838. In the Christian Examiner: — Educa-
tion in theWcst, 1837; Debates on Catholicism. 1887 : DeWette's
System of Religion, 1838; Do Wctte's Theological Position,
183S; American Education, 1839 ; Satanic School in Literature,
1639; Education of Mothers, 1840; Jouffrny's Ethics, :S40 ;
Christian Ethics before the Reformation, 1840* Christian Ethics
since the Reformation, 1S41 ; Isaac Taylor on Spiritual Chris-
tianity, 1S42; St. Paul's Epistles, 1842 ; Isaac Williams, the
Poet of Puseyism, 1S43 ; Theodore Parker's De Wctte on the
Old Testament, 1644 : Preaching Extempore, 1844 : Conven-
tions and Conferences, 1845 ; Relation between Old and New
Testaments, 1845; St. Augustine and his Times, 1846 : St.
Augustine and his Works. 1846; Memoir of Charles J. Fox,
Esq., ofNashtta,1846 : Hugo Grotius and his Times, 1647; John
Wesiey, 1S47 ; Jonathan Edwards, 184S ; Christianity and
Socialism, 1848 ; St. Theresa and the Devotees of Spain, 1S49;
Modern Ecclesiastical History, 1850; The German in America,
1851 ; Recent Aspects of Judaism, 1853 ; The Church of the
First Three Centuries, 1653; Milton in our Day, 1854 ; Ame-
| rieans and Men of the Old World, 1855; in the North Ame-
; rican Review, Chrysostom and his Eloquence. 1846: in the
Bibliotheca Sacra, St. Jerome and his Times. 164S ; Socialism in
the United States, Christian Review, 1852 ; The Blouse in
both Hemispheres, New York Quarterly, 1654 : Modern Pro-
phets, Putnam's Monthly, 1654; Loyola, and the Jesuit Re-
action, 1854. He has published the following sermons: — The
Star of Bethlehem. 1840 ; Manifestation of God. 1841 ; Fare-
well at Nashua, 1841 ; Memory and Hope ; Two Sermons on
leaving Providence. 1849: Death of President Taylor, 1650 ;
1 Quarter Century of the Church of the Messiah. 1851 : The
Scholar's Death : a Tribute to Andrews Norton, 1653; Devo-
tion and Trade : Sermon iit Louisville. Ky., 1854 : Loss of the
Arctic, 1854: Lessons of the Tear of Calamities, 1654; Fifteen
Sermons in the volume already named, and entitled." God with
Men," 1853. Speeches and Addresses published: — American.
Principles — an Oration. 1839 ; The State of Education in New*
Hampshire — an Address, 1841 : William Penn and Roger
Williams— Speech at Philadelphia, 1846 ; The Schools of New
' England— Speech at New England Dinner. 1849; Speech before
the Massachusetts Bible Society, 1851 ; The Services of Feni-
more Cooper, 1852 ; Remarks "on the Death of Daniel Web-
| ster, 1852 ; Speech in Baltimore on Church Principles, 1652 ;
; The Founders of Maryland — Remarks at Baltimore, 1852 ;
i The Principle of Mutual Insurance — a Mercantile Address,
1858 : The Plymouth Celebration. 1858 : Semi-Centennial of
the New York Historical Society, 1854 : The Oriental Races —
J Address at the Inauguration of the Jewish Institute, 1654 ;
j American Eloquence — Speech on the Birth-day of Houry
i Clay, 1855. 3
SAMUEL OSGOOD.
573
EEMIXtSCEXCES OF BOYHOOD — FROM MILE-STONES IN OCR LIFE-
JOURNKY.
From the old battle hill, I can see the site of the
Behool-house where two or three hundred boys were
gathered together to be whipped and taught as their
fathers were before them. A new edifice, indeed,
has taken the place of our school, yet upon its
statelier front I can see, as if drawn in the air by a
strange pencil, the outline of that ancient building,
"with its round belfry, whose iron tongue held such
imperial command of our hours. It costs no great ef-
fort to summon back one of those famous Examination
Days that absorbed the anticipation of months, and
made the week almost breathless with anxiety.
There shines the nicely sanded floor, which the cun-
ning sweeper had marked in waving figures, to re-
deem it from association with any vulgar dust.
There sit the School Committee, chief among them
the trim chairman, upon whose lips, when he pro-
nounces the final opinion of the board, the very
fates seem to rest their judgment. There, too, is the
throng of parents, kindred, and friends, who have
come to note the performances of the boys, to look
pity upon their mistakes, and to smile sympathy
upon their successes. Should the presidential chair
fall to his lot, no prouder and more radiant day can
coniQ to the school-boy, than when, with new
clothes and shining shoes, he stands forth to speak
his well-conned piece, and wears away among the
admiring crowd the ribboned medal that marks his
triumph.
Our schoolmasters were great characters in our
eyes, and the two who held successively the charge
of the grammar department, made a prominent
figure in our wayside chat, and to this day we can find
some trace of their influence in our very speech and
manner. They were men of very different stamp and
destiny. The first of them was a tall fair-faced man,
with an almost perpetual smile. I always felt kindly
towards him, though it was not easy to decide
whether his smile was the expression of his good-
nature, or the mask of his severity. He wore it
very much the same when he flogged an offender, as
when he praised a good recitation. He seemed to
delight in making a joke of punishment, and it was
a favorite habit of his, to fasten upon the end of his
rattan the pitch and gum taken from the mouths of
masticating urchins, and then, coming upon their
idleness unawares, he would'insert the glutinous im-
plement in their hair not to be withdrawn without
an adroit jerk and the loss of some scalp locks.
Poor fellow! his easy nature probably ruined him,
and he left the school, not long to follow any in-
dustrious calling. When, a few years afterwards, I
met him in Boston, with the marks of broken health
and fortune in his face and dress, the sight was
shocking to all old associations, as if a dignity quite
Bacerdotal had fallen into the dust. His earthly
troubles have long been ended, aDd 1 take some plea-
sure in recording a kind and somewhat grateful feel-
ing towards one whose name I have not. heard
spoken these many years. His successor was a man
of different mould, a stern, resolute man, his face
full of an expression that seemed to say that circum-
stances are but accidents, and it is the will that
makes or mars the man. He was not in robust
health, and it seemed to some of us, who were
thoughtful of his feelings, that were it not for this,
he would have been likely to pursue a more ambi-
tious career, and give to the bar the excellent gifts
that he devoted to teaching. He was a most faith-
ful teacher, and his frown, like the rain cloud, had a
richer blessing for many a wayward idler, than his
Eredecessor's perennial smile. He has borne the
urdeu and the heat of the day for many a long
year, with ample success, and when he falls at his
post, it will be with the consciousness of having
done a good work for his race, in a calling far more
honored by Heaven than any of the more ambitious
spheres that perhaps won his youthful enthusiasm.
"Well says the noble Jean Paul Richter : — " Honor to
those who labor in school-rooms! Although they
may fall from notice like the spring blossoms, like
the spring blossoms they fall that the fruit may be
born."
There are two other personages that have much
to do with every youth's education, and whose
names are household words in every New England
home. The doctor and the minister figure largely
in every boy's meditations, and in our day, the loy-
alty that we felt towards their professions had not
been troubled by a homoeopathic doubt or a radical
scruple. In our case, it needed no especial docility
to appreciate these functionaries.* Our doctor was
a most emphatic character, a man of decided mark
in the eyes alike of friends and enemies. He was
very impatient of questions, and very brief yet pithy
in his advice, which was of marvellous point and sa-
gacity. He lost his brevity, however, the moment
that other subjects were broached, and he could tell
a good story with a dramatic power that would
have made him famous upon the stage. He was re-
nowned as a surgeon, and could guide the knife
within a hair's breadth of a vital nerve or artery
with his left hand quite as firmly as with his right.
This ambi-dexterity extended to other faculties, and
he was quite as keen at a negotiation as at an am-
putation. He was no paragon of conciliation, and
many of the magnates of the profession appeared to
have little liking for him, and sometimes called him
a poor scholar, rude in learning and taste, but lucky
in his mechanical tact. But he beat them out of
this notion, as of many others, by giving an anniver-
sary discourse before the State Medical Association,
which won plaudits from his severest rivals, for its
classical elegance, as well as its professional learn-
ing and sagacity. It was said that the wrong side
of him was very wrong and very rough. But those
of us who knew him as a friend, tender and true, never
believed that he had any wrong side. Certain it is,
that they who grew up under his practice have been
little inclined to exchange the regular school of
medicine, with its scientific method and gradual
progress, for any new nostrums of magical preten-
sions.
Our minister had the name of being the wise man
of the town, and I do not remember to have heard
a word in disparagement of his mind or motives,
even among those who questioned the soundness of
his creed. His voice has always been as no other
man's to many of us, whether heard as for the first
time at a father's funeral, as by me when a child five
years old, or in the pulpit from year to year. He
came to our parish when quite young, and when
theological controversy was at its full height. A
polemic style of preaching was then common, and
undoubtedly in his later years of calm study, and
more broad and spiritual philosophizing, he would
have read with some good-natured shakes of the
head, the more fiery discourses of his novitiate,
whilst he might recognise, throughout, the same
spirit of manly independence, republican humanity,
and profound reverence that have marked his whole
career. There was always something peculiarly
impressive in his preaching. Each sermon had one
or more pithy sayings that a boy could not forget ;
and when the thoughts were too profound or ab-
* Dr. William J. Walker, of Chark-stowu, Mass., and the
r.ev. James Walker, now President of Harvard. . ,
574
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Btract for our comprehension, there was an earnest-
ness and reality in the manner -which held the at-
tention, like a brave ship under full sail that fixes
the gaze of the spectator, though he may not know
whither she is bound or what is her cargo, sure
enough that she isloaded with something, and is going
right smartly somewhere. It was evident that our
minister was a faithful student and indefatigable
thinker. When the best books afterwards came in
our way, we found that the guiding lines of moral
and spiritual wisdom had already been set before us,
and we had been made familiar with the well win-
nowed wheat from the great fields of humanity.
Every thought, whether original or from books, bore
the stamp of the preacher's own individuality ; and
may well endorse the saying, that upon topics of
philosophic analysis and of practical morals he was
without a superior, if not without a rival in our
pulpits. It is a great thing for young people to
grow up under happy religious auspices, and religion
itself has a new charm and power when dispensed
by a man who is always named in the family with
reverence and tenderness. The world would be far
better, and Christian service would be much more
truly valued, if there were more just and emphatic
tribute paid to efficient pastoral labor. Our well
known minister has now a more conspicuous station ;
but he cannot easily have deeper influence than
when pastor for a score of years over a united
parish, and one of the leaders of public opinion up-
on all topics of high importance. It is well that the
new post is in such harmony with the previous
career ; for the head of a college, according to our
old-fashioned ideas, should be a minister, and he
should always abide in due manner by the pastoral
office.
THE AGE OF ST. AUGUSTINE — FROM STUDIES IN CHRISTIAN
BIOGKAPUY.
As we close our sketch with this vivid picture
before us, we cannot but glance at the changes that
have come over Christendom since Augustine's time.
Could the legend preserved by Gibbon, and told of
seven youi g men of that age, who were said to have
come forth alive from a cave at Ephesus, where they
had been immured for death by the Pagan Emperor
Decius, and whence they were said to have emerged,
awakened from nearly two centuries of slumber, to
revisit the scenes of their youth and to behold with
astonishment the cross displayed triumphant, where
once the Ephesian Diana reigned supreme ; — could
this legend be virtually fulfilled in Augustine, dating
the slumber from the period of his decease; could
the great Latin father have been saved from dissolu-
tion and have sunk into a deep sleep in the tomb
where Possidius and his clerical companions laid him
with solemn hymns and eucharistie sacrifice, while
Genseric an dhisYandals were storming the city gates;
and could he but come forth in our day, and look
upon our Christendom, would he not be more start-
led than were the seven sleepers of Ephesus? There
indeed roll the waves of the same great sea ; there
gleam the waters of the river on which so many
times he had gazed, musing upon its varied path
from the Atlas mountains to the Mediterranean, full
of lessons in human life; there stretches the land-
scape in its beauty, rich with the olive and the fig-
tree, the citron and the jujube. But how changed
are all else. The ancient Kuinidia is ruled by the
French, the countrymen of Martin and Hilary ; it is
the modern Algiers. Hippo is only a ruin, and near
its site is the bustliug manufacturing town of Bona.
At Constantine, near by, still lingers a solitary
church of the age of Constantine, and the only build-
ing to remind Augustine of the churches of his own
day. In other places, as at Bona, the mosque has
been converted into the Christian temple, and its
mingled emblems might tell the astonished saint how
the Cross had struggled with the Crescent, and how
it had conquered. Go to whatever church he would
on the 2Sth of August, he would hear a mass in com-
memoration of his death, and might learn that similar
services were offered in every country under the sun,
and in the imperial language which he so loved to
speak. Let h m go westward to the sea coast, and
he finds the new city, Algiers, and if he arrived at a
favorable time, he might hear the cannon announc-
ing the approach of the Marseilles steamer, 6ee the
people throng the shore for the last French news,
and thus contemplate at once the mighty agencies of
the modern world, powder, print, and steam. Al-
though full of amazement, it would not be all ad-
miration. He would find little in the motley popu-
lation of Jews, Berbers, Moors, and French, to
console him for the absence of the loved people of
his charge, whose graves not a stone would appear
to mark.
Should he desire to know how modern men philo-
sophised in reference to the topics that once dis-
tracted his Manichean period, he would find enough
to interest and astonish him in the pages of Spinoza
and Leibnitz, SwedenborgandSchellii g; and -would
be no indifferent student of the metaphysical creeds
of Descartes, and Lock, and Kant. Much of novelty
would undoubtedly appear to him united with much
familiar and ancient. Should he inquire into the
state of theology through Christendom, in order to
trace the influence of his favorite doctrines of origi-
nal sin and elective grace, he would lenrn that they
had never in their decided forms been favorites with
the Catholic Church, that the imperial mother had
canonised his name and proscribed his peculiar
creed, and that the principles that fell with the walls
of the hallowed Port Royal, had found their warm-
est advocates in Switzerland, in Scotland, and far
America, beyond the Roman communion. He would
recognise his mantle on the shoulders of Calvin of
Geneva, and his followers, Knox of Scotland, and
those mighty Puritans who trusting in God and his
decreeing will, colonised our own JNew England, and
brought with them a faith and virtue that have
continued, while their stern dogmas have been con-
siderably mitigated in the creed of their children.
The Institutes of Calvin would assure him that the
modern age possessed thinkers clear and strong as he,
and the work of Edwards on the Will would pro-
bably move him to bow his head as before a dialec-
tician of a logic more adamantine than his own, and
make him yearn to visit the land of a divine,,who
united an intellect so mighty with a spiiitso humble
and devoted. Should he come among us, he would
find multitudes to respect his name, and to accept
his essential principles, though few, if any, to agree
with him in his views of the doom of infants, or of
the limited offer of redemption. He would think
much of our orthodoxy quite Pelagian, even when
tested by the opinion of present champions of the
ancient faith. In the pages of Chancing he would
think of his old antagonist, Pelagius, revived with
renewed vigor, enlarged philosophy, and added elo-
quence. He might call this perhaps too fond cham-
pion of the dignity of man by the name, Pelagius,
—like him in doctrine, like him, as the name denotes,
a dweller by the sea. Who shall say how much the
influences of position helped to form the two cham-
pions of human nature, the ancient Briton and the
modern New Englander, both in part at least of the
same British race, both nursed by the sea-side, the
one by the shores of Wales or Brittany, the other by
the beach of Rhode Island. " No spot on earth," says
THE ACADEMY OF NATURAL SCIENCES OF PHILADELPHIA
575
Clianning, " has helped to form me so much as that
beach. There I lifted up my voice in praise amidst
the tempest. There, softened 'by beauty, I poured out
my thanksgiving and contrite confessions. There,
in reverential sympathy with the mighty power
around me, I became conscious of power within."
How long before the human soul shall reach so
full a development, that faith and works, reason and
authority, human ability and divine grace shall be
deemed harmonious, and men cease to be dividedby
an Augustine and Pelagius, or an Edwards and
Charming! Although this consummation may not
soon, if ever, be, and opinions may still differ,
charity has gained somewhat in the lapse of centu-
ries. Those who are usually considered the follow-
ers of Pelagius have been first to print a complete
work of Augustine in America — his Confessions.
The Roman Church, backed by imperial power and
not checked by Augustine, drove the intrepid Briton
into exile and an unknown grave. He who more
than any other man wore his mantle of moral free-
dom in our age died, honored throughout Christen-
dom, and the bell of a Roman cathedral joined in
the requiem as his remains were borne through the
thronged streets of the city of his home.
THE ACADEMY OF NATURAL SCIENCES OF PHILA-
DELPHIA.
Tins association originated in the social gatherings
of a few friends of natural science in the city of
Philadelphia. Its founders were John Spoakraan,
a member of the Society of Friends, engaged in
business as an apothecary, and Jacob Gilliams, a
dentist. These gentlemen were in the habit of
meeting Thomas Say and William Bartram at the
residence of the latter at Kingsessing, near Phila-
delphia, and the pleasure and profit resulting from
these interviews led to the desire of forming a
plan by which reunions of these ami other friends
of science could be secured at stated intervals.
A meeting was called for this purpose by
Messrs. Speakman and Gilliams at the residence
of the first named on the evening of January 25,
1812, at which the following persons were present
by invitation — Dr. Gerard Troost, Dr. Camillas
McMahon Man, Messrs. John Shinn, Jr., Nicholas
S. Parmeutier. Steps were taken to form an or-
ganization, which was perfected on the 21st of
March following, and the name of Thomas Say
was by general consent added to the number of
original members. An upper room was rented,
and the collection of books and specimens com-
menced. Thomas Say was appointed the first
Curator.
Thomas Say was born in the city of Philadelphia,
July 27, 1787. He was the son of Dr. Benjamin
Say, a druggist, who introduced him into the
same business. He subsequently became associat-
ed in business with his friend Speakman. By
injudicious endorsements the partnership became
involved, and the business brought to a close.
Mr. Say afterwards became curator of the Acade-
my. His simple habits of life, while thus occu-
pied, are pleasantly described by Dr. Ruschen-
berger :
" He resided in the Hall of the Academy, where
he made his bed beneath a skeleton of a horse, and
fed himself on bread and milk; occasionally ho
cooked a chop or boiled an egg; but he was wont
to regard eating as an inconvenient interruption
to scientific pursuits, and often expressed a wish
that he had been made with a hole in his side, in
which he might deposit, from time to time, the
quantity of food requisite for his nourishment.
He lived in this maimer several years, during
which time his food did not cost, on an average,
more than twelve cents a day."
In 1818 Mr. Say joined Messrs. Maclure, Ord,
and Peale, in a scientific exploration of the islands
and coast of Georgia. They visited East Florida
for the same purpose ; but their progress to the
interior was arrested by the hostilities between
the people of the United States and the Indians.
In 181H-20 he accompanied as chief geologist the
expedition headed by Major Long to the Rocky
Mountains, and in 1823 to the sources of the St.
Peter's river and adjoining country. In 1825 he
removed with Maclure and Owen to the New
Harmony settlement. He remained after the
separation of his two associates as agent of the
property, and died of a fever, October 10, 1S34.
His chief work is his American, Entomology,
published at Philadelphia in three beautifully
illustrated octavo volumes, by S. A. Mitchell, in
1824—5. He also commenced a work on Ameri-
can Conchology, six numbers of which were pub-
lished before his death. He was also a frequent
contributor to the journal of the Academy and
other similar periodicals. His discoveries in
Entomology are said to have probably been greater
than those ever made by any single individual.*
Geeard Teoost, the first President of the Aca-
demy, was born at Bois le Due, Holland, March
15, 1776. He was educated in his native coun-
try, received the degree of Doctor of Medicine at
the University of Leyden, and practised for a
short time at Amsterdam and the Hague. He
then entered the army, where he served at first
as a private soldier and afterwards as an officer
of the first rank in the medical department. In
1807 he was sent by Louis Buonaparte, then King
of Holland, to Paris to pursue his favorite studies
in natural science. He there translated into the
Dutch language Humboldt's Aspects of Nature.
In 1801) he was sent by the King of Holland to
Java, on a tour of scientific observation. He
took passage from a northern port in an Ameri-
can vessel to escape the British cruisers, pro-
posing to sail to New York and thence to his
destination. The vessel was, however, captured
by a French privateer, and carried into Dun-
kirk, where the naturalist was imprisoned until
the French government was informed of his
position. On his release, he proceeded to Paris,
where he obtained a passport for America. Ho
embarked at Rochelle, and arrived at Philadel-
phia in 1810.
After the abdication of Louis Buonaparte, he
determined to make the United States his perma-
nent residence, and turned his chemical knowledge
to good account by establishing a manufactory of
alum in Maryland.
Dr. Troost resigned the presidency of the Aca-
demy in 1817, and was succeeded by Mr. Ma-
clure. He was afterwards, about 1S21, appointed
the first Professor of Chemistry in the College of
Pharmacy at Philadelphia, but resigned in the
following year.
* EncyclopjEdla Americana, xiv. 533.
576
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
In 1825 lie joined Owen's community at New
Harmony, where he remained until 1827, when
he removed to Nashville. In the following year
he became professor of Chemistry, Geology, and
Mineralogy in the University of that city, and in
1831 Geologist of the state of Tennessee, an office
he retained until its abolition in 1849.
Dr. Troost died at Nashville on the 14th of
August, 1850. During his presidency the Aca-
demy removed, in 1815, to a hall built for its ac-
commodation by Mr. Gilliams, in Gilliams court,
Arch street, and placed at its disposal at an an-
nual rent of two hundred dollars.
William Macluee, the successor of Dr. Troost,
was born in Scotland in 1763. After acquiring a
large fortune by his commercial exertions in Lon-
don, lie established himself about the close of the
century in the United States. In 1803 he re-
turned to England as one of a commission ap-
pointed to settle claims of American merchants
for spoliations committed by France during her
revolution.
On his return, he made a geological survey of
the United States. "He went forth," says a
writer in the Encyclopaedia American;!,* " with
his hammer in his hand, and his wallet on his
shoulder, pursuing his researches in every direc-
tion, often amid pathless tracts and dreary soli-
tudes, until he had crossed and recrossed the Al-
leghany mountains no less than fifty times. He
encountered all the privations of hunger, thirst,
fatigue, and exposure, month after month, and
year after year, until his indomitable spirit had
conquered every difficulty and crowned his enter-
prise with success."
Mr. Maclure published an account of his re-
searches, with a map and other illustrations, in
the Transactions of the American Philosophical
Society, in 1817. It bears date January 20, 1809,
and was the first work of the kind undertaken in
the United States. Mr. Maclure became a mem-
ber of the Academy on the sixth of June, 1812,
and its president on the thirtieth of December,
1817. He was a munificent benefactor as well as
valuable member of the association, his gifts
amounting in the aggregate to §25,000.
One of his favorite plans of public usefulness
was the establishment of an University for the
study of the natural sciences. Selecting Owen's
settlement at New Harmony as the field of his
operations, he persuaded Dr. Troost and Messrs.
Say and Lesueur to accompany him in 1825 to
that place. After the failure of the scheme Mr.
Maclure visited Mexico, in the hope of restoring
his impaired health, and died at the capital of that
country during a second visit, on the 23d of
March, 1840.
Mr. Maclure presented over five thousand vo-
lumes to the library of the academy, and pur-
chased in Paris the copperplates of several im-
portant and costly works on botany and orni-
thology, with a view to their reproduction in a
cheap form in the United States. It is to his libe-
rality thus exerted, that we owe the American
edition of Midland's Sylva by Thomas Nuttall.
On the death of Mr. Maclure, Mr. "William
Hembel became president of the Academy. Mr.
Hembel was born at Philadelphia, September 24,
* xiv. 407.
1764. He studied medicine, and served as a vo-
lunteer in the medical department of the army in
Virginia during a portion of the Revolution, but
owing to a deafness which he believed would in-
capacitate him for duty as a practitioner, refused
to apply for the diploma which he was fully qua-
lified to receive. He, however, practised for
many years gratuitously among the poor of the
city, and was in other respects conspicuous for
benevolence. His favorite branch of study was
chemistry.
Mr. Hembel resigned his presidency in conse-
quence of advancing infirmitv, in December,.
1849, and died on the 12th of June, 1851. He
was succeeded by Dr. Morton.
Samuel George Moeton was born at Philadel-
phia in 1799. His father died when he was quite
young, and he was placed at a Quaker school by
his mother, a member of that society. From this
he was removed to a counting-house, but mani-
festing a distaste for business was allowed to fol-
low the bent of his inclination and study for a
profession. That of medicine was the one se-
lected— Quaker tenets tolerating neither priest
nor lawyer. After passing through the usual
course of preliminary study under the able guid-
ance of the celebrated Dr. Joseph Parrish,he re-
ceived a diploma, and soon after sailed for Europe,
on a visit to his uncle. He passed two winters
in attendance on the medical lectures of the
Edinburgh school, and one in a similar manner at
Paris, travelling on the Continent during the
summer. He returned in 1824, and commenced
practice. He had before his departure been
made a member of the Academy, and now took
can active part in its proceedings. Geology was
his favorite pursuit. In 1827 he published an
Analysis of Tabular Spar from Buchi County;
in 1834 A Synopsis of the Organic Remains of
the Cretaceous Group of the United States; in
the same year a medical work, Illustrations of
Pahnonary Consumption, its Anatomical Cha-
racters, Causes, Symptoms, and Treatment, with
twelve colored plates; and in 1849, An Illus-
trated System of Human Anatomy, Special,
General, and Microscopic. During this period
he was actively engaged in the duties of bis pro-
fession, having, in addition to a large private
practice, filled the professorship of Anatomy in
Pennsylvania College, from 1839 to 1843, and
served for several years as one of the physicians
and clinical teachers of the Alms-IIonse Hospital.
He commenced in 1830 his celebrated collec-
tion of skulls, one of the most important labors
of his life, fie thus relates its origin : —
" Having had occasion, in the summer of 1830,
to deliver an introductory lecture to a course of
Anatomy, I chose for my subject The dfferent
Forms of the Skull, as exhibited in the fine Races
of Men. Strange to say, I could neither buy nor
borrow a cranium of each of these races, and I
finished my discourse without showing either the
Mongolian or the Malay. Forcibly impressed
with this great deficienc}' in a mo>t important
branch of science, I at once resolved to make a
collection for myself."
His friends warmly seconded his endeavors, and
the collection, increased by the exertions of over
one hundred contributors in all parts of the
world, soon became large and valuable. At the
JOHN C. FREMONT.
577
time of his death it numbered 918 human speci-
mens. It has been purchased by subscription for,
and is now deposited in, the Academy, and is by
far the tiuest collection of its kind in existence.
The first use made of the collection by Morton
was the preparation of the Crania Americana,
published in 1839, with finely executed lithogra-
phic illustrations. It was during the progress
of this work that he became acquainted with
George R. Gliddon, of Cairo, in consequence of
an application to him tor Egyptian skulls. It
■was; followed after the arrival of Mr. Gliddon, in
1842, by an intimate acquaintance, and the pub-
lication in 1844 of a large and valuable work, the
Crania JEgyptiaca.
Morton finally adopted the theory of a diverse
origin of the human race, and maintained a con-
troversy on the suhject with the Rev. Dr. John
Bachman of Charleston.
Dr. Morton died at Philadelphia, after an ill-
ness of five days, on the loth of May, 1851. A
selection of his inedited papers was published,
with additional contributions from Di. J. 0.
Nott and George R. Gliddon, under the title of
Types of Mankind : or Ethnological Researches,
based upon, the Ancient Monuments, Paintings,
Sculptures, and Crania of Races, and upon their
Natural, Geographical, Philological, and Bibli-
cal History. It is prefaced by a memoir of Dr.
Morton, to which we are indebted for the mate-
rials of this notice.
JosiAri C. Nott, the son of the Hon. Abraham
Nott, was born in Union District, South Carolina,
March 31, 1804. His father removed with his
family in the following year to Columbia. After
his graduation at the college of South Carolina in
1824, Mr. Nott commenced the study of medicine
in Philadelphia, where he received his diploma in
1828. After officiating as demonstrator of Ana-
tomy to Drs. Physick and Hosack for two years,
he returned to Columbia, where he remained, en-
gaged in practice, until 1835. A portion of the
two succeeding years was parsed in professional
study abroad. In 1836 he removed to Mobile,
Alabama, where he has since resided. In 1848
he published his chief work — The Biblical and
Physical History of Man. He has also written
much on Medical Science, the Natural IIistor3r of
Man, Life Insurance, and kindred topics, for the
American Journal of Medical Science, the Charles-
ton Medical Journal, New Orleans Medical Jour-
nal, De Bow's Commercial Review, the Southern
Quarterly Review, and other periodicals.
Mb. George Oed, the friend, assistant, and
biographer of Wilson, himself a distinguished
ornithologist, succeeded Dr. Morton.
In 182G the Academy purchased a building,
originally erected as a Swedenborgian place of
worship, to which its collections were removed.
Their increase, after a few years, rendered en-
larged accommodations necessary, and on the
25th of May, 1839, the corner-stone of the
building in Broad street, now occupied by the in-
stitution, was laid. The first meeting was held in
the new hall on the 7th of February, 1840. In
1847 an enlargement became necessary, and was
effected.
In 1817 the Society commenced the publication
of The Journal of the Academy of Natural Sci-
ences. It was published at first monthly, and
VOL. I!. — 37
afterwards continued at irregular intervals until
1842.
In March, 1841, the publication of the Pro-
ceedings of the Academy was commenced. It is
still continued ; the numbers appearing once in
every two months. A second series of the Jour-
nal was commenced in December, 1847.
These, periodicals are supported by subscrip-
tions, and by the interest on a legacy of two
thousand dollars, bequeathed by Mrs. Elizabeth
Stott*
JOHN 0. FEEMONT.
John Charles Fremont is the son of a French
emigrant gentleman, who married a Virginia
lady. He was born in South Carolina, January,
1813. His father dying when he was four years
old, the care of his education devolved upon his
mother. He advanced so rapidly in his studies
that he was graduated at the Charleston College
at the age of seventeen. After passing a short
time in teaching mathematics, by which he was
enabled to contribute to the support of his mo-
ther and family, he devoted himself to civil engi-
neering with such success that he obtained an
appointment in the government expedition for
the survey of the head waters of the Mississippi,
and was afterwards employed at Washington in
drawing maps of the country visited. He next
proposed to the Secretary of War to make an
exploration across the Rocky Mountains to the
Pacific. The plan was approved, and in 1842,
with a small company of men, he explored and
opened to commerce and emigration the great
South Pass. In his Report, published by govern-
ment on his return, he portrayed the natural fea-
tures, climate, and productions of the region
through which he had passed, with great fulness
and clearness. His adventures were also describ-
ed in a graphic and animated style; and the book,
though a government report, was very widely
circulated, and has since been reprinted by pub-
lishers in this country and England, and trans-
lated into various foreign languages. Stimulated
by his success and iove of adventure, he soon
after planned an expedition to Oregon. Not sa-
tisfied with his discoveries in approaching the
mountains by a new route, crossing their sum-
mits below the South Pass, visiting the Great
Salt Lake and effecting a junction with the sur-
veying party of the Exploring Expedition, he de-
termined to change his course on his return.
With but twenty-five companions, without a
guide, and in the face of approaching winter, he
entered a vast unknown region. The explora-
tion was one of peril, and was carried through
with great hardship and suffering, and some loss
of life. No tidings were received from the party
for nine months, while, travelling thirty-five
hundred miles in view of, or over perpetual
snows, they made known the region of Alta
California, including the Sierra Nevada, the val-
leys of San Joaquin and Sacramento, the gold
region, and almost the whole surface of the coun-
try. Fremont returned to Washington in Au-
gust, 1844. He wrote a Report of his second
* Notice of the Origin, Progress, and Present Condition of
the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, By W. J,
W. Baschenbergcr, M. D., PhUu, 1S52.
57S
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
expedition, which he left as soon as completed in
the printer's hands, to depart on a third, the
object of which was, the examination in detail
of the Pacific coast, and the result, the acquisition
of California by the United States. He took part
in some of the events of the Mexican war, and at
its close, owing to a difficulty with two American
commanders, was deprived of his commission by
a court-martial, and sent home a prisoner. His
commission was restored on his arrival at "Wash-
ington, by the President, and he soon after again
started for California on a private exploration, to
determine the best route to the Pacific. On
the Sierra San Juan one third of his force of
thirty-three men, with a number of mules, was
frozen to death ; and their brave leader, after great
hardships, arrived at Santa Fe on foot, and des-
titute of everything. The expedition was re-
fitted and reinforced, and Fremont started again,
and in a hundred days, after penetrating through
and sustaining conflicts with Indian tribes, reach-
ed the Sacramento. The judgment of the mili-
tary court was reversed, the valuable property
acquired during his former residence secured, and
the State of California returned her pioneer ex-
plorer to "Washington as her first senator in
1850.
Colonel Fremont married a daughter of the
Hon. Thomas H. Benton. He has, during the
recesses of Congress, continued his explorations
at his private cost and toil, in search of the best
railway route to the Pacific.
The Reports to Government of his expeditions
have been the only publications of Col. Fremont;
but these, from the exciting nature, public inte-
rest, and national importance of their contents,
combined with the clear anil animated mode of
their presentation, have sufficed to give him a
place as author as well as traveller.
JAMES NACK.
James Nack holds a well nigh solitary position
in literature, as one, who deprived from child-
hood of the faculties of hearing and speech, has
yet been able not only to acquire by education a
full enjoyment of the intellectual riches of the
race, but to add his own contribution to the vast
treasury. He was born in the city of New York,
the son of a merchant, who by the loss of his for-
tune in business was unable to afford him many
educational advantages. The want was, however,
supplied by the care of a sister, who taught the
child to read before he was four years old. The
activity of his mind and ardent thirst for know-
ledge carried him rapidly forward from this point,
until in his ninth year an accident entailed upon
him a life-long misfortune.
As he was carrying a little playfellow in his
arms down a flight of steps his foot slipped; to
recover himself he caught hold of a heavy piece
of furniture, which falling upon him injured his
head so severely, that he lay for several hours
without sign of life, and for several weeks men-
tally unconscious. "When he recovered it was
found that the organs of sound were irrevocably
destroyed. The loss of hearing was gradually
followed by that of speech. He was placed as
soon as possible in the Institution for the Deaf
and Dumb, where the interrupted course of his
mental training was soon resumed. He showed
great aptitude for the acquirement of knowledge,
and an especial facility in the mastery of foreign
languages. After leaving the institution he con-
tinued, with the aid of the few books he pos-
sessed, a private course of study.
He had for some time before this written occa-
sional poems, of one of which, The Blue Eyed
Maid, he had given a copy to a friend, who
handed it to his father, Mr. Abraham Asten.
That gentleman was so much struck by its pro-
mise, that he sought other specimens of the au-
thor's skill. These confirming his favorable im-
pressions, he introduced the young poet to seve-
ral literary gentlemen of New York, under whose
auspices a volume of his poems, written between
his fourteenth and seventeenth years, was pub-
lished. It was received with favor by critics
and the public. Mr. Nack soon after became an
assistant in the office of Mr. Asten, then clerk of
, the city and county. In 1838 he married, and
in 1839 published his second volume, Earl Ru-
pert and other Tales and Poems, with a memoir
j of the author, by Mr. Prosper M. Wetmore.
TIIE OLD CLOCK.
Two Yankee wags, one summer day,
Stopped at a tavern on their way,
Supped, frolicked, late retired to rest,
And woke to breakfast on the best.
The breakfast over, Tom and Will
Sent for the landlord and the bill ;
Will looked it over ; " Very right —
But hold ! what wonder meets my Eight!
Tom ! the surprise is quite a shock I" —
"What wonder? where?" — "The clock! the
clock !"
Tom and the landlord in amaze
Stared at the clock with stupid gaze,
And for a moment neither spoke ;
At last the landlord silence broke- —
" You mean the clock that's ticking there?
I see no wonder I declare ;
Though may be, if the truth were told,
' Tis rather ugly — somewhat old ;
Yet time it keeps to half a minute ;
But, if you please, what wonder's in it ?"
" Tom ; don't you recollect," said Will,
] " The clock at Jersey near the mill,
The very image of this present,
With which I won the wager pleasant V
Will ended with a knowh.g wink —
Tom scratched his head and tiled to think.
"Sir, begging pardon for inquiring,"
The landlord said, with grin admiring,
" What wager was it?"
" You remember
It happened, Tom, in last December,
In sport I bet a Jersey Blue
That it was more than he could do,
To make his finger go and come
In keeping with the pendulum,
Repeating, till one hour should close,
Still, ' Here site r/ors — and there she goes' —
He lost the bet in half a minute."
". Well, if /would, the deuse is in it!"
Exclaimed the landlord ; " try me yet,
And fifty dollars be the bet,"
" Agreed, but we will play some trick
FRANCIS BOWEN.
579
To make you of the bargain sick!"
" I'm up to that!"
" Don't make us wait,
Begin. The clock is striking eight."
He seats himself, and left and right
His finger wags with all its might,
And hoarse his voice, and hoarser grows,
With — " here she goes — and there she goes ! "
" Hold!" said the Yankee, " plunk the ready I"
The landlord wagged his finger steady,
While his left hand, as well as able,
Conveyed a purse upon the table.
"Tom, with the money let's be off I"
This made the landlord only scoff;
He heard them running down the stair,
But was not tempted from his chair;
Thought he, " the fools! I'll bite them.yel!
So poor a trick shan't win the bet."
Anil loud and loud the chorus rose
Of. " here she goes — and there she goes ! "
While right and left his finger swung,
In keeping to his clock ami tongue.
His mother happened in, to see
Her daughter ; " where is Mrs. B ?
When will she come, as you suppose ?
Son ! "
" Here she goes — and there she goes /"
"Here? — where?" — the lady in surprise
His finger followed with her eyes;
" Son, why that steady gaze and sad?
Those words — that motion — are you mad?
But here's your wife — perhaps she knows
And"
" Here she goes — and there she goes /"
His wife surveyed him witli alarm,
And rushed to him and seized his arm ;
He shook her off, and to and fro
His fingers persevered to go,
While curled his very nose with ire,
That she against him should conspire,
And with more furious tone arose
The, " here she goes — and there she goes!"
" Lawks!" screamed the wife, " I'm in a whirl!"
Run down and bring the little girl ;
She is his darling, and who knows
But" •
" Here she goes — and there she goes I"
"Lawks! he is mad! what made him thus?
Good Lord! what will become of us?
Run for a doctor — run — run — run — ■
For Doctor Brown and Doctor Dun,
And Doctor Black, and Doctor White,
And Doctor Grey, with all your might."
The doctors came and looked and wondered.
And shook their heads, and paused and pondered,
'Till one proposed he should be bled,
" No — leeched you mean" — the other said —
" Clap on a blister," roared another,
" No — cup him" — " no — trepan him, brother !"
A sixth would recommend a purge,
The next would an emetic urge,
The eighth, just come from a dissection,
His verdict gave for an injection;
The last produced a box of pills,
A certain cure for earthly ills ;
" I had a patient yesternight,"
Quoth he, " and wretched was her plight,
And as the only means to save her,
Three dozen patent pills I gave her
And bv to-morrow I suppose
That"- —
'• Here she goes— and there she goes .'"
" You all are fools," the lady said.
" The way is, just to shave his head.
Run, bid the barber come anon" —
" Thanks, mother," thought her clever son,
" You help the knaves that would have bit me,
But all creation shan't outwit me !"
Thus to himself, while to and fro
His finger perseveres to go,
And from his lip no accent flows
But " here she goes — and there she goes /"
The barber came — "Lord help him! what
A queerish customer I've got ;
But we must do our best to save him —
So hold him, gemmen, while I shave him!"
But here the doctors interpose —
" A woman never"
" There she goes .'"
" A woman is no judge of plrysie,
Not even when her baby is sick.
He must be bled" — " no — no — a blister" —
" A purge you mean" — " I say a clyster" — '
" No — cup him — " " leech him — " " pills ! pills !
pills!"
And all the house the uproar fills.
What means that smile ? what means that shiver?
The landlord's limbs with rapture quiver,
And triumph brightens up his face —
His finger yet shall win the race !
The clock is on the stroke of nine —
And up he starts " "Kb mine ! 'tis mine !"
" What do you mean ?"
" I mean the fifty !
I never spent an hour so thrifty;
But you, who tried to make me lose,
Go, burst with envy, if you choose !
But how is this ? where are they ?"
" Who ?"
" The gentlemen — I mean the two
Came yesterday — are they below ?"
" They galloped off an hour ago."
"Oh, purge me! blister! shave and bleed!
For, hang the knaves, I'm mad indeed I"
FEANC4S BOWEN,
Professor of Moral Philosophy in Harvard Col-
lege, and late editor of the North American Re-
view, was born in Charlestown, Massachusetts.
He became a graduate at Cambridge in 1833, and
from 1835 to 1839 was tutor in the institution in
the department which he now occupies, of Phi-
losophy and Political Economy. He subse-
quently occupied himself exclusively with lite-
rary pursuits, while he continued his residence at
Cambridge. In 1812 he published Critical Es-
says on the History and Present Condition of
Speculative Philosophy ; and in the same year an
edition of Virgil, for the use of schools and col-
leges. In January, 1843, he became editor of the
North American Review, and discharged the
duties of this position till the close of 1853, when
the work passed into the hands of its present edi-
tor, Mr. A. P. Peabody. During the latter por-
tion of his editorship of the Review, Mr. Bowen's
articles on the Hungarian question attracted con-
siderable attention by their opposition to the popu-
lar mode of looking upon the subject under the
influences of the Kossuth agitation.
In the winter of 1848 and 1849 Mr. Bowen
delivered before the Lowell Institute in Boston a
| series of Lectures on the Application of Hcta-
5S0
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
•physical and Ethical Science to the Evidences of
Religion.
Mr. Bowen is also the author of several volumes
of American Biography in Mr. Sparks's series, in-
eluding Lives ot Sir William Phipps, Baron Steu-
ben, James Otis, and General Benjamin Lincoln.
In 1853 Mr. Bowen accepted the chair at Har-
vard, of Natural Theology, Moral Philosophy, and
Political Economy.
JOHN MILTON MACKIE,
The author of a life of Leibnitz and other works,
was born in 1813, in Wareham, Plymouth county,
Massachusetts, lie was educated at Brown Uni-
versity, where he was graduated in 1832, and
where he was subsequently a tutor from 1834 to
1838.
His writings, in their scholarship, variety, and
spirit, exhibit the accomplished man of letters. In
1845 he published a Life of Godfrey William
Von Leibnitz, on the basis of the German work
of Dr. G. E. Guhrauer. This was followed in
1848 by a contribution to American history in a
volume of Mr. Sparks's series of biography, a Life
of Samuel Gorton, one of the first settlers in War-
wick, Rhode Island.
In 1855 Mr. Mackie published a volume of cle-
ver sketches, the result of a portion of a European
tour, entitled Cosasde Espana ; or, Going to Ma-
drid via Barcelona. It was a successful work in
a field where several American travellers, as Ir-
ving, Mackenzie, Gushing, Wallis, and others, have
gathered distinguished laurels. Mr. Mackie treats
the objects of his tour with graphic, descriptive
talent, and a happy vein of individual humor.
A number of select review articles indicate the
author's line of studies, which, however, include
a wider field of research. To the North American
he has contributed papers on the Autobiography
of Heinrich Steffens (vol. 57); Gervinus's History
of German Literature (vol. 58) ; Professor Gani-
mell's Life of Roger Williams (vol. 61). To the
American Whig Review, The Life and Writings of
Job Durfee (vol. 7) ; The Revolution in Germany
in 1848 (vol. 8); and The Principles of the Ad-
ministration of Washington (vol. 10). To vol. 8
of the Christian Review, an article on M. Guizot
on European Civilization.
Mr. Mackie has been a contributor to Putnam's
Magazine, where, in December, 1854, he published
a noticeable article entitled "Forty Days in a
Western Hotel."
HOLIDAYS AT BAECELONA — FEOM C09A3 DE ESPAS'A.
Spanish life is pretty well filled up with holidays.
The country is under the protection of a better-filled
calendar of saints than any in Christendom, Italy,
perhaps, excepted. But these guardians do not keep
watch and ward for naught: they have each their
" solid day" annually set apart for them, or, at least,
their afternoon, wherein to receive adoration and
tribute money. The poor Spaniard is kept nearly
half the year on his knees. His prayers cost him his
pesetas, too ; for, neither the saints will intercede nor
the priests will absolve, except for cash. But his
time spent in ceremonie3, the Spaniard counts as no-
thing. The fewer days the laborer has to work, the
happier is lie. These are the dull prose of an exist-
ence essentially poetic. On holidays, on the con-
trary, the life of the lowest classes runs as smoothly
as verses. If the poor man's porron only be well
filled with wine, he can trust to luck and the saints
for a roll of bread and a few onions. Free from care,
he likes, three days in the week, to put on his best —
more likely, his only bib-and-tueker — and go to
mass, instead of field or wharf duty. He is well
pleased at the gorgeous ceremonies of his venerable
mother-church: at the sight of street processions,
with crucifix and sacramental canopy, and priests in
cloth of purple and of gold. The spectacle also of
the gay promenading, the music, the parade and mi-
mic show of war, the free theatres, the bull-fights,
the streets hung with tapestry, and the town hall's
front adorned with a flaming full length of Isabella
the Second — these constitute the brilliant passages in
the epie of his life. Taking no thought for the mor-
row after the holiday, he is wiser than a philosopher,
and enjoys the golden hours as they fly. Indeed, he
can well afford to do so ; for, in his sunny land of
corn and wine, the common necessaries of life are
procured with almost as little toil as in the bread-
fruit islands of the Pacific.
All the Spaniard's holidays are religious festivals.
There is no Fourth of July in his year. His mirth,
accordingly, is not independent and profane, like the
Yankee's. Being more aecustomed also to playtime,
he is less tempted to fill it up with excesses. It is in
the order of his holiday to go, first of all, to church ;
and a certain air of religious decorum is carried along
into all the succeeding amusements. Neither is his
the restless, capering enjoyment of the Frenchman,
who begins and ends his holidays with dancing ;
nor the chattering hilarity of the Italian, who goes
beside himself over a few roasted chestnuts and a
monkey. The Spaniard wears a somewhat graver
face. His happiness requires less muscular move-
ment. To stand wrapped in his cloak, statue-like, in
the public square; to sit on sunny bank, or beneath
shady bower, is about as much activity as suits his
dignity. Only the sound of castanets can draw him
from his propriety ; and the steps of the fandango
work his brain up to intoxication. Spanish festal-
time, accordingly, is like the hazy, dreamy, volup-
tuous days of the Indian summer, when the air is as
full of calm as it is of splendor, and when the pulses
of Nature beat full, but feverless.
The holiday is easily filled up with pleasures.
The peasant has no more to do than to throw back
I his head upon the turf, and tantalize his dissolving
mouth by holding over it the purple clusters, torn
from overhanging branches. The beggar lies down
against a wall, and counts into the hand of his com-
panion the pennies they have to spend together du-
ring the day — unconscious the while that the sand
of half its hours has already run out The village-
beauty twines roses in her hair, and looks out of the
window, happy to see the gay-jacketed youngsters
go smirking and ogling by. The belles of the town
lean over their flower balconies, chatting with neigh-
bors, and raining glances on the throng of admirers
who promenade below. Town and country wear
their holiday attire with graceful, tranquil joy.
Only from the cafes of the one, and the ventorillos of
the other, may perchance be heard the sounds of re-
velry ; where the guitar is thrummed with a gaiety
not heard in serenades; where the violin leads youth-
ful feet a round of pleasures, too fast for soreness of
footing; and where the claque of the castanets rings
out merrily above laugh and song, firing the heart
with passions which comport not well with Castilian
gravity.
CHARLES F. BRIGGS.
5S1
CHARLES F. BEIGGS.
Mr. Briggs is a native of Nantucket. Ho has
been for many years a resident of the citj* of New
York, and has been during the greater part of the
period connected with the periodical press.
In 1845 he commenced the Broadway Journal
with the late Edgar A. Poe, by whom it was con-'
tinned after Mr. Briggs's retirement.
Mr. Briggs has also been connected with the
Evening Mirror. He published in this journal a
series of letters, chiefly on the literary affecta-
tions of the day, written in a vein of humorous
extravaganza, and purporting to be from the pen
of Fernando Mendez Pinto.
In 1839 he published a novel, The Adventures
of Harry Franco, a Tale of the Great Panic. This
was followed by The Haunted Merchant, 1843,
and The Trippings of Tom Pepper, or the Results
of Romancing, 1847. The scene of these novels is
laid in the city of New York at the present day.
They present a humorous picture of various phases
of city life, and frequently display the satirical
vein of the writer.
Mr. Briggs is the author of a number of feli-
citous humorous tales and sketches, contributed to
the Knickerbocker and other magazines. He has
also written a few poetical pieces, several of
which have appeared in Putnam's Monthly Maga-
zine, with which he has been connected as editor.
Others are published in a choice volume of selec-
tions, Seaweeds from the Shores of Nantucket.
One of his most successful productions is a little
story, published in pamphlet form, with the title,
Working a Passage ; or, Life in a Liner. It gives
an account of a voyage to Liverpool in the literal
vein of a description from the forecastle.
AN INTERRUPTED BANQUET — FROM LIFE IN A LINER.
Among the luxuries which the captain had pro-
vided for himself and passengers was a fine green
turtle, which was not likely to suffer from exposure
to salt water, so it was reserved, until all the pigs,
and siieep, and poultry had been eaten. A few days
before we arrived, it was determined to kill the
turtle and have a feast the next day. Our cabin
gentlemen had been long enough deprived of fresh
meats to make them east liquorish glances towards
their hard-skinned friend, and there was a great
smacking of lips the day before he was killed. As I
walked aft occasionally I heard them congratulating
themselves on their prospective turtle-soup and force-
meat balls ; and one of them, to heighten the luxury
of the feast, ate nothing but a dry biscuit for twenty-
four hours, that he might be able to devour his full
share of the unctuous compound. It was to be a gala
day with them; and though it was not champagne
day, that falling on Saturday and this on Friday,
they agreed to have champagne a day in advance,
that nothing should be wanting to give a finish to
their turtle. It happened to be a rougher day than
usual when the turtle was cooked, but they had be-
come too well used to the motion of the ship to mind
that. It happened to be my turn at the wheel the
hour before dinner, and I had the tantalizing misery
of hearing them laughing and talking about their
turtle, while I was hungry from want of dry bread
and salt meat. I had resolutely kept my thoughts
from the cabin during all the passage but once, and
now I found my ideas clustering round a tureen of
turtle in spite of all my philosophy. Confound them,
if they had gone out of my hearing with their exult-
ing smacks, I would not have envied their soup, but
their hungry glee so excited my imagination that I
could see nothing through the glazing of the binnacle
but a white plate with a slice of lemon on the rim, a
loaf of delicate bread, a silver spoon, a napkin, two
or three wine glasses of different hues and shapes,
and a water goblet clustering around it, and a stream
of black, thick, and fragrant turtle pouring into the
plate. By and by it was four bells ; they dined at
three. And all the gentlemen, with the captain at
their head, darted below into the cabin, where their
mirth increased when they caught sight of the soup
plates. " Hurry with the soup, steward," roared the
captain. " Coining, sir," replied the steward. The
cook opened the door of his galley, and out came the
delicious steam of the turtle, such as people often in-
hale, and step across the street of a hot afternoon to
avoid, as they pass by Delmonieo's in South William
Street. Then came the steward with a large covered
tureen in his hand, towards the cabin gangway. I
forgot the ship for a moment in looking at this
precious cargo, the wheel slipped from my hands, the
ship broached to with a sudden jerk, the steward had
got only one foot upon the stairs, when this unex-
pected motion threw him off his balance and down
he went by the run, the tureen slipped from his
hands, and part of its contents flew into the lee
scuppers, and the balance followed him in his fall.
1 laughed outright. I enjoyed the turtle a thou-
sand times more than I should have done if I had
eaten the whole of it. But I was forced to restrain
my mirth, for the next moment the steward ran upon
deck, followed by the captain in a furious rage,
threatening if he caught him to throw him overboard.
Not a spoonful of the soup had been left in the coppers,
for the steward had taken it all away at once to keep
it warm. In about an hour afterwards the passen-
gers came upon deck, looking more sober than [ had
seen them since we left Liverpool. They had dined
upon cold ham.
WITHOUT AND WITIIIN.
My coachman in the moonlight, there,
Looks through the side-light of the door ;
I hear him with his brethren swear,
As I could do — but only more.
Flattening his nose against the pane,
He envies me my brilliant lot,
And blows his aching fists in vain,
And wishes me a place more hot.
He sees me to the supper go,
A silken wonder by my side,
Bare arms, bare shoulders, and a row
Of flounces, for the door too wide.
He thinks how happy is my arm
'Neath its white-gloved and jewelled load,
And wishes me some dreadful harm,
Hearing the merry corks explode.
Meanwhile I inly curse the bore
Of hunting still the same old coon,
And envy him, outside the door,
In golden quiets of the moon.
The winter wind is not so cold
As the bright smiles he sees me win,
Nor our host's oldest wine so old
As our poor gabble — watery — thin.
I envy him the ungyved prance
By which his freezing feet he warms,
And drag my lady's chains and dance
The galley slave of dreary forms.
0 ! could he have my share of din
And I his quiet! — past a doubt
'Twould still be one man bored within,
And just another bored without.
5S2
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
CHEISTOPHEE PEASE CEANCH.
C. P. Ceasch, a son of Chief Justice Cranch,
was born at Alexandria, in the District of Colum-
bia, March 8, 1813. After being graduated at
the Columbian College, Washington, in 1831, he
studied divinity at Cambridge University, and
was ordained. In 1844 he published a volume
of Poems at Philadelphia. It is marked by a
quiet, thoughtful vein of spiritual meditation, and
an artist's sense of beauty.
Mr. Cranch lias for a number of years past
devoted himself to landscape painting, and lias
secured a prominent position in that branch of art.
THE BOUQUET.
She has brought me flowers to deck my room,
Of sweetest sense and brilliancy ;
She knew not that she was the while
The fairest flower of all to me.
Since her soft eyes have looked on them,
What tenderer beauties in them dwell !
Since her fair hands have placed them there,
O how much sweeter do they smell !
Beside my inkstand and my books
They bloom in perfume and in light.
A voice amid my lonesomeness,
A shining star amid my night.
The storm beats down upon the roof,
But in this room glide summer hours,
Since she, the fairest flower of all,
Has garlanded my heart with flowers.
IIENET TIIEODOEE TUCKEEMAN.
The TrcKEEMAX family is of English origin, and
has existed more than four centuries in the
county of Devon, as appears from the parish
registers and monumental inscriptions* By the
mother's side, Mr. Tuckerman is of Irish descent.
The name of the family is Keating. In Macaulay's
recent history he thus speaks of one of her ances-
tors as opposing a military deputy of James II.,
in his persecution of the Protestant English in
Ireland in 1080: — " On all questions which arose
in the Privy Council, Tyrconnel showed similar
violence and partiality. John Keating, Chief-
Justice of the Common Pleas, a man distinguished
for ability, integrity, and loyalty, represented
with great mildness, that perfect equality was all
that the general could a.sk for his own church."
The subject of this notice is a nephew of the late
Eev. Dr. Joseph Tuckerman — a memoir of whom
appeared in England within a few years, and
who is known and honored as the originator of
the ministry at large, in Boston, one of the most
efficient of modern Protestant charities. His
mother was also related to and partly educated
with another distinguished Unitarian clergyman,
Joseph Stevens Buckminster.
* It is still represented there — the name belonging to seve-
ral of the gentry. In Jhe seventeenth century the Tueker-
mans intermarried with the Fortescue family, that of Sir Ed-
ward Harris, and that (now extinct) of "Giles of Bowden;"
the former is now represented by the present Earl of For-
tescue. Previous to this a branch of the Tuckermans emi-
grated to Germany. In a history of the county of Braunsel-
weig, by William Hanemann. published in Luneberg in 1S27,
allusion is made to one of this branch — Peter Tuckerman. who
is mentioned as the last abbot of the monastery of Riddagbau-
sen; he was chosen to the chapter in 1621. and, at the same
time, held the appointment of court preacher at Woli'enbut-
tell. Some of his writings are extant, and his monument is an
imposing and cuiious architectural relic.
Henry Theodore Tuckerman was born in Bos-
ton, Massachusetts, April 20, 1813. His early
education was begun and completed in the excel-
lent schools of that city and vicinity. In 1833,
after preparing for college, the state of his health
rendered it necessary for him to seek a milder
climate. In September he sailed from New York
for Havre, and after a brief sojourn in Paris,
proceeded to Italy, where he remained until the
ensuing summer, and then returned to the United
States. He resumed his studies, and in the fall
of 1837, embarked at Boston for Gibraltar, visited
that fortress and afterwards Malta, then proceeded
to Sicily, passed the winter in Palermo, and made
the tour of the island; in the following sum-
mer driven from Sicily by the cholera, of the
ravages of which he has given a minute account,
he embarked at Messina for Leghorn, passed the
ensuing winter (1838) chiefly at Florence, and
early the next summer returned home; in 1845
he removed from Boston to New Y'ork, where he
lias since resided, except in the summer months,
which he has passed chiefly at Newport, B. I.
In 1850 he received from Harvard College the
honorary degree of Master of Arts. In the win-
ter of 1852 he visited London and Paris for a
few weeks.
The writings of Mr. Tuekermnn include poems,
travels, biography, essay, and criticism. A cha-
racteristic of his books is that each represents
some phase or era of experience or study.
Though mainly composed of facts, or chapters
which have in the first instance appeared in the
periodical literature of the countiy,* they have
none of them an occasional or unfinished air.
The_y are the studies of a scholar: of a man true
to his convictions anil the laws of art. His mind
is essentially philosophical and historical ; he per-
* Mr. Tuckerman has been a contributor to all the best
magazine literature of the day: in Walsh's Eeview, the North
American Eeview, the Democratic, Graham's Magazine, the
Literary World, the Southern Literary Messenger, Christian
Examiner, &c. As his chief contributions have been col-
lected, or are in process of collection, in his books, we need
not refer to particular articles.
HENRY THEODORE TUCKERMAN.
583
ceives truth in its relation to individual character,
and he takes little pleasure in the view of facts
unless in their connexion with a permanent whole.
Hence what his writings sometimes lose in imme-
diate effect, they gain on an after perusal. His
productions pass readily from the review or maga-
zine to the book.
Taking his writings in the order of publication,
they commenced with a collection of essays, tales,
and sketches in 1835, entitled The Italian Sketch
Book, which has since been enlarged in a second
and third edition. With many of the author's
subsequent productions, it took a favorable view
of the Italian character, when it was the fashion
to undervalue it. Among other novelties in its
sketches, it contained an account of the little Re-
public of San Marino. The prominent topics of
the country, as they occur to a man of education,
were presented in a picturesque manner. After
the author's return from a second Italian tour, he
published in 1839 Isabel, or Sicily a Pilgrimage,
in which with a thin disguise of fiction, allowing
the introduction of sentiment, discussion, and
story, the peculiar features of tiie island, in its natu-
ral beauties and its remains of art, are exhibited.
After a considerable interval, another volume of
travel appeared, the result of a visit to England in
1853. It is entitled A Month in England. Mr.
Tuckennan has also published in the magazines a
few chapters of a similar memorial of France on
the same tour. Like the former works, they are
books of association rather than of mere daily ob-
servation. The author while abroad studies cha-
racter as it is expressed in men and institutions ,
making what he sees subordinate to what he
thinks. In the volume on England, there is a
graphic and humorous description of the univer-
sal reception of Mrs. Stowe's book during the
Uncle Tom mania, which shows a capability his
readers might wish to have had oftener exercised,
of presenting the exciting event3 of the day.
In 1846 a volume, the first of his collections
from the magazines. Thoughts on the Poets, was
published in New York. It contained articles on
some of the masters of the Italian school, and the
chief English poets of the nineteenth century,
with two American subjects in Drake and Bry-
ant. The critical treatment is acute and kindly,
reaching its end by an ingenious track of specu-
lation. Tliis was followed by a series of home
studies, Artist Life, or Sketches of American
Painters; the materials of winch were drawn
in several instances from facts communicated by
the artists themselves. They are studies of cha-
racter, in which the artist and his work illustrate
each other. The selection of subjects ranges from
"West to Leutze. The sketches are written con
amore, with a keen appreciation of the unworldly,
romantic, ideal life of the artist. Picturesque
points are eagerly embraced. There is a delicate
affection to the theme whieh adapts itself to each
artist and his art. The paper on Huntington, in
particular, has this sympathetic feeling. "With
these sketches of " Artist Life," may be appro-
priately connected, A Memorial of Horatio
Greeiwugh, prefixed to a selection from the
sculptor's writings, and published in 1853. It
brings into view the writer's Italian experiences,
his personal friendship, and is a tasteful record of
the man and of his art.
In 1849 and '51 Mr. Tuckennan published two
series of papers, which he entitled, Characteristics
of Literature illustrated by the Genius of Dis-
tinguished Men. The types of character which
lie selected, and the favorites of his reading and
study whom he took for their living portraiture,
show the extent and refinement of his tastes. In
choosing Sir Thomas Browne and Home Tooke
for his philosophers, he was guided by love for
the poetical and curious. He delicately discrimi-
nated between the Humorist and the Dilettante
in Charles Lamb and Shenstone. Hazlitt was his
Critic ; Beckford, with his refined writing, love of
art, and poetical adventure, was "picked man"
of Travel ; Steele his good-natured Censor; Burke
his Rhetorician ; Akenside his Scholar ; Swift,
his "Wit; Humboldt his Naturalist ; Talfourd his
Dramatist ; Channing his Moralist ; and Edward
Everett his Orator. In all this we may perceive
a leaning to the quiet and amiable, the order of
finished excellence of thoroughbred men. Widely
scattered as these twenty-two papers were in the
periodical literature of the country when they
first appeared, they indicate the careful and taste-
ful literary labor with which Mr. Tuckennan has
served the public in the culture of its thought and
affections. The tempting power of the critic has
never led him aside to wound a contemporary in-
terest, or thwart a rival author. He has written
in the large and liberal spirit of a genuine scholar.
While mentioning these claims as a literary critic,
we may refer to a genial and comprehensive
Sketch of American Literature, in a series of
chapters appended to Shaw's "English Litera-
ture," reprinted as a text-book for academies.
In a similar classification of a more general
nature, out of the range of literature, Mr. Tucker-
man lias published a series of Mental Portraits,
or Studies of Character, in which Boone repre-
sents the Pioneer; Lafitte, the Financier ; Korner,
the Youthful Hero; Giacomo Leopardi, the Scep-
tical Genius; and Gouvernour Morris, the ..Civilian.
In this choice of topics, Mr. Tuckennan has lat-
terly been frequently directed to American subjects
of an historical interest. Besides his elaborate
papers on the artists and authors of the country, he
has written, among other sketches of the kind, A
Life of Commodore Silas Talbot, of the American
navy,* and an appreciative article in a recent
number of the North American Review,t on the
personal character and public services of De Witt
Clinton.
The Optimist, a Collection of Essays, published
in 1850, exhibits the author in a highly agreeable
light. In an easy Iloratian spirit, he runs over
the usual means and ends of the world, throwing a
keen glance at. popular notions of living, which
destroy life itself; and gathering up eagerly, with
the art of a man whose experience has taught
him to economize the legitimate sources of plea-
sure within his reach, every help to cheerfulness
and refinement. Some of these essays are pictu-
resque, and show considerable ingenuity ; all ex-
hibit a thoughtful study of the times.
From a still more individual private view of life,
are^Ae Leaves from the Diary of a Dreamer, deli-
cately published in 1853 by Pickering in London,
• Publishid by J. C. Biker, New York, 1850.
t Oct., 1864.
584
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
in quaint old type of the English Augustan period
of literature. Under the guise of the posthumous
journal of an invalid traveller in Italy, the sen-
sitive emotions of a passionate lover, with a keen
susceptibility to the art and nature around him,
are described. There are frequent personal an-
ecdotes in this volume of such personages of the
times, as Byron, Sismondi, and Hawthorne.
The chief of Mr. Tuckennan's poems, collected
and published in Boston in 1851, is The Spirit of
Poetry, an elaborate essay in heroic verse of
some seven hundred lines. It traces the objects
of fancy and sentiment in life and nature with an
observant eye. The miscellaneous poems are
tributes to the outer world, passages of sentiment
or memorials of historical events, expressing the
more subtle spirit of the author's life of travel
and study.
What, though the name is old and oft repeated,
What though a thousand beings bear it now1;
And true hearts oft the gentle word have greeted, —
What though 'tis hallowed by a poet's vow ?
We ever love the rose, and yet its blooming
Is a familiar rapture to the eye,
And yon bright star we hail, although its looming
Age after age has lit the northern sky.
As starry beams o'er troubled billows stealing,
As garden odors to the desert blown,
In bosoms faint a gladsome hope revealing,
Like patriot music or affection's tone —
Thus, thus for aye, the name of Mary spoken
By lips or text, with magic-like control,
The course of present thought has quickly broken,
And stirred the fountains of my inmost soul.
The sweetest tales of human weal and sorrow,
The fairest trophies of the limner's fame,
To my fond fancy, Mary, seem to borrow
Celestial halos from thy gentle name:
The Grecian artist gleaned from many faces,
And in a perfect whole the parts combined,
So have I counted o'er dear woman's graces
To form the Mary of my ardent mind.
And marvel not I thus call my ideal,
We inly paint as we would have things be,
The fanciful springs ever from the real,
As Aphrodite rose from out the sea ;
Who smiled upon me kindly day by day,
In a far land where I was sad and lone ?
Whose presence now is my delight alway?
Both angels must the same blessed title own.
What spirits round my weary way are flying.
What fortunes on my future life await,
Like the mysterious hymns the winds are sighing,
Are all unknown, — in trust I bide my fate ;
But if one blessing I might crave from Heaven,
'T would be that Mary should my being cheer,
Hang o'er me when the chord of life is riven,
Be my dear household word, and my last accent
here.
ROME.
liorna / Roma '. Roma !
Nonepiu come era prima.
A terrace lifts above the People's square,
Its colonnade ;
About it lies the warm and crystal air,
And fir-tree's shade.
Thence a wide scene attracts the patient gaze,
Saint Peter's dome
Looms through the far horizon's purple haze,
Religion's home!
Columns that peer between huge palace walls,
A garden's bloom,
The mount where crumble Ctesar's ivied halls,
The Castle-Tomb ;
Egypt's red shaft and Travertine's brown hue,
The moss-grown tiles,
Or the broad firmament of cloudless blue
Our sight beguiles.
Once the awed warrior from yon streamlet's banks.
Cast looks benign,
When pointing to his onward-moving ranks,
The holy sign.
Fair women from these casements roses flung
To strew his way,
Who Laura's graces so divinely sung
They live to-day.
In those dim cloisters Palestine's worn bard
His wreath laid by,
Yielding the triumph that his sorrows marred,
Content to die.
From yonder court-yard Beatrice was led,
Whose pictured face
Soft beauty unto sternest anguish wed
In deathless grace.
Here stood Lorraine to watch on many an eve
The sun go down ;
There paused Corinne from Oswald to receive
Her fallen crown.
By such a light would Raphael fondly seek
Expression rare,
Or make the Fornarina's olive cheek
Love's blushes wear.
A shattered bridge here juts its weedy curve
O'er Tiber's bed,
And there a shape whose name thrills every nerve.
Arrests the tread.
O'er convent gates the stately cypress rears
Its verdant lines,
And fountains gaily throw their constant tears -
On broken shrines.
Fields where dank vapors steadily consume
The life of man,
And lizards rustle through the stunted broom, — -
Tall arches span.
There the wan herdsman in the noontide sleeps, .
The gray kine doze,
And goats climb up to where on ruined heaps
Acanthus grows.
From one imperial trophy turn with pain
The Jews aside,
For on it emblems of their conquered fane
Are still descried.
The mendicant, whose low plea fill? thine ear
At every pass,
Before an altar kings have decked, may hear
The chanted mass.
On lofty ceilings vivid frescoes glow,
Auroras beam ;
The steeds of Neptune through the water go,
Or Sybils dream.
As in the flickering torchlight shadows weaved
Illusions wild,
Methought Apollo's bosom slightly heaved,
And Juno smiled 1
HENRY THEODORE TUCKERMAN,
£>bo
Aerial Mercuries in bronze upspring,
Dianas fly,
And marble Cupids to their Psyches cling,
Without a sigh.
In grottoes, see the hair of Venus creep
Round dripping stones,
Or thread the endless catacombs where sleep
Old martyrs' bones.
Upon this esplanade is basking now
A son of toil,
But not a thought, rests on his swarthy brow
Of Time's vast spoil.
His massive limbs with noblest sculptures vie,
Devoid of care
Behold him on the sunny terrace lie,
And drink the air !
With gestures free and looks of eager life,
Tones deep and mild,
Intent he plies the finger's harmless strife
A gleesome child !
The shaggy Calabrese, who lingers near,
At Christmas comes to play
His reeds before Madonna every year,
Then hastes away.
Now mark the rustic pair who dance apart;
What gay surprise !
Her clipsome bodice holds the Roman heart
That lights her eyes :
His rapid steps are timed by native zeal ;
The manly chest
Swells with such candid joy that we can feel
Each motion's zest.
What artless pleasure her calm smile betrays,
Whose glances keen
Follow the pastime as she lightly plays
The tambourine J
They know when chestnut groves repast will yield,
Where vineyards spread ;
Before their saint at morn they trustful kneeled,
Why doubt or dread'?
A bearded Capuchin his cowl throws back,
Demurely nigh ;
A Saxon boy with nurse upon his track,
Bounds laughing by.
Still o'er the relics of the Past around
The Day-beams pour,
And winds awake the same continuous sound
They woke of yore.
Thus Nature takes to her embrace serene
What Age has clad,
And all who on her gentle bosom lean
She maketh glad.
TETJE ENTHUSIASM — FROM A COLLOQUIAL LECTURE ON NEW
ENGLAND PHILOSOITIT.
Let us recognise the beauty and power of true
enthusiasm ; and whatever we m ly do to enlighten
ourselves and others, guard against checking or chill-
ing a single earnest sentiment. For what is the
human mind, however enriched with acquisitions or
strengthened by exercise, unaccompanied by an ar-
dent and sensitive heart? Its light may illumine,
but it cannot inspire. It may shed a cold and moon-
light radiance upon the path of life, but it warms no
flower into bloom ; it sets free no ice-bound foun-
tains. Dr. Johnson used to say, that an obstinate
rationality prevented him from being a Papist. Does
not the same cause prevent many of us from unbur-
dening our hearts and breathing our devotions at the
shrines of nature? There are influences which en-
viron humanity too subtle for the dissecting knife of
reason. In our better moments we are clearly con-
scious of their presence, and if there is any barrier
to their blessed agency, it is a formalized intellect.
Enthusiasm, too, is the very, life of gifted spirits.
Ponder the lives of the glorious in art or literature
through all ages. What are they but records of toils
and sacrifices supported by the earnest hearts of
their votaries ? Dante composed his immortal poem
amid exile and suffering, prompted by the noble am-
bition of vindicating himself to posterity; and the
sweetest angel of his paradise is the object of his
early love. The best countenances the old painters
have bequeathed to us are those of cherished objects
intimately associated with their fame. The face of
Raphael's mother blends with the angelic beauty of
all his Madonnas. Titian's daughter and the wife
of Corregio again and again meet in their works.
Well does Foscolo call the fine arts the children of
Love. The deep interest with which the Italians
hail gifted men, inspires them to the mightiest efforts.
National enthusiasm is the. great nursery of genius.
When Cellini's 6tatue of Perseus was first exhibited
on the Piazza at Florence, it was surrounded for days
by an admiring throng, and hundreds of tributary
sonnets were placed upon its pedestal. Petrarch was
crowned witli laurel at Rome for his poetical labors,
and crowds of the unlettered may still be seen on
the Mole at Naples, listening to a reader of Tasso.
Reason is not the only interpreter of life. The foun-
tain of action is in the feelings. Religion itself is but
a state of the affections. I once met a beautiful
peasant woman in the valley of the Arno, and asked
the number of her children. " I have three here and
two in paradise," she calmly replied, with a tone
and manner of touching and grave simplicity. Her
faith was of the heart. Constituted as human nature
is, it is in the highest degree natural that rare pow-
ers should be excited by voluntary and spontaneous
appreciation. Who would not feel urged to high
achievement, if he knew that every beauty his' can-
vas displayed, or every perfect note he breathed, or
every true inspiration of his tyre, would find an in-
stant response in a thousand breasts ? Lord Brough-
am calls the word " impossible" the mother-tongue of
little souls. What, I ask, can counteract self-distrust,
and sustain the higher efforts of our nature, but enthu-
siasm ? More of this element would call forth the
genius, and gladden the life of New England. While
the mere intellectual man speculates, and the mere
man of acquisition cites authority, the man of feeling
acts, realizes, puts forth his complete energies. His
earnest and strong heart will not let his mind rest;
he is urged by an inward impulse to embody his
thought ; lie must have sympathy, he must have re-
sults. And nature yields to the magician, acknow-
ledging him as her child. The noble statue comes
forth from the marble, the speaking figure stands
out from the canvas, the electric chain is struck in
the bosoms of his fellows. They receive his ideas,
respond to his appeal, and reciprocate his love.
THE IIOME OF THE POET ROGERS — FROM A MONTH IN ENGLAND.
The aquatic birds in St. JameB's Park, with their
variegated plumage, may well detain loiterers of
maturer years than the chuckling infants who feed
them with crumbs, oblivious of the policeman's eye,
and the nurse's expostulations ; to see an American
wild duck swim to the edge of the lake, and open
its glossy bill with the familiar airs of a pet canary,
is doubtless a most agreeable surprise ; nor can an
artistic eye fail to note the diverse and picturesque
forms of the many noble trees, that even when leaf-
less, yield a rural charm to this glorious promenade
(the elms are praised by Evelyn) ; but these wood-
586
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
land amenities, if they cause one often to linger on
his way to the Duke of Sunderland's and Bucking-
ham palace; and if the thought, that it was here,
wliile taking his usual daily walk, that Charles re-
ceived the first intimation of the Popish plot, lure
him into an historical reverie, neither will long with-
draw the attention of the literary enthusiast from
the bit of green sward before the window of Rogers,
which, every spring morning, until the venerable
poet's health sent him into suburban exile, was cov-
ered wfth sparrows expectant of their banquet from
his aged yet kindly hand. The view of the park
from this drawing-room bow-window instantly dis-
enchants the sight of all town associations. The
room where this vista of nature in her genuine Eng-
lish aspect opens, is the same so memorable for the
breakfasts, for many years, enjoyed by the hospitable
bard and his fortunate guests. An air of sadness
pervaded the apartment in the absence of him, whose
taste and urbanity were yet apparent in every ob-
ject around. The wintry sun threw agleam mellow
as the light of the fond reminiscence he so gracefully
6ung, upon the Turkey carpet, and veined mahogany.
It fell, as if in pensive greeting, on the famous Ti-
tian, lit up the cool tints of Watteau, and made the
bust found in the sea near Pozzuoli wear a creamy
hue. "When the old housekeeper left the room, and
I glanced from the priceless canvas or classic urn, to
the twinkling turf, all warmed by the casual sun-
shine, the sensation of comfort never so completely
realized as in a genuine London breakfast-room, was
touched to finer issues by the atmosphere of beauty
and the memory of genius. The groups of poets,
artists, and wits, whose commune had filled this
room with the electric glow of intellectual life, with
gems of art, glimpses of nature, and the eharm of
intelligent hospitality, to evoke all that was most
gifted and cordial, reassembled once more. I could
not but appreciate the suggestive character of every
ornament. There was a Murillo to inspire the Span-
ish traveller with half-forgotten anecdotes, a fine
Reynolds to whisper of the literary dinner where
Garrick and Burke discussed the theatre and the
senate ; Milton's agreement for the sale of " Paradise
Lost," emphatic symbol of the uncertainty of fame ;
a sketch of Stonehenge by Turner, provocative of
endless discussion to artist and antiquary ; bronzes,
medals, and choice volumes, whose very names would
inspire an affluent talker in this most charming ima-
ginable nook, for a morning colloquy and a social
breakfast. I noticed in a glass vase over the fire-
place, numerous sprigs of orange blossoms in every
grade of decay, some crumbling to dust, and others
but partially faded. These, it appeared, were all
plucked from bridal wreaths, the gift of their fair
wearers, on the wedding-day, to the good old poet-
friend ; and he, in his bacheloric fantasy, thus pre-
served the withered trophies. They spoke at once
of sentiment and of solitude.
CHAELES T. BROOKS.
Citarles T. Brooks was born at Salem, Mass.,
June 20, 1813. At Harvard, which he entered
in 1828, a sensitive and studious youth, he
obtained Ids introduction, through Dr.Follen, to
the world of German poetry and prose, with
which Ids literary labors have been since so
prominently identified. Schiller's song of Mary
Stuart on a temporary release from captivity, was
one of the earliest, as it has been one of the latest
poems which he has attempted.
The subject of his valedictory at Cambridge
was, " The Love of Truth, a Practical Principle."
Three years afterwards, on completing his studies
at the Theological school, he read a dissertation
on " the old Syriac version of the New Testament,"
and shortly after, on taking his second degree at
the Universit}', delivered an oration on " Decision
of character, as demanded in our day and country."
He began his career as a preacher at Nahant, in
the summer of 1835. After officiating in different
parts of New England, chiefly in Bangor, Augusta,
and Windsor, Vt., he was settled in Newport,
lihode Island, in January, 1837, where he has
since continued in charge of the congregation
worshipping in the church in which Channing
held the dedication service in 1836. Channing
also preached the sermon at his ordination in
June, 1837, the one published in his works, as
afterwards repeated to Mr. Dwiglit at North-
ampton. In October of the same year, Mr.
Brooks was married to Harriet, second daughter
of the late Benjamin Hazard, lawyer and legisla-
tor of Rhode Island.
: Mih r^y e^r/iy
His course as an author besran in the year
1838 with a translation of Schiller's William
Tell, which was published anonymously at Pro-
vidence. The year or two following, he trans-
lated from the same author, the dramas of Mary
Stuart and the Maid of 0 leans, which yet
(1855) remain unpublished. In 1840 lie trans-
lated the T^tan of Jean Paul Richter. a work of
great labor and rare delicacy, which is also un-
published. In 1842 a volume of his miscellaneous
specimens of German song was published as one
of Mr. Ripley's* series of Foreign Literature, by
* Mr. George Ripley.to whom scholars are under obligations
for this series of" Specimens of Foreign Standard Literature,"
published in fifteen volumes, betweeiithe years 1S3S and 1845,
is the present accomplished literary editor and critic of the
New Tork Tribune, a wi rk to which he brings rare tact and
philosophical acumen. He was the chief manager of the
Brook Farm Association, with which his friend and associate
in the Tribune, Mr. Charles A. Dana, a good scholar, a forcible
writer and effective speaker, was also connected. Mr. Ripley's
services to literature are important in Dumcronsjournals. In
1S40 he published in Boston an essay " On the Latest Form of
Infidelity."
CHARLES T. BROOKS.
587
Munvoe & Co., of Boston. In 1845 he published an
article on Poetry in the Christian Examiner,
The same year he delivered the Phi Beta Kappa
poem at Cambridge. In 1847, Munroe &> Co.
published his translation of Schiller's Homage of
the Arts, with Miscellaneous Pieces from Ruclcert,
Freiligrath, and other German Poets. In this
year, too, he recited a poem entitled Aquidneck,
upon the hundredth anniversary of the Redwood
Library at Newport. This was published next
year by Burnet at Providence, in a little volume
containing several other commemorative pieces.
In 1851, Mr. Brooks published at Newport a
pamphlet, The Controversy touching the Old
Stone Mill, in the town of Newport, Rhode
Island, with Remarks Introductory and Conclu-
sive : a pleasant dissection of the subject, calcu-
lated to set entirely at rest any pretensions of the
Northman to an antiquarian property in that
curious though sufficiently simple structure.
In June, 1853, Ticknor & Co. published his
German Lyrics, containing specimens of Anasta-
sius Grun, and others of the living poets of Ger-
many, selected from a mass of translations in
part previously printed in the Literary World,
and in part in manuscript. 'He has since published
a little collection named Songs of Field and
Flood, printed by John Wilson at Boston.
In 1853, Mr. Brooks made a voyage to India
for his health, the incidents and sensations of
which he has embodied in a narrative entitled,
E ght Month* on the Ocean, and Fight Weeks in
India, winch is still in MS. Among other unpub-
lished writings by Mr. Brooks, is a choice transla-
tion of the humorous poem of the German Uni-
versity students, The Life, Opinions, Actions, and
Fa'e of Ilieronimus Jobs the Candidate, of which
he has printed several chapters in the Literary
World,* and which has been further made familiar
to the public, by the exhibition in Mr. Bolter's
Gallery of German Painting in New York, of the
exquisite paintings ^by Hasenclever, of scenes from
its pages.
Mr. Brooks is also, besides his quaint and
felicitous translations from the minor German
poets, the author of numerous occasional verses —
a series of Festival, New Year, and Anniversary
addresses, all ready and genial, with a frequent
infusion of a humorous spirit.
NEWPORT — FKOM AQUIDNECK.
Hail, island-home of Peace and Liberty!
Hail, breezy cliff, grey rock, majestic sea!
Here man should walk with heaveuward lifted
eye,
Free as the winds, and open as the sky !
O thou who here hast had thy childhood's home,
And ye who one brief hour of summer roam
These winding shores to breathe the bracing breeze,
And feel the freedom of the skies ami seas.
Think what exalted, sainted minds once found
The sod, the sand ye tread on, holy ground !
Think how an Allston's soul-enkindled eye
Drank in the glories of our sunset-sky!
Think how a Berkeley's genius haunts the air,
And makes our crags and waters doubly fair ?
Think how a Channing, "musing by the sea,"
Burned with the quenchless love of liberty !
What work God witnessed, and that lonely shore,
« Nos. 245, 253.
Wrought in him 'midst the elemental roar!
How did that spot his youthful heart inform,
Dear in the sunshine, — dearer in the storm.
'• The Father reigneth, let the Earth rejoice
And tremble!" — there he lifted up Ids voice
In praise amid the tempest — softened there
By nature's beauty rose the lowly prayer.
There as, in reverential sympathy,
He watched the heavings of the giant sea,
Stirred by the Power that ruled that glorious din,
Woke the dread consciousness of power within !
They are gone hence — the large and lofty souls ;
And still the rock abides — the ocean rolls ;
And still where Reason rears its beacon-rock,
The Powers of Darkness dash with angry shock.
In many an anxious vigil, pondering o'er
Man's destiny on this our western shore,
Genius of Berkeley ! to thy morning-height
We lift the piercing prayer — " What of the night?"
And tins thy Muse, responsive, seems to say :
" Not yet is closed the Drama or the Day :
Act well thy part, how small soe'er it be,
Look not to Heaven alone — Heaven looks to thee! "
Spirit of Channing! to thy culm abode,
We, doubtful plodders of this lowly road,
Call : " From thy watch-tower say, for thou canst
see,
How fares the wavering strife of liberty?"
And the still air replies, and the green sod,
By thee beneath these shades, in musing, trod, —
And these then lonely wal'j, where oft was caught
The electric spark of high, heroic thought, —
And yonder page that keeps for ever bright,
Of that great thought the burning shining light, — ■
All these, with voice of power — of God, — to-day
Come to the soul, and calmly, strongly say :
" Be faithful unto death in Freedom's strife,
And on thy head shall rest the crown of life."
LINES ON HEARING MENDELSSOHN S MIDSUMMER Nir.rlTS DREAM
PERFORMED BY THE GERMANIANS AT NEWPORT.
It haunts me still — I hear, I see, once more
That moonlight dance of fairies on the shore.
I hear the skipping of those airy feet ;
I see the mazy twinkling, light and fleet.
The sly sharp banter of the violin
Wakes in the elfin folk a merry din ;
And now it dies away, and all is still ;
The silver moon-beam sleeps upon the hill;
ThV flute's sweet wail, a heavenly music, floats,
And like bright dew-drops fall the oboe's notes.
And hark ; again that light and graceful beat
Steals on the ear, of trooping, tiny feet, — ■
While, heard by fits across the watery floor,
The muffled surf-drum booms from some far shore
And now the fairy world is lost once more
In the grand swell of ocean's organ-roar,—
And all is still again ; — again the dance
Of sparkling feet reflects the moon-beam's glance ;
Puck plays his antics in the o'erhanging trees, —
Music like Ariel's floats on every breeze. —
Thus is the Midsummer Night's Dream to me,
Pictured by music and by memory,
A long midsummer day's reality.
THE 8ABBATII — FROM TnE GERMAN OF KREMMACIIEE.
The Sabbath is here !
Like a dove out of heaven descending,
Tod and turmoil suspending,
Comes in the glad morn !
It smiles on the highway,
Ami down the green by-way,
'MoDg fields of ripe corn.
588
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
The Sabbath is here !
Behold ! the full sheaves own the blessing,
So plainly confessing
A Father's mild care.
In Sabbath-noon stillness,
The crops in their fulness
How graceful and fair!
The Sabbath is here !
No clank of the plough-chain we hear, now,-
No lash, far or near, now, —
No creaking of wheels.
AVith million low voices
The harvest rejoices
All over the fields.
The Sabbath is here !
The seed we in faith and hope planted ;
God's blessing was granted;
It sprang to the light,
"We gaze now, and listen
"Where fields wave and glisten,
With grateful delight.
The Sabbath is here !
Give praise to the Father, whose blessing
The fields are confessing !
Soon the reapers will come,
With rustling and ringing
% Of sickles, and bringing
The yellow sheaves home.
The Sabbath is here !
The seed we in fond hope are sowing
Will one day rise, glowing
In the smile of God's love.
In dust though we leave it,
We trust to receive it
In glory above !
BTLYESTEE JUDD,
The author of Margaret, and a clergyman of the
Unitarian Church, of a marked individuality of
opinion and an earnest spiritual and moral life,
was horn at Westhampton, Hampshire county,
Mass., July 23, 1813. His grandfather, Sylvester
Judd, a man of character and influence in his
day, was one of the first settlers of the place and
the son of the Rev. Jonathan Judd, the first
clergyman of Southampton, and for sixt}' years
pastor of that flock. The father of our author,
also Sylvester Judd, though engaged in trade in
the countn- at Westhampton, applied himself so
vigorously to study that he attained a considera-
ble knowledge of Greek, Latin, and French ;
worked his way through a course of the higher
mathematics, and became generally conversant
with polite literature. He married a daughter
of Aaron Hall, of Norwich, a man of good repute
in the Revolutionary era.
The young Sylvester Judd, the third of the
name in the direct line, passed .his early years at
Westhampton, under the usual earnest influences
of the old New England Puritan homes. At the
age of nine years, his father having become un-
fortunate in business, and his habits of study
having got the better of his pursuit of trade, he
removed to Northampton, to become proprietor
and editor of the Hampshire Gazette, with which
a younger brother, then recently deceased, had
been connected. At this spot the boyhood and
youth of Sylvester were passed ; a period of re-
ligious influence which was marked by his con-
version during a revival.
between devotion to trade, to which the slender'
fortunes of his father invited him, and a natural
tendency to an educated life. It ended in his
entry at Yale College, where he received his de-
gree in 1836. The picture of his college life, as
published by Miss Arethusa Hall, shows an
earnest, devotional spirit. After leaving Yale,
he took charge of a private school at Templeton,
Mass. " There, for the first time," says his bio-
grapher, "he began to have intercourse with that
denomination of Christians termed Unitarians,
and came to understand more fully their dis-
tinguishing views. Previously, he had been very
little acquainted with Unitarian works or Uni-
tarian preaching ; but he now perceived that the
deductions of his own unbiassed mind, and the
conclusions towards which he found it verging,
were much in harmony with those received by
this body of Christians." As his old opinions
changed, a social struggle occurred with his
family, friends, and supporters. He felt that he
was out of place with these former associations,
and declined the offer of a professorship in Mi-
ami College, Ohio. " Feeling and thinking thus,"
he writes to his brother, " you see I could not
become connected with an Old School Presby-
terian College." A record of his conflict is pre-
served in a manuscript which he prepared for
the private use of his father's family, entitled
" Cardiography," an exposition of his theological
difficulties and conclusions, which is published in
his biography. It was now evident to his family
that they must resign all hope of the Calvinistic
minister. The issue had been made in all con-
scientiousness, and Mr. Judd choosing another
path, entered the Divinity School at Harvard in
1837. At the completion of his course, in 1840,
he became engaged to supply the pulpit of the
Unitarian church in Augusta, Maine, and was
S <^JU>-tj^Xj£\^ 3 ocjdCsl
soon formally installed as pastor. He married
the next year a daughter of the Hon. Revel Wil-
liams, of Augusta. •
SYLVESTER JUDD.
589
In 1843 he seems first to have turned his atten-
tion to authorship. His Margaret, a Tale of the
Real and Ideal; including Sketches of a Place
not Before described, called 3Ions Christi, was
commenced at that time and reached the public
in 1845. A secon/1 revised and improved edition
appeared in two volumes in 1851.
As the best account of the scope of this work,
we may cite the remarks of its author on the
subject from a letter to a brother clergyman: —
"The book designs to promote the cause of
liberal Christianity, or, in other words, of a pure
Christianity: it would give body and soul to the
divine elements of the gospel. It aims to subject
bigotry, cant, pharisaism, and all intolerance. Its
basis is Christ : him it would restore to the
church, him it would develop in the soul, him it
would enthrone in the world. It designs also, in
judicious and healthful ways, to aid the cause of
peace, temperance, .and universal freedom. In
its retrospective aspect, it seeks to preserve some
reminiscences of the age of our immediate fathers,
thereby describing a period of which we have no
enduring monuments, and one the traces of which
are fast evanescing. The book makes a large ac-
count of nature, the birds and flowers, for the
sake of giving greater individuality to, and
bringing into stronger relief, that which the
religious mind passes over too loosely and vaguely.
It is a New England book, and is designed to em-
body the features and improve the character of
our own favored region.
" But more particularly, let me say, the book
seems fitted partially to fill up a gap long left
open in Unitarian literature, — that of imaginative
writings. The Orthodox enjoy the works of
Banyan, Hannah More, Charlotte Elizabeth, the
Abbotts, &c, &c. But what have we in their
place? The original design of the book was
almost solely to occupy this niche; although, I
fancy, you may think it has somewhat passed
these limits. It seems to me, that this book is
fitted for a pretty general Unitarian circulation ;
thai it might be of some use in the hands of the
clergy, in our families, Sunday-school libraries,
&c. My own personal education in, and , ac-
quaintance with, ' Orthodoxy,' as well as my idea
of the prevalent errors of the age, lead me to
think such a book is needed."
The above will sufficiently explain its theologi-
cal bearings. As a novel or romance, in the
ordinary sense, it is crudely expressed and inar-
tistic ; as a vigorous sketch of old New England
life and character, of fresh, vivid portraiture and
detail, and particularly in its descriptive passages
of nature, for the minute study of which in
plants, birds, and other accessories, the author
had an especial fondness, it is a production of
marked merit. Of the several criticisms passed
upon it, the most complimentary must be con-
sidered the admirable series of drawings made
from its pages by the artist Mr. F. O. C, Darley,
whose pencil has brought out with extraordinary
beauty and effect the varieties of character of the
book, and its occasional dramatic and picturesque
scenes. These sketches are now being prepared
for publication, and when issued, by their deli-
cacy and vigor of expression, will form ready
interpreters no less of the genius of the artist
than the author to the public.
In 1850 Mr. Judd published Philo, an Ecan-
geliad, a didactic poem in blank verse. It was
rude and imperfect in execution. Again resorting
to the author for an elucidation of its design, we
find the following expression in a characteristic
letter to a friend : —
TO THE REV. E. E. II.
Augusta, Dec. 21, 1849.
My dear Sir, — Will you accept a copy of " Philo,"
and a brief elaviary ?
First, the book is an " attempt."
Second, it is an epical or heroic attempt.
Third, it would see if in liberal and rational
Christianity, and there is no other, and that is Uni-
tariauism, are epic and heroic elements.
Fourth, it remembers that Calvinism has its
" Course of Time ; " and it asks if Unitarianism, that
is, the innermost of reason and divinity, will have
any thing ; or rather, approaching, humbly, of
course, the altar of Great Thought and Feeling, it
would like to know if it would be agreeable to that
altar to receive a little gift, a turtle-dove and a
small pigeon, of Unitarian faith and hope.
Fifth, and correlatively, it asks if, in this very
sensible and sound age of ours, imagination must
needs be inactive, and awed by philosophy, utility,
steam.
Sixth, and more especially, if any of the foregoing
points are admitted, the book seeks through the
medium of poetry to interpret prophecy. It is con-
ceived that prophecy, the Apocalypse for example,
was once poetry ; and moreover that we shall fail to
understand prophecy until it is recast in its original
form.
This observation applies particularly to that most
interesting, yet most enigmatical matter, the second
coming of Christ, &o., &c.
What maybe tire fortune of " Philo," I am neither
prophet nor poet enough to tell.
I am not a beggar of applause, as I would not be
the pensioner of dulness.
With sincere regards, I am yours, &c.
Sylvester Jldd.
In the same year with the publication of Philo
appeared Richard Edney and the Governor's
Family, a Rus-Urban Tale, simple and popular,
yet cultured, and noble, of Morals, Sentiment, and
Life, practically treated and pleasantly illustrat-
ed ; containing also Hints on Being Good and
Doing Good. It was intended by the author as
a modern companion to Margaret, introducing
the career of a young man among the rural
and town incidents of New England life. The
incidents at a sawmill, and other descriptions,
point out the local studies of the author in Maine.
Like the author's previous books, as a purely
literary production, it was "caviare to the gene-
ral ; " as an expression of the writer's peculiar
mood and opinions in a certain unfettered, indi-
vidual essay style, its perusal will well reward
curiosity. A description of a snow-storm was
one of the felicities of Margaret; Richard Edney
opens with another in the same vivid, minutely
truthful manner.
In addition to these published writings of Mr.
Judd, he completed a dramatic production in five
acts — The Wliite Hills, an American Tragedy,
which remains in manuscript. An analysis of it,
with several passages, is given in the biography
of the author, where it is stated to be chiefly
moral in its aim — " its object being to mirror the
590
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
consequences of a man's devoting himself to an
all-absorbing love of gain, — to the supreme wor-
ship of Mammon," the idea being suggested by
the general rage for California gold, at the time
of the composition of the play prevalent in the
community. The location of the plot in the
White Mountains was an improvement of the
same Indian legend mentioned in Sullivan's His-
tory of Maine, upon which Mr. Hawthorne
founded his tale of the Great Carbuncle.
Mr. Judd, in addition to his services in the
pulpit, found frequent opportunities as a lyceum
lecturer on topics growing out of the religious
ideas which were the mainspring of his life. He
took a prominent part in the social reforms of the
day, opposed war, slavery, and advocated the
cause of temperance. He was fond of children
and of country life ; one of the favorite recrea-
tions of his ministry at Augusta being an annual
ruivl festival, in June, with his young parishion-
ers: He felt the beauty of the old observance
o" Christmas, and was accustomed on the eve of
that day to open his church, decorated for the
occasion with the time-honored evergreens. His
kindly disposition and genial activity, his study
of language and habits of composition, have been
cescrii;ed by a fond and appreciative pen in the
admirably prepared volume, Life and Character
of the Eev. Sylvester Judd, published in 1854,
and " tenderly and most lovingly" dedicated by
its author, Arethu^a Hall, " to the three little
children whose father was translated from their
home before they were old enough to know and
comprehend him."
The Rev. Sylvester Judd died after a short
illness at his home in Augusta, Jan. 20, 1853.
A posthumous work from his pen' — The Church
in a Series of Discourses — was published in 1854.
A NEW ENGLAND 6NOW-STORM AND A BOME SCENE — FROM
MARGARET.
An event common in New England is at its height.
It is snowing, and has been for a whole day and
night, with a strong north-east wind. Let us take
a moment when the storm intermits, and look in at
Margaret's and see how they do. But we cannot
approach the place by any of the ordinary methods
of travel ; the roads, lanes, and by-paths a.re blocked
up: no horse or ox could make his wny through
those deep drifts, immense mounds and broad pla-
teaus of snow. If we are disposed to adopt the
means of conveyance formerly so much in vogue,
whether snow-shoes or magic, we may possibly get
there. The house or hut is half sunk in a snow bank;
the waters of the Pond are covered with a solid
enamel as of ivory ; the oxen and the cow in the
barn-yard, look like great horned sheep in their
fleeces of snow. All is silence, and lifelessness, and
if you please to say, desolation. Hens there are
none, nor turkeys, nor ducks, nor birds, nor Bull,
nor Margaret. If you see any signs of a human
being, it is the dark form of Hash, mounted on
snow-shoes, going from the house to the barn.. Tet
there are the green hemlocks and pines, and firs,
green as in summer, some growing along the flank
of the hill that runs north from the Indian's Head,
looking like the real snow-balls, blossoming in mid-
winter, and nodding witli large white flowers. But
there is one token of life, the smoke coming from the
low grey chimney, which, if you regard it as one,
resembles a large, elongated, transparent balloon ; or
if you look at it by piece-meal, i(t is a beautiful cur-
rent of bluish-white vapor, flowing^upward unend-
ingly ; and prettily is it striped and particolored as
it passes successively the green trees, the bare rocks,
and white crown of the hill behind , nor does its
interest cease even when it disappears among the
clouds. Some wou'd dwell a good whil • on that
smoke, and see in it manifold out-shows and denote-
ments of spiritualities ; others would say, the house
is buried so deep, it must come up from the hot mis-
chief-hatching heart of the earth ; others still would
fancy the whole Pond lay in its winding-sheet, and
that if they looked in, they would behold the dead
faces of their friends. Our own sentiment is, that
that smoke comes from a great fire in the great fire-
place, and that if we should go into the house, we
should find the family as usual there ; a fact which,
as the storm begins to renew itself, we shall do well
to take the opportunity to verify.
Flourishing in the centre of these high-rising and
broad-spreading snows, unmoved amid the fiercest
onsets of the storm, comfortable in the extremity of
winter, the family are all gathered in the kitchen,
and occupied as may be. In the cavernous fire-place
burns a great fire, composed of a huge green back-
log, a large green fore-stick, and a high cob-woik of
crooked and knotty refuse-wood, ivy, hornbeam,
and beech. Through this the yellow flame leaps
and forks, and the bluish-giey smoke flows up the
ample sluice-way of the chimney. From the ends
of the wood the sap fries and drips on the siz-
zling coals below, and flies off in angry steam. Un-
der the forestick great red coals roll out, sparkle a
semibrief, lose their grosser substance, indicate a more
ethereal essence in prototypal forms of white, down-
like cinders, and then fall away into brown ashes.
To a stranger the room has a sombre aspect, rather
heightened than relieved by the light of the fire
burning so brightly at mid-day. The only con-
nexion with the external air is by the south window-
shutter being left entirely open, forming an aperture
through the logs of about two feet square; yet
when the outer light is so obscured by a storm, the
bright fire within must anywhere be pleasant. In
one corner of the room sits Pluck, in a red flannel
shirt and leather apron, at work on his kit mending
a shoe; with long and patient vibration and equi-
poise he draws the threads, and interludes the
strokes with snatches of songs, banter, and laughter.
The apartment seems converted into a workshop ;
for next the shoemaker stands the shingle-maker,
Hash, who with froe in one hand and mallet in the
other, by dint of smart percussion, is endeavoring to
rive a three-cornered billet of hemlock on a block.
In the centre of the room sits Brown .Moll, with
still bristling and grizzly hair, pipe in her mouth, in
a yellow woollen long-short and black petticoat,
winding a ball of yarn from a windle. Kearer the
fire are Chilion and Margaret, the latter also dressed
in woollen, with the Orbis Pictus, or world displayed,
a book of Latin and English, adorned with cuts,
which the Master lent her; the former with his
violin, endeavoring to describe the notes in Dr.
Byles's Collection of Sacred Music, also a loan of the
Master's, and at intervals trailing on the lead of his
father in some popular air. We shall also see that
one of Chilion's feet is raised on a stool, bandaged,
and apparently disabled. Bull, the dog, lies rounded
on the hearth, his nose between his paws, fast
asleep. Dick, the grey squirrel, sits swinging list-
lessly in his wire wheel, like a duck on a wave.
Robin, the bird, in its cage, perched on its roost,
shrubs and folds itself into its feathers as if it were
night. Over the fire-place, on the rough stones that
compose the chimney, which day and night through
all the long winter are ever warm, where Chilion
HENRY B. HIRST.
591
lias fixed some shelves, are Margaret's flowers; a
blood-root in the marble pot Rufus Palmer gave
her, and in wooden moss-covered boxes, pinks, vio-
lets, and buttercups, green and flowering. Here
also, as a sort of mantel-tree ornament, sits the mar-
ble kitten which Rufus made under a cedar twig.
At one end of the crane in the vacant side of the
fire-place hang rings of pumpkin rinds drying for
beer. On the walls are suspended strings of dried
apples, bunches of yarn, and the customary fixtures
of coats, hats, knapsacks, <fcc. On the sleepers above
is a chain-wOrk of cobwebs, loaded and knapped
with dust, quivering and gleaming in the wind that
courses with little or no obstruction through all
parts of the house. Near Hash stands the draw-
horse, on which he smoothes and squares his shingles ;
underneath it and about lies a pile of fresh, sweet-
scented, white shavings and splinters. Through the
yawns of the back door, and sundry rents in the
logs of the house, filter in uuweariedly fine particles
of snow, and thus along the sides of the room rise
little cone-shaped, marble-like pilasters. Between
Hash and his father, elevated on blocks, is the cider
barrel. These are some of the appendages, inmates,
and circumstances of the room. Within doors is a
mixed noise of lapstone, mallets, swifts, fiddle, fire;
without is the rushing of the storm.
********
" You shall fetch some wood, Meg. or Til warm
your back with a shingle, " said her mother, flinging
out a threat which she had no intention of executing.
" Hash is good for something, that he is."
********
Ha*h, spurred on by this double shot, plied his
mallet the harder, and declared with an oath that
he would not get the wood, that they might freeze
first ; adding that he hauled and cut it, and that was
his part.
Chilion whispered his sister, and she went out for
the purpose in question. It was not excessively
cold, since the weather moderated as the storm in-
creased, and she might have taken some interest in
that tempestuous outer world. Her hens, turkeys, and
ducks, who were all packed together, the former on
their roost under the shed, the latter in one corner,
also required feeling; and she went ill and got
boiled potatoes, which they seemed glad to make a
meal of. The wind blazed and racketed through
the narrow space between the house and the hill.
Above, the flakes shaded and mottled the sky, and
fell twirling, pitching, skimble-scamble, and anon,
slowly and more regularly, as in a minuet; and as
they came nearer the ground, they were caught up
by the current, and borne in a horizontal line, like
long, quick spun, silver threads, afar over the white
fields. There was but little snow in the shed,
although entirely open on the south side; the storm
seeming to devote itself to building up a drift in
front. This drift had now reached a height of seven
or eight feet. It sloped up like the roof of a pyra-
mid, and on the top was an appendage like a horn, or
a plume, or a marble jet d'eau, or a frozen flame of
fire; and the elements in all their violence, the
eddies that veered about the corner of the house,
the occasional side-blasts, still dallied, and stopped
to mould it, and finish it; and it became thinner,
and more tapering, and spiral ; each singular flake
adjusting itself to the very tip, with Instinctive
nicety ; till at last it broke off by its own weight —
then a new one went on to be formed.
********
That day and all that night the snow continued to
fall, and the wind raged. When Margaret went to
her loft, she found her bed covered with a pile of
snow that had trickled through the roof. She shook
the coverlid, undressed, laid herself on her thistle-
down pallet — such a one had she been able to collect
and make — to her sleep. The wind surged, swelled,
puffed, hissed, whistled, shrieked, thundered, sighed,
howled, by turns. The house jarred and creaked;
her bed rocked under her ; loose boards on the roof
clnppered and rattled; the snow pelted her window-
shutter. In such a din and tustle of the elements
lay the child. She had no sister to nestle with her,
and snug her up; no gentle mother to fold the
sheets about her neck, and tuck in the bed ; no
watchful father to come with a light, and see
that she slept safe. Alone and in darkness she
climbed into her chamber, alone and in darkness
she wrapt herself iu the bed. In the fearfulness of
that night she sung or said to herself some words of
the Master's, which he, however, must have given
her for a different purpose — for of needs must a stark
child's nature iu such a crisis appeal to something
above and superior to itself, and she had taken a
floating impression that the Higher Ageucies, what-
ever they might be, existed in Latin: — ■
O sanctissirna. 0 pnrissima,
Dulcis Virgo Maria,
Main- amata, intcinerata!
Ora, ora pro nobis [
As she slept amid the passion of the storm, softly
did the snow from the roof distil upon her feet, and
sweetly did dreams from heaven descend into her
soul.
HENET B. HIRST.
Mr. Hirst is a native of Philadelphia, where he
was born August 23, 1813. In 1830 he com-
menced the study of the law, but was not ad-
mitted to practice, owing to interruptions in his
plans, until 1843.
Mr. Hirst's poetical career was also commenced
at a comparatively late period, his first published
poems having appeared in Graham's Magazine,
when he was about thirty. In 1845 he published
at Boston The Coming of the Mammoth; the
Funeral of Time, and other Poems. The chief
production of the volume describes the terror and
desolation caused by a herd of Mammoth, all of
whom are destroyed by lightning, with the ex-
ception of one survivor, who, pursued by war-
riors, takes his course across the Mississippi, the
prairies, traverses the rocky mountains, and
plunges unscathed into the Pacific. The remain-
ing poems display vigor and feeling, and include
a number of well written sonnets.
Mr. Hirst's next work, Endymion, a Tale of
Greece, in four cantos, appeared in 1S48. It is
an eloquent classic story, varied from the old
Greek legend, and was written, the author tells
us, before he had perused the poem of Keats.
In 1849 he published Th'e Penance of Poland,
a Romance of the Peine Forte et Dure, and other
Poems. The story of the romance is that of a
knight, who, having slain his wife in a fit of jea-
lousy, is arrested, and refusing to plead, is sub-
jected to the ingenious old penalty of pressure
by weight. He persists in his determination, that
his estates, which would otherwise be escheated
to the crown, may pass to his heir. In his agony
lie is visited by his nephew, who confesses to
have slandered the murdered lady. The knight's
last moments are cheered by a vision of his wife,
and he dies repentant and happy. This striking
narrative is wrought into a poem of much spirit
'592
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
.and beauty. The volume also contains a ballad,
Florence, an interesting story, poetically narrated.
The remaining poems are descriptive and reflec-
tive, and are eloquent in tone, with occasional
traces of imitation.
THE ROBIN.
The woods are almost bare ; the mossy trees
Moan as their mottled leaves are hurried by,
Like sand before the Simoom, over the leas,
Yellowing in Autumn's eye :
And very cold the bleak November wind
Shrills from the black Nor'-West, as fitfully blow
The gusts, like fancies through a maniac mind,
Eddying to and fro.
Borne, like those leaves, with piercing cries, on high
The Robins come, their wild, autumnal wail.
From where they pass, dotting the angry sky,
Sounding above the gale.
Down, scattered by the blast, along the glen.
Over the browning plains, the flocks alight,
Crowding the gum in highland or in fen,
Tired with their southward flight.
Away, away, flocking they pass, with snow
And hail and sleet behind them, where the South
Shakes its green locks, and delicate odors flow
As from some fairy mouth.
Silently pass the wintry hours : no song,
No note, save a shrill querulous cry
When the boy sportsman, cat-like, creeps along
The fence, and then — then fly.
Companioned by the cautious lark, from field
To field they journey, till the winter wanes,
When to some wondrous instinct each one yields,
And seeks our northern plains.
March and its storms: no mnlter how the gale
May whistle round them, on, through snow, and
sleet,
And driving hail, they pass, nor ever quail,
With tireless wings and feet.
Perched here and there on some tall tree — as breaks
The misty dawn, loud, clarionet-like, rings
Their matin hymn, while Nature also wakes
From her long sleep, and sings.
Gradunlly the flocks grow less, for, two by two,
The Robins pass away, — each with his mate ;
And from the orchard, moist with April dew,
We hear their pretty prate ;
And from the apple's snowy blossoms eome
Gushes of song, while round and round them
crowd
The busy, buzzing bees, and, over them, hum
The humming-birds aloud.
The sparrow from the fence ; the oriole
From the now budding sycamore ; the wren
From the old hat ; the blue bird from his hole
Hard by the haunts of men ;
The red-start from the wood-side; from the mea-
dow,
The black-cheek, and the martin in the air;
The mournful wood-thrush from the forest shadow
With all of fair and rare
Among those blossoms of the atmosphere, —
The birds,— our only Sylphids, — with one voice,
From mountain side and meadow, far and near,
Like them at spring rejoice.
May, and in happy pairs the Robins sit
Hatching their young, — the female glancing down
From her brown nest. No one will trouble.it,
Lest heaven itself should frown
On the rude net, for from the smouldering embers
On memory's hearth flashes the fire of thought,
And each one by its flickering light remembers
How flocks of Robins brought.
In the old time, leaves, and sang, the while they
covered
The innocent babes forsaken. So they rear
Their fledglings undisturbed. Often has hovered
While I have stood anear
A Robin's nest, o'er me that simple story,
Gently and dove-like, and I passed away
Proudly, and feeling it as much a glory
As 'twas in Cfesar's day
To win a triumph, to have left that nest
Untouched ; and many and many a schoolboy
time,
When my sure gun was to my shoulder prest,
The thought of that old rhyme
Came o'er me, and I let the Robin go.
— At last the young are out, and to the woods
All have departed: Summer's sultry glow
Finds them beside the floods.
Then Autumn comes, and fearful of its rage
They flit again. So runs the Robin's life ;
Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter sees its page
Unstained with care or strife.
J. L. H. McCEACKEN
Was the son of a New York merchant, and pur-
sued his father's business. He was engaged in the
trade with western Africa, and it was on a busi-
ness visit to Sierra Leone that his death occurred
from a^ever of the climate, March 25, 1853. It
was about his fortieth year. Mr. McCraeken
bore a distinguished part in New York society byT
his fortune, his amateur pursuit of literature, and
his fine conversational powers. He wrote for the
magazines and journals — in particular for the
Knickerbocker, under the editorship of Hoffman,
j and Mr. Benjamin's " American Monthly" where
| one of his papers was entitled The Education
j of the Blood. A very clever sketch, The Art of
Making Poetry oy an Emeritus Professor, appear-
ed in the second number of the Knickerbocker,
lie wrote a few trifles for Yankee Doodle. In
1849, he published in the Democratic Review a
comedy in five acts, of New York life, entitled
Earning a Living. He had also a hand in a De-
mocratic free-trade paper, which had a short
career.
THE AKT OF MAKHVG POETEY.
I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, suppers,
and sleeping hours excepted — it is the right butter women rata
to market. — As You Like It.
Cardinal Richelieu is reported to have said once
that he would make so many dukes that it should
be a shame to be one, and a shame not to be one.
It appears, however, that he changed his mind after-
wards, inasmuch as, down to St. Simon's time, there
were only twelve or thirteen dukes in France, be-
sides the blood-royal. At present they are more
plenty, though it is even yet some distinction to be
a duke, out of Italy ; and in Poland there is an ex-
press law against the title being borne by any man
who has not a clear income of three hundred dollars
a year to support its dignity. In Bavaria, you may
j. l. h. Mccracken.
593
be made a baron for 7000 rix-dollara (or $5250) — or
a count for 30,000 rix-dollars, but in this last case
you must not follow any trade or profession ; bank-
ers, accordingly, content themselves with baronies,
usually, like sensible men, preferring substance to
sound ; as, in fact, when it is perfectly well known
you are able to buy a dozen counts and their titles,
the world gives yon credit as for the possession — •
perhaps more. But what Cardinal Richelieu threat-
ened with regard to dukedoms has, in fact, been ef-
fected by the progress of the world with regard to
another title as honorable, perhaps, as that of duke,
though few of its possessors could retain it if the
Polish regulation mentioned above were to be appli-
ed to it and enforced. I mean the title of poet. To
be a poet, or, rather — -for there is still some rever-
ence left for that name — to be a versifier, is in these
days a shame, and not to be one is a shame. That
is, it is a shame for any man to take airs or pique
himself on a talent now so common, so much reduc-
ed to rule and grown absolutely mechanical, and to
be learned like arithmetic : and, on the other hand,
for these same reasons, it is a shame not in some de-
gree to possess it, or have it for occasions at com-
mand. It is convenient sometimes to turn some trifle
from a foreign language, to hit off a scrap for a cor-
ner of a newspaper, to write a squib or an epigram,
or play a game at crambo, and for all these emer-
gencies the practised versifier is prepared. He has,
very likely, the frames of a few verses always ready
in his mind, constructed for the purpose, into which
he can put any given idea at a moment's warning,
. with as much certainty as he could put a squirrel
or a bird into a cage he had ready for it. These
frames may consist merely of the rhymes, or boats
rimes, being com. non-place words, such as would be
easily lugged in a-propos to anything ; or they may
be very common-plaee verses ready made, upon
which an appropriate travestie could easily be su-
perinduced; or, finally, their places may be supplied
by the actual verses of some author, who should,
however, be, if possible, but little known, which
may be travestied impromptu. This will be better
understood by an instance, and as I am now making
no secret of the matter, I will take those well-known
Hues of Moore : —
Tain was that man — and false as vain,
Who said, were he ordained to run
His long career of life again,
He would do all that he had done.
It is not thus the voice that dwells
la coining birth-days, speaks to me;
Par otherwise, of time it tells,
"Wasted unwisely — carelessly.
Now, suppose I wish to make love in poetry. I
am a despairing lover — or will suppose myself one
for the present, and my griefs may be poured out in
this same measure, and with so many of these same
words, as to leave no ground for any claim to author-
ship for me in the following stanza : —
Vain arc the hopes, ah ! false as vain,
That tempt me weary thus to run
My long career of love again,
And oniy do what I have done.
Ah I not of hope the light that dwells
In yonder glances speaks to me ;
Of an obdurate heart it tells,
Trilling with hearts all carelessly.
Anol now take the same stanza, only change the
jircumstance to something as different as possible. J
1 am a flaming patriot, the enemy is at our gates,
and T am to excite my fellow citizens to arms. It
will go to the self-same tune and words: —
Our country calls, and not in vain,
Her children are prepared to run
Their rathcra high career airain;
And may wo <3o qs they have done.
Vol.. .'I. -"33
In every trumpet voice there dwells
An echo of their fame for me ;
Ob, who can hear the tale it tells,
And pause supinely — carelessly.
Again, which is a more possible case in our coun-
try, I am disgusted with an unprincipled mob orator,
some indescribably low, but gifted scion of perdition,
one whom no prose can reach ; why, have at him
with the same arms, — they are always ready : —
Thou bad vain man, thou false as vain,
IfSatau were ordained to run
A free career on earth agaiu,
He would do all that thou hast done.
It is of him the voice that dwells
In thy gay rhetoric speaks to me,
Of horrors scotfingly it tells,
Of crime and suffering carelessly.
Or, lastly — for one may get too much of this — I
am enraged with a bad singer or musician, and want
to gibbet him. Lo! is not Tom Moore my execu-
tioner ; —
I stop my ears, but all in vain—
In vain to distant corners run :
He imitates the owls again,
And will do all that they have done.
Of roasting cats the voice that dwells
In such discordance, speaks to me;
Of Tophet up in arms it tells,
With doors left open carelessly.
*******
I quit here for a moment the subject of rhyme, to
say a word or two upon blank verse, that mortal
humbug which " prose poets" are so fond of, and,
certainly, the world would soon be full of it, if any
body were fond of them. There is no move difficul-
ty or skill in cutting up a given quantity of prose into
blank verse, than there is in sawing up a log into
planks. Both operations certainly reflect credit on
their original inventors, and would immortalize them
if we knew their names ; but Fame would have her
hands full, and her mouth too, if she should occupy
herself in these days with all the handicraftsmen in
both or either. The best way, perhaps, of setting
this in a clear point of view, is to exemplify it ; and,
for this purpose, it would not be difficult to pitch
upon authors whose whole writings, or nearly so,
would bear being written as blank verse, though
they were given out as prose. For instance, there
is John Bunj'an, the whole of whose works it would
be easier to set up into verse than to restore some
works, now held to be such, to their metrical shape,
if, by any accident, the ends of their lines should get
confused Let the reader try his skill in reconstruct-
ing, with the visible signs of poetry, the following
extract from Samson Agonistes, from line IIS, omit-
ting the next three, and going on to line 130: —
Sec how he lies at random, carelessly diffused * * * in
slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds, o'er-wum and soiled, or do my
eyes misrepresent; can this be he, that neroic,that renowned,
irresistible Samson, whom, unarmed, no strength of man or
fiercest wild beast could withstand ; who tore the lion as the
lion tears the kid, ran on embattled armies clad in iron, and
weaponless himself, made arms ridiculous, &c.
But to return to Bunyan ; take the following ex-
tract, which is verbatim from his " World to Come."
It is more correct metre than much that we find
written as verse in the old dramatists, though it is
always printed as prose: —
Now, said my guardian angel, you are on
The verge of hell, but do not fear the power
Of the destroyer;
For my commission from the imperial throne
Secures you from all dangers.
Here you may hear from devils and damned souls
The cursed causes of their endless ruin ;
And what you have a mind to ask. inquire;
The devils cannot hurt you, though they would,
For they are bound
By him that has commissioned me. of which
Themselves are sensible, which makes them rage,
And fret, and roar, and bite their hated chains.
But all in vain.
591
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
And so on, ad infinitum, or throughout the "World
to Come."
But not to seek eccentric 'writers and farfetched
examples, let us take a popular and noted one, even
Dr. Johnson himself; everybody "will recognise the
opening sentence of Rasselas : —
Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy, and
pnrsue with eagerness the phantoms of hope, who expect that
age will perform the promises of youth, and that the deficien-
cies of the present day will be supplied by the morrow, attend
to the history of Rasselas, prince of Abyssinia.
This is prose incontrovertibly. In two minutes it
shall be as incontrovertibly blank verse : —
Oil, ye, who listen with credulity
To fancy's whispers, or with eagerness
Phantoms of hope pursue, or who expect
Age will perform the promises of youth,
Or that the present day's deficiencies
Shall by the morrow he supplied, attend
To Rasselas, the Abyssinian Prince,
His history. Rasselas was fourth son, &c.
I do not suspect any reader of this Magazine
of stupidity enough to find a difficulty here, or of
wit enough to imagine one. The process speaks for
itself, anil so far requires no comment ; but in car-
rying it a step or two farther, we shall see by what
alchemy gold may be transmuted into baser metals
and into tinsel, and how the rogue who steals, or
the poor devil who borrows it, may so thoroughly
disguise it as to run no risk at last in passing it open-
ly for his own. I take the first sis lines only of the
above, and tipping them with rhymes, they suffer a
little violence, and read thus:—
Oh. ye who listen. — a believing race —
To fancy's whispers, or with eager chase
Phantoms of hope pursue, expecting still
Age will the promises of youth fulfil,
Or that the morrow will indeed amend
The present day's deficiencies, attend —
Now, in this shape they might do pretty well,
had they not been taken purposely from a notorious
part of a notorious work ; for one might borrow even
from Rasselas, in the middle or anywhere less in
sight, and few indeed are the critics who would de-
tect and expose the cheat. But the next stage of
our progress would distance the major part even of
these. That a scrap from Rasselas should be set to
Yankee Doodle is an idea which seems to have been
reserved from all time to be first broached in the
present article. But if not the same, there are simi-
lar things done hourly; and if the written monu-
ments of genius, like the temples and palaces of
antiquity, were themselves diminished by all the
materials they supply to new constructions, how
much would there be remaining of them now. Ima-
gine a chasm in Moore or Byron for every verse any
lover has scrawled in an album, or any Cora or Ma-
tilda in a newspaper ; or reverse the case, and ima-
gine the masters of the lyre and of the pen reclaim-
ing, throughout the world, whatever is their own,
in whatever hands, and in whatever shape it might
be now existing. The Scotch freebooter was warned
upon his death-bed — rather late, but it was the first
time the parson had had a chance at him — that in
another world all the people he had robbed, and all
the valuables he hail robbed them of, sheep, horses,
and cattle, would rise up to bear witness against
him. " Why then," said he, in a praiseworthy vein
of restitution, " if the horse?, and kye, and a' will be
there, let ilka shentleman tak her ain, ami Donald
will be an honest man again." Now, I should like
to be by, at a literary judgment, when " ilka shen-
tleman should tak her ain," to have righteousness
rigidly laid to the line, and see who would in fact
turn out to be " a shentleman" and have a balance
left that was " her ain," and who would be a Donald,
left with nothing, a destitute " bipes implumis."
Then, and not till then, will I give back the follow-
ing piece of morality to Rasselas, and indeed, in the
shape into which I am now going to put it, I think
it will not be till then that he, or anybody for him,
will lay claim to it.
Air — Yankee Boodle.
Listen ye, who trust as troe
All the dreams of fancy,
"Who with eager chace pursue
Each vain hope you can see,
Who expect that age will pay
All that youth may borrow,
And that all you want to day
Will be supplied to-morrow.
JOHN ROSIETN BRODHEAD,
Author of a " Hi-tory of the State of New York,"
&c, is descended rom an old New York family,
the ancestor of which, Captain Daniel Brodhead,
of Yorkshire, England, was an officer in the expe-
dition under Colonel NicoDs against New Nether-
land in 1664, and settled in Esopus, or Kingston,
Ulster county, in 1665. His grandfather, Charles
W. Brodhead, of Marbletown, Ulster county, was
a captain of grenadiers in the Revolutionary
Army, and was present at the surrender of Ge-
neral Burgoyne at Saratoga. His father was the
late Bev. Jacob Brodhead, D.D., a distinguished
clergyman of the Reformed Dutch church, and
formerly one of the ministers of the Collegiate
churches in the city of New York. His mother
was a daughter of the late John N. Bleecker of
Albany. His father having removed to Phila-
delphia in 1813, to take charge of the First Re-
formed Dutch church there, Mr. Brodhead was
born in that city on the second day of January,
1814, and was named after his uncle, the late
Rev. John B. Romeyn, D.D. He was thoroughly
drilled at grammar-schools in Philadelphia and
New Brunswick, and at the Albany Academy.
In 1826 his father returned to New York, where
Mr. Brodhead was prepared for Rutgers College,
of which he entered the junior class, and from
which he was graduated in 1831 with the degree
of Bachelor of Arts. Immediately afterwards he
began the study of the law in the office of Hugh
Maxwell, Esq., and in 1835 was licensed to prac-
tise his profession. This he did for two years in
the city of New York in partnership with Mr.
Maxwell. His tastes, however, inclining him to
literary pursuits, Mr. Brodhead went, in 1837, to
reside with his parents, who were then living at
Saugerties in Ulster county, where he occupied
himself chiefly in the study of American history.
In 1839 he went to Holland, where his kinsman,
the late Mr. Harmanus Bleecker, was Charge
c? Affaires, and was attached to the United States
Legation at the Hague. While there he projected
the work of writing the history of New York.
In the mean time the Legislature, at the suggestion
of the New York Historical Society, had passed
an act on the 2d of May, 1S39, to appoint an agent
to procure and transcribe documents in Europe
relative to the Colonial History of this State.
LOUIS LEGEAXD KOBLE.
595
Under this act, Governor Seward, who had always
manifested a warm interest in the success of the
measure, commissioned Mr. Brodhead as agent in
the spring of 1841. The particular objects of this
agency were to procure such additional historical
records as should render the archives of New
York as complete and comprehensive aspossihle;
and the agent was accordingly required to procure
all papers in the public offices of European govern-
ments, La his judgment " relating to or in any way
affecting the colonial or other history of this
state."
During the three following years Mr. Brodhead
devoted his whole time to the execution of this
delicate and responsible duty, and was laboriously
occupied in searching the archives of Holland,
England, and France, for such papers as he thought
would illustrate the history of New York, and
serve to till up the gaps in the existing state re-
cords at Albany. In this work lie received the
triendly aid and advice of Mr. Bleecker, Mr. Ste-
venson, Mr. Everett, and General Cass, who then
represented the United States at the Hague, Lon-
don, and Paris, and by whose intervention the
various public offices in thosecities were liberally
opened to the researches of the agent.
The result of this enterprise was the procurement
of a vast collection of historical documents, con-
sisting of more than five thousand separate papers,
and comprising a large part of the official corres-
pondence of the colonial authorities of New York
with the governments at home. Many of these
documents had never before been known to the
historian, though they are of acknowledged im-
portance. From the Hague and Amsterdam Mr.
Brodhead obtained a collection of Holland records
which fill sixteen large volumes, and relate to the
period during which New Netherland was under
the Dutch dominion. From London forty-seven
volumes were procured, containing copies of the
instructions of the English government to its offi-
cers in New York, and the reports of tho^e officers
to the home authorities, with other interesting
papers. From the archives of the Marine and
War departments at Paris seventeen volumes
were collected, which contain, besides many other
documents relating to Canada in connexion with
New York, most of the correspondence of the
French Generals Dieskau, Montcalm, and Vau-
dreuil.
With this rich harvest Mr. Brodhead came back
to New York in the summer of 1844; and Mr.
Bancroft, after carefully examining the collection,
pronounced that uthe ship in which he returned
was more richly freighted with new materials for
American history than any that ever crossed the
Atlantic." Mr. Brodhead was immediately in-
vited to deliver the address before the New York
Historical Society at its fortieth anni versarv, which
took place on the 20th November, 1844. This
address, which embodied a statement of some of
the results of Mr. Brodhead's researches in Europe,
was published by the society, together with an
account of "the festival which followed, on which
occasion John Quincy Adams and Albert Gallatin
met in public for the last time.
In February, 1S45, Mr. Brodhead, having de-
posited his transcripts-in the secretary's office,
submitted his final report as historical agent,
which was laid before the Legislature by amessage
from Governor Wright, and was printed by order
of the Senate as document No. 47 of that session.
This report contains a detailed statement of the
researches of the agent, and also a full analytical
catalogue of the several documents comprised in
the eighty volumes of Mr. Brodhead's collection.
It may here be added that all these documents
are now in course of publication in ten large quarto
volumes, under an act of the Legislature passed on
the 30th of March, 1849.
Upon the appointment of Mr. Bancroft as Mi-
nister to Great Britain in 1846, President Polk, at
his request, commissioned Mr. Brodhead to be
Secretary of the United States Legation at London.
There he remained, until both minister and secre-
tary were recalled by President Tyler in 1849.
On his return to New York, Mr. Brodhead ap-
plied himself diligently to the execution of the
work he had so long meditated, the History of
the State of New Yo/'Jc, the first volume of which,
embracing the period under the Dutch, from 1609
to 1064, was published by the Harpers early in
1853. This book was well received by the public.
The extensive stores of original material col-
lected by the author enabled him to present many
curious and important facts of picturesque and local
interest for the first time, while the main progress
of the work unfolded the peculiar commercial re-
strictive system of trading monopoly, the regula-
tions of the West India Company, and the domestic
institution of the patroonships, which, at first the
protection, soon became an impediment tothefor-
tunes of the colony. The various political and
social influences of the New Netherlands present-
ing the earnest, liberal, and popular elements of
the home country, are exhibited with care and
fidelity to the manuscript and other authorities
which are constantly referred to, and passages of
which are frequently embroidered in the text.
The remaining distribution of the subject by the
author, embraces the three periods from 1664 to
the cession of Canada in 1763, from that date to
the inauguration of Washington in 1789, and
thence to the present day.
In the autumn of 1853 Mr. Brodhead was ap-
pointed by President Pierce Naval Officer of the
Port and District of New York. While his official
dnties engross the most of his time, he does not
neglect the prosecution of his history, nor with-
draw his attention from literary labors. Among
other things of this nature he prepared and deli-
vered, by special request, an address on the Com-
mercial History of New York, before the Mercan-
tile Library Association, at the opening of the
new Clinton Hall in Astor Place on the 8th of
June, 1854. This address was published by the
association.
In the spring of 1855 Mr. Brodhead received
from the President the appointment of Consul-Ge-
neral of the United States at Japan. This office,
however, he did not accept ; and he still holds
the post of Naval Officer of the Port of New
York.
LOUIS LEGEAND NOBLE
Was born in the vale of the Butternut Creek in
Otsego county, New York, in 1812. He passed his
early years in rural life and its associations at this
place and in western New York, when he removed
witb his parents, in his twelfth year, to Michigan
596
I CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN" LITERATURE.
Territory, then considered in the region of the
Far West. The family settlement was on the
Huron river, in the midst of the primitive and
unfettered influences of a world of natural beauty,
wed adapted to graft on the heart of an ingenuous,
susceptible youth, a lifelong love of nature. This
vigorous existence, combining the toils of a
frontier residence with the sports of the field, sup-
plied the stock of poetical associations since
liberally interwoven with the author's prose and
poetical compositions. In the midst of the labors
of the field, inspired by the books which had fallen
in his way, he penned verses and planned various
comprehensive poetical schemes. From this at
once toilsome and visionary life he was called by
the death of his father to a survey of the actual
world. He applied himself resolutely to study,
and having pursued the course of instruction in
the General Theological Seminary of the Pro-
testant Episcopal Church in New York, was in
1840 admitted to orders. He about this time
published a few poems, Pewatem in the New
World, and JVima/jmmin Graham's Magazine, both
Indian romances, and pure inventions of the author,
together with a number of miscellaneous descrip-
tive poems.
After his ordination, Mr. Noble was settled for
a time in North Carolina, in a parish on the
Albemarle river. Still devoted to nature, he
passed his summers in extensive tours in the
Alleghanies. In 1844 he became rector of a
church at Catskill, on the Hudson, where he
enjoyed an intimate acquaintance with the artist
Cede ; the two friends being drawn to each other
by a common love of nature and poetical sympa-
thies. An ample record of this intercourse is pre-
served in Mr. Noble's eloquent memorial of Ins
companion, modestly bearing its title from the
artist's chief pictures, The Course of Empire,
Voyage of Life, and other Pictures of Thomas
Cole, N.A., with Selections from his Letters and
Miscellaneous Writings: illustrative of his Life,
Character and Genius. Mr. Cole died in 1848,
and this work was undertaken, with full possession
of his numerous manuscripts, shortly after. It
did not, however, appear from the press till 1853.
Its best characteristic is its sympathy with the
genius of its subject. It may pass for an auto-
biography of the artist, so faithfully is his spirit
represented by a kindred mind.
Mr. Noble, in 1854, removed to Chicago,
Illinois, where he is at present rector of a parish.
His poems are numerous, existing, we believe,
more largely in manuscript than in print. They
are marked by their faithful description of nature,
and a dreamy, poetical spirit, in harmony with
the landscape.
TO A SWAN, FLYING BY NIGnT ON THE BANKS OP THE HURON .
Oh, what a still, bright night! — the dropping dew
"Wakes startling echoes in the sleeping wood:
The round-topped groves across yon polished lake
Beneath a moon-light glory seem to bend.
But, hark! — what sound — out of the dewy deep,
How like a far-off bugle's shrillest note
It sinks into the listening wilderness.
A Swan — I know her by the trumpet-tone :
Winging her airy way in the cool heaven,
Piping her midnight melody, she comes.
Beautiful bird! — at this mysterious hour
Why on the wing, with chant so wild and shrill ! —
The loon, most wakeful of the water-fowl,
Sung out her last good-night an hour ago ;
Midwajr, she sits upon the glossy cove^*
Whist as the floating lily at her side, •
The purple-pinioned hern, that loves to fan,
At evening late, as thin and chill an air,
With the wild-duck is nodding in the reeds.
Frightened, perchance, from solitary haunt,
At grass}' isle, or silver-sanded bank,
By barking fox, now, heedless of alarm,
Witli thy own music and its echo pleased,
Thou sail'st, at random, on the aerial tide.
Lone minstrel of the night, if such thou roamest.
His own who would not wish thy strong white
wings? —
Whether thou wheel'st into a thinner ail',
Or sink'st aslant to regions of the dew,
How spirit-like thy bugle-tones must seem.
In whispers dying in the upper deep —
How sweet the mellow echoes, coming up.
Like answering calls, to tempt thee down lo rest !
And hither, haply, thou wilt bend thy neck
To shake thy quills and bathe thy snowy breast
Till morn, if thy down-glancing eye catch not
Thy startling imnge rising in the lake.
Lone wanderer, that see'st, from thy far height,
The dark land set with many a star-bright pond,
Alight : — thou wilt not find a lovelier rest.
Lilies, like thy own feathery bosom fair,
Lie thiek as stars around its sheltering isles.
Fearless, among them, as their guardian queen,
'Neath over-bending branches shalt thou glide,
Till early birds shake down the heavy dew,
And whistling pinions warn thee to the wing.
Now clearer sounds thy voice, and thou art nigh : —
From central sky thy clarion music falls,
Oh, what a mystic power hath one wild throat,
Vocal, at midnight, in the depths of heaven ? —
What soothing harmonies the trembling air
Through the etherial halls may breathe, that ear
Which asks no echo — the internal ear,
Alone can list. But, hark, how hill and dell
Catcli up the falling melody ! They come,
The dulcet echoes from the hollow woods,
Like music of their own : while lingering in
HENRY NORMAN HUDSON.
597
From misty isles, steal softest symphonies.
It hath Btrange might to thrill each living heart.
The weary hunter, listening with hushed breath,
As the sweet tones with his sensations play,
A gentle tingling feels in every vein,
And all forgets his home and toilsome hunt.
River, that linkest in one sparkling chain
The eresce.it lakes and ponds of Washtenug,
For ever be thy darkening oaks uncut ;
Thy plains unfurrowed and thy meads unmown I
That thy wild singing-birds, unscared, may blend,
Daily, with thine, their own free minstrelsy,
And nightly, wake thy silent solitudes.
Bird of the tireless wing, thou wilt not stoop;
Thine eye is on the border of the sky,
Skirted, perchance, by Huron or St. Clair.
The chasing moonbeams, glancing on thy plumes,
Reveal thee now a thing of life and light,
Lessening and sinking in the mistless blue.
There, thou art lost — thy bugle-tones are hushed ! — •
Tinkle the wood-vaults with far-dropping dew :
Yet, in mine ear thy last notes linger still ;
And, like the close of distant music mild,
Die, with a pleasing sadness, on my heart.
HENET NORMAN HUDSON.
Mr. Hudson was born January 28, 1814, in the
town of Cornwall, Addition County, Vermont.
The first eighteen years of his life were mainly
spent on the farm and in the common school.
For his early religious instruction he was in-
debted to the Rev. Jedediah Buslmell, whom he
speaks of as " a minister of the old New Eng-
land school, a venerable and excellent man, a
somewhat stiff and rigid Calvinist, indeed, but
well fraught with the best qualities of a Christian
pastor and gentleman." At the age of eighteen,
Mr. Hudson removed to Middlebnry, a town ad-
joining Cornwall, where he became apprenticed
to Mr. Ira Allen, for the purpose of learning the
trade of coach-making. Here he continued as
apprentice and journeyman about four years,
when he resolved to secure the benelit of a col-
lege education. He began the work of prepara-
tion in the fall of 1835, entered the Freshman
class of Middlebury College the following August,
and was graduated in 1840. His next three years
were spent in teaching at the South, one year at
Kentucky, and two years in Iluntsville, Alabama.
Having early acquired a taste for reading, and
especially occupied himself with the study of
Shakespeare, he found time to write out a course
of lecture; on his favorite author, which he first
delivered at Huntsville, and shortly after at Mo-
bile, in the winter of 1843-1. The next spring
he repeated the course at Cincinnati. Induced
by his success in these places he visited Boston
the following winter, where the lectures were
listened to by large and intelligent audiences,
bringing the author both fame and profit. The
first result was to enable him to discharge his
pecuniary obligations to the friends by whose aid
he had been assisted while in college. The lectures
were repeated in New York, Philadelphia, and
other cities with varying success, and finally ap-
peared from the press of Baker and Scribner, in
New York, in 1848.
Mr. Hudson's early religious views had under-
gone considerable change from the Congregational-
ism in which he was brought up, when in 1844 he
became acquainted in Boston with the late Dr.
jp. J4TJ£~U*
William Croswell, who had then just entered on
his ministerial work in the parish of the Advent.
Earnestly attached to the man and his doctrines,
Mr. Hudson became a member of the congrega-
tion, and not long after a candidate for orders in
the diocese of New York. He was ordained by
Bishop Whittingham, in Trinity Church, in 1849.
The following year, at the solicitation of Messrs.
Munroe and Co., of Boston, he engaged to edit
the works of Shakespeare in eleven volumes, on
the plan and in the style of the Chiswick edition
published in 1826. This work is now in course
of completion, having reached its eighth volume,
the publication having been somewhat delayed
by the elaborate care bestowed upon it by the
editor, and the necessity he has been under of
associating with it more remunerating pursuits.
The chief points in the edition are a thorough
revision and restoration of the text according to
the ancient copies, notes carefully selected and
compactly written, and an introduction, histori-
cal, bibliographical, and critical, to each play.
In November, 1852, Mr. Hudson became party
to an arrangement to edit the Churchman news-
paper in New York. He entered upon the work,
which he discharged with eminent ability, on the
first of January, 1853, and continued in it till
September 9, 1854, when he withdrew in conse-
quence of what seemed to him unreasonable en-
croachments of the proprietor upon his province.
In addition to these editorial and other labors,
Mr. Hudson has written a number of elaborate
articles in the monthly anil quarterly periodicals,
including Thoughts on Education, in the Demo-
cratic Review,* a paper which contains the sub-
stance of a we'd digested volume ; On Lord
Mohan's and Maeaiday's Histories, an essay on
The Right Sources of Moral and Political Know-
ledge, in the Church Review ; and a masterly re-
view of Bailey's Festus in the American Whig
Review. In 1850 Mr. Hudson published a ser-
mon, OldWinein Old Bottles, originally preached
at the Church of the Advent, in Boston.
The style of Mr. Hudson is marked by a cer-
tain rugged strength and quaintness; occasion-
ally reminding the reader, in its construction and
the analytical subtleties of which it is the vehicle,
* May and July, 1845.
598
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
of the old school of English theological writing.
His composition is labored, sinewy, and profound.
As a moralist, his views are liberal and enlarged,
while opposed as far as possible to maudlin phi-
lanthropy and sentimentality. As a critic of
Shakespeare he is acute, philosophical, reveren-
tial; following the school of Coleridge, and re-
producing from the heart of the subject the ele-
ments of the author's characters, which are
drawn out in a fine amplification.
THE WEIRD SISTERS — FEOM THE LECTTTEES ON 8HAKESPEARE.
The Weird Sisters are the creatures not of any pre-
existing superstition, but purely of Shakespeare's
own mind. They are altogether unlike any thing
else that art or superstition ever invented. The old
witches of northern mythology would not have an-
swered the poet's purpose ; those could only act
upon men. — these act within them ; those opposed
themselves against human will, — these identify them-
selves with it; those could inflict injury, — these in-
flict guilt; those could work men's physical ruin, —
these win men to work their own spiritual ruin.
Macbeth cannot resist them, because they take from
him the very will and spirit of resistance. Their
power takes hold of him like a fascination of hell:
it seems as terrible and as inevitable as that of origi-
nal sin ; insuring the commission of crime, not as a
matter of necessity, for then it would be no crime,
but simply as a matter of fact. In using them,
Shakespeare but borrowed the drapery of pre-exist-
ing superstition to secure faith in an entirely new
creation. Without doing violence to the laws of
human belief he was thus enabled to enlist the ser-
vices of old credulity in favor of agents or instru-
ments suited to his peculiar purpose.
The Weird Sisters are a combination of the ter-
rible and the grotesque, and hold the mind in sus-
pense between laughter and fear. Resembling old
women save that they have long beards, they bubble
up into human shape, but are free from all human
relations; without age, or sex, or kin ; without birth,
or death ; passionless and motionless ; anomalous alike
in looks, in action, and in speech; nameless them-
selves, and doing nameless deeds. Coleridge de-
scribes them as the imaginative divorced from the
good ; and this description, to one who understands
it, expresses their nature better than any thing else
I have seen. Gifted with the powers of prescience
and prophecy, their predictions seem replete with an
indescribable charm which works their own fulfil-
ment, so as almost to leave us in doubt whether
they predestinate or produce, or only foresee and
foretell the subsequent events.
Such as they are, —
So withered and so wild in their attire ;
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet are on't, —
such is the language in which they mutter their
horrid incantations. It is., if such a thing be pos-
sible or imaginable, the poetry of hell, and seems
dripping with the very dews of the pit. A wondrous
potency, like the fumes of their charmed pot, seems
stealing over our minds as they compound the in-
gredients of their hell-broth. In the materials
which make up the contents of their cauldron, such
Toad, that under coldest stone.
Days aDd nights hast thirty-oue
Sweltered venom, sleeping sot;
Witch's mummy ; maw and gulf
Of the ravined salt-sea shark ;
Root of hemlock, dlgg'd i' the dark ;
Liver of blaspheming Jew ;
Gall of goat : and slips of yew,
Slivered in the moon's eclipse ;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips;
Finger of biith-strangled babe,
Ditch-delivered by a drab ;
■ sow's blood, that hath eaten
Her nine farrow ; grease that's sweaten
From the murderer's gibbet ; —
there is a strange confusion of the natural and su-
pernatural, which serves to enchant and bewilder
the mind into passiveness. Our very ignorance of
any physical efficacy or tendency in the substances
and conditions here specified, only enhances to our
imagination their moral potency ; so that they seem
more powerful over the soul inasmuch as they are
powerless over the body. — The Weird Sisters, in-
deed, and all that belong to them, are but poetical
impersonations of evil influences: they are the im-
aginative, irresponsible agents or instruments of
the devil ; capable of inspiring guilt, but not of in-
curring it ; in and through whom all the powers of
their chief seem bent up to the accomplishment of a
given purpose. But with all their essential wicked-
ness there is nothing gross, or vulgar, or sensual
about them. They are the very purity of sin in-
carnate ; the vestal virgins, so to speak, of hell ;
radiant with a sort of inverted holiness; fearful
anomalies in body and soul, in whom every thing
seems reversed ; whose elevation is downwards ;
whose duty is sin ; whose religion is wickedness ; and
the law of whose being is violation of law ! Unlike
the Furies of Eschylus, they are petrific, not to the
senses, but to the thoughts. At first, indeed, on
merel}* looking at them, we can hardly keep from
laughing, so uncouth and grotesque is their appear-
ance: but afterwards, on looking into them, we find
them terrible beyond description ; and the more we
look into them, the more terrible do they become;
the blood almost curdling in our veins as, dancing
and singing their infernal glees over embryo murders,
they unfold to our thoughts the cold, passionless, in-
exhaustible malignity and deformity of their nature.
In beings thus made and thus mannered ; in their
fantastical and unearthly aspect, awakening mixed
emotions of terror and mirth ; in their ominous re-
serve and oracular brevity of speech, so fitted at
once to overcome scepticism, to sharpen curiosity,
and to feed ambitious hopes ; in the circumstances
of their prophetic greeting, a blasted heath, as a spot
deserted by nature and saci ed to infernal orgies, —
the influences of the place thus falling in with the
supernatural style and matter of their discourses ; in
all this we recognise a peculiar adaptedness to gene-
rate even in the strongest minds a belief in their pre-
dictions.
What effect, then, do the Weird Sisters have on
the action of the play ? Are their discourses neces-
sary to the enacting of the subsequent crimes? and,
if so, are they neeessar}T as the cause, or only as
the condition of those crimes? Do they operate to
deprave, or only to developethe characters brought
under their influence ? In a word, do they create
the evil heart, or only untie the evil hands? These
questions have been variously answered by critics.
Not to dwell on these various answers, it seems to
me tolerably clear, that the agency of the Weird
Sisters extends only to the inspiring of confidence in
what they predict. This confidence they awaken
in Banquo equally as in Macbeth ; yet the only ef-
fect of their proceedings on Banquo is to try and
prove his virtue. The fair inference, then, is, that
they furnish the motives, not the principles of action ;
and these motives are of course to good or to bad,
according to the several preformations and predis-
positions of character whereon they operate. But
what relation does motive bear to action ? On this
point, too, it seems to me there has been much of
needless confusion. Now moral action, like vision,
E. II. CHAPIir.
599
presupposes two things, a condition and a cause. I
Light and visual power are both indispensable to
sight ; there can be no vision without light ; yet the
cause of vision, as every body knows, is the visual
power pre-existing in the eye. Neither can we
walk without an area to walk upon ; yet nobody, I
suppose, would pronounce that area the cause of
our walking. On the contrary, that cause is ob-
viously within ourselves; it lies in our own innate
mobility ; and the area is necessary only as the condi-
tion of our walking. In like manner both will and
motive are indispensable to moral action. "We can-
not act without motives, any more than we can
breathe without air ; yet the cause of our acting Ilea
in certain powers and principles within us. As,
therefore, vision springs from the meeting of visual
power with light, so action springs from the meeting
of will with motive. Surely, then, those who persist
in holding motives responsible for our actions, would
do well to remember, that motives can avail but
little after all without something to be moved.
One of the necessary conditions of our acting, in
all cases, is a belief in the possibility and even the
practicability of what we undertake. However ar-
dent and lawless may be our desire of a given ob-
ject, still a conviction of the impossibility of reach-
ing it necessarily precludes all efforts to reach it.
So fully are we persuaded that we cannot jump
over the moon, that we do not even wish, much less
attempt to do it. Generally, indeed, apprehensions
and assurances more or less strong of failure and
punishment in criminal attempts operate to throw us
back upon better principles of action; Ave make a
virtue of necessity ; and from the danger and difficulty
of indulging evil and unlawful desires, fall back upon
such as are lawful and good; wherein, to our sur-
prise, nature often rewards us with far greater plea-
sures than we had anticipated from the opposite
course- He who removes those apprehensions and
assurances from any wicked enterprise, and convin-
ces us of its safety and practicability, may be justly
said to furnish us motives to engage in it ; that is,
he gives us the conditions upon which, but not the
principles from which, our actions proceed ; and
therefore does not, properly speaking, deprave, but
only developes our character. For example, in am-
bition itself, unchecked and unrestrained by any
higher principles, are contained the elements of all
the crimes necessary to the successful prosecution of
its objects. I say successful prosecution ; for such
ambition is, from its nature, regardless of every
thing but the chances of defeat: so that nothing less
than the conviction or the apprehension that crimes
will not succeed, can prevent such ambition from
employing them.
E. II. CIIAPIN
Was born in "Union Village, Washington County,
New York, December 29, 1814. His first studies
were given to the law, but he soon became en-
gaged in the ministry. He was settled first over
a congregation at Richmond, Va., in 1838, and
subsequently from 1840 to 1848 was stationed at
Charlestown and Boston. In 1848 he became a
resident of New York, and is now pastor of the
Fourth Universalist Society in the city, occupy-
ing the edifice in Broadway, re-erected for the
congregation of the Rev. II. W. Bellows.
Mr. Chapin's chief reputation is as a pulpit
orator and lecturer, his lyceum engagements ex-
tending through the country. His" style is mark-
ed by its poetical fervor and frequent happy illus-
trations, and an ingenious vein of thought. His
delivery is calm and winning.
/£? c^^. ^^-»5^»-k
His chief publications are of a practical devo-
tional character, bearing the titles, Hours of Com-
munion; Crown of Thorns ; A Token for the
Sorrowing ; Discourses on the Lord's Prayer and
the Beatitudes ; Characters in the Gospels, illus-
trating Phases of Character at the Present Bay.
In 1853 and in 1854 he published Moral Aspects
of City Life, and Humanity in the City — two
series of his courses on topics of social life ; fa-
shions, amusements, and vices ; the relation of
machinery and labor, wealth and poverty ; the
temptations to crime, and other themes of a simi-
lar character, which are exhibited in a philoso-
phical, devotional spirit, with' equal earnestness
and kindliness.
VOICES OF THE DEAD FROM THE CROWN OF TIIOP.NS.
" He being dead yet speaketh." The departed
have voices for us. In order to illustrate this, I re-
mark, in the first place, that the dead speak to us,
and commune with us, through the works which they
have left behind them. As the islands of the sea are
the built up casements of myriads of departed lives ;
as the earth itself is a great catacomb ; so we, who
live and move upon its surface, inherit the produc-
tions and enjoy the fruits of the dead. They have
bequeathed to us by far the larger portion of all
that influences our thoughts, or mingles with the
circumstances of our daily life. We walk through
the streets they laid out. We inhabit the houses
they built. We practise the customs they esta-
blished. We gather wisdom from the books they
wrote. We pluck the ripe clusters of their expe-
rience. We boast in their achievements. And by
these they speak to us. Every device ami influence
they have left behind tells their story, and is a voice
of the dead. We feel this more impressively when
we enter the customary place of one recently de-
parted, and look around upon his work. The half-
finished labor, the utensils hastily thrown aside, the
material that exercised his care and received his
last touch, all express him and seem alive with his
presence. By them, though dead, he speaketh to
us with a freshness and tone like his words of yester-
day. How touching are those sketched forms, those
unfilled outlines, in that picture which employed so
fully the time and genius of the great artiste— Bel-
600
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
shazzar's Feast! In the incomplete process, the
transition-state of an idea from its conception to its
realization, we are brought closer to the mind of the
artist ; we detect its springs and hidden workings,
and therefore feel its reality more than in the finish-
ed effort. And this is one reason why we are more
impressed at beholding the work just left than in
gazing upon one that has been for a long time aban-
doned. Having had actual communion with the
contriving mind, we recognise its presence more
readily in its production ; or else the recency of the
departure heightens the expressiveness with which
everything speaks of the departed. The dead child's
cast-off garment, the toy just tossed aside, startles us
as though with his renewed presence. A year hence
they will suggest him to us, but with a different
effect.
But though not with such an impressive tone, yet
just as much, in fact, do the productions of those
long gone speak to us. Their ?7unds are expressed
there, and living voice can do little more. iNay, we
are admitted to a more intimate knowledge of them
than was possessed by their contemporaries. The
work they leave behind them is the sum-total of
their lives — expresses their ruling passion — reveals,
perhaps, their real sentiment. To the eyes of those
placed on the stage with them, they walked as in a
show, and each life was a narrative gradually un-
folding itself. We discover the moral. "We see
the results of that completed history. IVe judge
the quality and value of that life by the residuum.
As " a prophet has no honor in his own country," so
one may be misconceived in his own time, both to
his undue disparagement and his undue exaltation ;
therefore, can another age better write his bio-
graphy than his own. His work, his permanent
result, speaks for him better, at least truer, than he
spoke for himself. The rich man's wealth, the sump-
tuous property, the golden pile that he has left be-
hind him — by it, being dead, does he not yet speak
to us ? Have we not, in that gorgeous result of
toiling days and anxious nights, of brain-sweat and
soul-rack, the man himself, the cardinal purpose, the
very life of his soul? which we might have sur-
mised while he lived and wrought, but which, now
that it remains the whole sum and substance of his
mortal being, speaks far more emphatically than
could any other voice he might have used. The ex-
pressive lineaments of the marble, the pictured can-
vass, the immortal poem — by it, genius, being dead,
yet speaketh. To us, and not to its own time, is un-
bearded the wealth of its thought and the glory of
its inspiration. When it is gone — when its lips arc
silent, and its heart still — then is revealed the che-
rished secret over which it toiled, which was elabo-
rated from the living alembic of the soul, through
gainful days and weary nights — the sentiment
which could not find expression to contemporaries —
the gift, the greatness, the lyric power, which was
disguised and unknown so long. Who, that has
communed with the work of such a spirit, has
not felt in every line that thrilled his soul, in every
wondrous lineament that stamped itself upon his
memory for ever, that the dead can speak, yea, that
they have voices which speak most truly, most em-
phatically, when they are dead ? So does Industry
speak, in its noble momiments, its precious fruits!
So does Maternal Affection speak, in a chord that
vibrates in the hardest heart, in the pure and better
sentiment of after-years. So does Patriotism speak,
in the soil liberated and enriched by its sufferings.
So does the Martyr speak, in the truth which tri-
umphs by his sacrifice. So does the great man
speak, in his life and deeds, glowing on the storied
page. So does the ejood man speak, in the charac-
ter and influence which he leaves behind him. The
voices of the dead come to us from their works,
from their results, and these are all around us.
But I remark, in the second place, that the dead
speak to us in memory and association. If then-
voices may be constantly heard in their works, we
do not always heed them ; neither have we that
care and attachment for the great congregation of
the derjarted, which will at any7 time call them up
vividly before us. But in that congregation there
are those whom we have known intimately and
fondly, whom we cherished with our best love, who
lay close to our bosoms. And these speak to us m a
more private and peculiar manner, — in mementos
that flash upon us the whole person of the departed,
every physical and spiritual lineament — in conse-
crated hours of recollection that open up all the
train of the past, and re-twine its broken ties around
our hearts, and make its endearments present still.
Then, then, though dead, they speak to us. It needs
not the vocal utterance, nor the living presence, but
the mood that transforms the scene and the hour
supplies these. That face that has slept so long in
the grave, now bending upon us, pale and silent, but
affectionate still — that more vivid recollection of
every feature, tone, and movement, that brings be-
fore us the departed, just as we knew them in the
full flush of life and health — that soft and conse-
crating spell which falls upon us, drawing in all our
thoughts from the present, arresting, as it were, the
current of our being, and turning it back and hold-
ing it still as the flood of actual life, rushes by us —
while in that trance of soul the beings of the past
are shadowed — old friends, old days, old scenes re-
cur, familiar looks beam close upon us, familiar
words reecho in our ears, and we are closed up and
absorbed with the by-gone, until tears dissolve the
film from our eyes, and some shock of the actual
wakes us from our reverie; — all these, I say, make
the dead to commune with us really as though in
bodily form they should come out from the cham-
bers of their mysterious silence, and speak to us.
And if life consists in experiences, and not mere phy-
sical contacts — and if love and communion belong
to that experience, though they take place in medi-
tation, or dreams, or by actual contact — then, in
that hour of remembrance, have we really lived
with the departed, and the departed have come
back and lived with us. Though dead, they have
spioken to us. And though memory sometimes in
duces the spirit of heaviness — though it is often the
agent of conscience and wakens us to chastise — yet,
it is wonderful how, from events that were deeply
mingled with pain, it will extract an element of
sweetness. A writer, in relating one of the expe-
riences of her sick-room, has illustrated this. In an
hour of sufferii g, when no one was near her, she
went from her bed and her room to another apart-
ment, and looked out upon a glorious landscape of
sunrise and spring-time. " I was suffering too much
to enjoy this picture at the moment," she says, " but
how was it at the end of the year ? The pains of all
those hours were annihilated, as completely vanish-
ed as if they had never been ; while the momentary
peep behind the window-curtain made me possessor
of this radiant picture for evermore." " Whence
this wide difference," she asks, " between the good
and the evil? Because the good is iudissolubly
connected with ideas — with the unseen realities
which are indestructible." And though the illus-
tration which she thus gives bear the impression of
an individual peculiarity, instead of an universal
truth, still, in the instance to whieh I apply it, I be-
lieve it will very generally hold true, that memory
leaves a pleasant rather than a painful impression.
T. S. ARTHUR.
G01
At least, there is so much that is pleasant mingled
with it, that wo would not willingly lose the faculty
of memory — the consciousness that we can thus call
back the dead and hear their voices — that we have the
power of softening the rugged realities which only
suggest our loss and disappointment, by transferring
the scene and the hour to the past and the departed.
And, as our conceptions become more and more spi-
ritual, Ave shall find the real to be less dependent
upon the outward and the visible — we shall learn
how much life there is in a thought — how veritable
are the communions of spirit with spirit; and the hour
in which memory gives us the voices of the dead
will be prized by us as an hour of actual experience,
and such opportunities will grow more precious to
us. No, we would not willingly lose this power of
memory. *******
Well, then, is it for us at times to listen to the
voices of the dead. By so doing we are better
fitted for life and for death. From that audience we
go purified and strengthened into the varied dis-
cipline of our mortal state. We are willing to stay,
knowing that the dead are so near us, and that our
communion with them may be so intimate. We are
willing to go, seeing that we shall not be wholly sepa-
rated from those we leave behind. We will toil in
our lot while God pleases, and when He summons us
we will calmly depart. When the silver cord becomes
untwined, and the golden bowl broken — when the
wheel of action stands still in the exhausted cistern
of our life, may we lie down in the light of that
faith which makes so beautiful the face of the dying
Christian, and has converted death's ghastly silence
to a peaceful sleep. May we rise to a holier and
more visible communion, in the land without a sin
and without a tear. Where the dead shall be closer
to us than in this life. Where not the partition of a
shadow or a doubt shall come between.
T. S. ARTHUR
Was born in 1809, near Newburgh, Orange coun-
ty, New York. In 1S17, his parents removed to
Baltimore, where he lived till 1841, when lie re-
moved to Philadelphia, where he has since resided.
His boyhood, as we learn from a brief autobio-
graphy prefixed to one of his books, was passed
with but few advantages of instruction in Mary-
land. He left school to be apprenticed, when he
entered upon a course of self-education. His sight
failing Kim when he be -..me his own master, he
abandoned the trade which he had learnt, and was
for three years a clerk. In 1833, he went to the
West as agent for a Banking Company; the institu-
tion failed and he returned to Baltimore. He then
associated himself with a friend as editor of a
newspaper, and soon became engaged in the ac-
tive career of authorship, which he has since pur-
sued with popular favor. His writings embrace
numerous series of works of fiction of a domestic
moral character; pictures of American life sub-
ordinated to a moral sentiment. He has pub-
lished more than fifty volumes, besides numerou3
tales in cheap form.*
GENTLE IIAND.
When and where, it matters not now to relate —
but once upon a time, as I was passing through a
thinly peopled district of country, night came down
upon me, almost unawares. Being on foot, I could
not hope to gain the village toward which my steps
were directed, until a late hour ; and I therefore
preferred seeking the shelter and a night's lodging
at the first humble dwelling that presented itself.
Dusky twilight was giving place to deeper
shallows, when 1 found myself in the vicinity of a
dwelling, from the small uncurtained windows of
which the light shone with a pleasant promise of
good cheer and comfort. The house stood within an
enclosure, and a short distance from the road along
which I was moving with wearied feet. Turning
aside, and passing through the ill-hung gate, I ap-
proached the dwelling. Slowly the gate swung on
its wooden hinges, and the rattle of its latch, in clos-
ing, did not disturb the air until I had nearly reach-
ed the little porch in front of the house, in which a
slender girl, who had noticed my entrance, stood
awaiting my arrival.
A deep, quick bark answered, almost like an echo,
the sound of the shutting gate, and, sudden as an ap-
parition, the form of an immense dog loomed in the
doorway. At the instant when he was about to
spring, a light hand was laid upon his shaggy neck
and a low word spoken.
" Go in, Tiger," said the girl, not in a voice of
authority, yet in her gentle tones was the conscious-
ness that she would be obeyed ; and, as she spoke,
she lightly bore upon the animal with her hand, and
he turned away, and disappeared within the dwelling.
" Who's that?" A rough voice asked the question;
and now a heavy-looking man took the dug's place
in the door.
" How far is it to G ?" I asked, not deeming
it best to say, in the beginning, that I sought a rest-
ing-place for the night.
"To G !" growled the man, but not so harshly
as at first. " It's good six miles from here."
" A long distance ; and I'm a stranger, and on foot,"
* TVe give a list of most of these writings, though not in
the order of their production ; — Sketches of Life and Charac-
ter, 8vo., pp. 420; Lights and Shadows of Real Life, 8vo., pp.
5tJ0 ; Leaves from Book of Human Life,12mo. ; Golden Grains
from Life's Harvest Field, 12nio. ; the Lotions. and the Pinker-
tons, 12mo. ; Heart Histories and Life Pictures; Tales for
Rich and Poor, 6 vols. ISmo. ; Library for the Household 12
vols. ISmo. ; Arthur's Juvenile Library, 12 vols. lGmo. ; Cot-
tage Library, 6 vols. ISmo. ; Ten Nights in a liar-Room, 12mo.;
Six Nights with Washingtonians, ISmo.; Advice to Young Men,
ISmo.; Advice to Young Ladies, ISmo. ; .Maiden, Wife, aud
Mother, 8 vols. ISmo. ; Tale* of Married Life, 8 vols. ISmo. ;
Stories of Domestic Life, 3 vols. ISmo. ; Tales from Real Lifo,
S vols. ISmo. ; Tired of House-keeping, ISmo.; Novels iu
Cheap Form, 20 vols.
602
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
said L " If you can make room for me until morn-
ing, I will be very thankful."
I saw the girl's hand move quickly up his arm,
until it rested on his shoulder, and now she leaned
to him still closer.
" Come in. "We'll try what can be done for you."
There was a change in the man's voice that made
me wonder.
I entered a large room, in which blazed a brisk
fire. Before the fire sat two stout lads, who turned
upon me their heavy eyes, with no very welcome
greeting. A middle-aged woman was standing at
a table, and two children were amusing themselves
with a kitten on the floor.
" A stranger, mother," said the man who had given
me so rude a greeting at the door ; " and he wants
us to let him stay all night."
The woman looked at me doubtingly for a few
moments, and then replied coldly —
" We don't keep a public house."
" I am aware of that, ma'am," said I; " but night
has overtaken me, and it's a long way yet to ."
" Too far for a tired man to go on foot," said the
master of the house, kindly, " so it's no use talking
about it, mother ; we must give him a bed."
So unobtrusively, that I scarcely noticed the
movement, the girl had drawn to the woman's side.
What she said to her I did not hear, for the brief
words were uttered in a low voice ; but I noticed,
as she spoke, one small, fair hand rested on the wo-
man's hand. Was there magic in that gentle touch ?
The woman's repulsive aspect changed into one of
kindly welcome, and she said:
" Yes, it's a long way to G . I guess we
can find a place for him."
Many times more, during that evening, did I ob-
serve the magic power of that hand and voice — the
one gentle yet potent as the other.
On the next morning, breakfast being over, I was
preparing to take my departure, when n.y host in-
formed me that if I would wait for half an hour he
would give me a ride in his wagon to G , as
business required him to go there. I was very well
pleased to accept of the invitation. In due time,
the farmer's wagon was driven into the road before
the house, and I was invited to get in. I noticed
the horse as a rough-looking Canadian pony, with
a certain air of stubborn endurance. As the farmer
took his seat by my side, the family came to the door
to see us off.
" Dick !" said the farmer in a peremptory voice,
giving the rein a quick jerk as he spoke.
But Dick moved not a step.
" Dick ! you vagabond ! get up." And the farm-
er's whip cracked sharply by the pony's ear.
It availed not, however, this second appeal. Dick
stood firmly disobedient. Next the whip was
brought down upon him, with an impatient hand ;
but the pony only reared up a little. Fast and
3harp the strokes were next dealt to the number of
half-a-dozen. The man might as well have beaten
his wagon, for all his end was gained.
A stout lad now came out into the road, and catch-
ing Dick by the bridle, jerked him forward, using,
at the same time, the customary language on such
occasions, but Diek met this new ally with increased
stubbornness, planting his forefeet more firmly, and j
at a sharper angle with the ground. The impatient
boy now struck the pony on the side of his head with
his clinched hand, and jerked cruelly at his bridle.
It availed nothing, however ; Dick was not to be
wrought upon by any such arguments.
" Don't do so, John 1" I turned my head as the [
maiden's sweet voice reached my ear. She was
passing through the gate into the road, and, in the j
next moment, had taken hold of the lad and drawn
him away from the animal. No strength was exert-
ed in this ; she took hold of his arm, and he obeyed
her wish as readily as if he had no thought beyond
her gratification.
And now that soft hand was laid gently on the
pony's neck, and a single low word spoken. How
instantly were the tense muscles relaxed — how quick-
ly the stubborn air vanished.
" Poor Dick !" said the maiden, as she stroked his
neck lightly, or softly patted it with a child-like hand.
" Now, go along, you provoking fellow !" she add-
ed, in a half-chiding, yet affectionate voice, as she
drew up the bridle. The pony turned toward her,
and rubbed his head against her arm for an instant
or two ; then, pricking up his ears, he started off at
a light, cheerful trot, and went on his way as freely
as if no silly crotchet had ever entered his stub-
born brain.
" What a wonderful power that hand possesses!"
said I, speaking to my companion, as we rode away.
He looked at me for a moment as if my remark
had occasioned surprise. Then a light came into his
countenance, and he said, briefly —
" She's good ! Everybody and everything loves
her."
Was that, indeed, the secret of her power? Was
the quality of her soul perceived in the impression
of her hand, even by brute beasts ! The father's ex-
planation was, doubtless, the true one. Yet have
I ever since wondered, and still do wonder, at the
potency which lay in that maiden's magic touch. I
have seen something of the same power, showing
itself in the loving and the good, but never to the
extent as instanced in her, whom, for want of a
better name, I must still call " Gentle Hand."
WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER.
Me. Hosmer was born at Avon, in the valley of
the Genesee, New York, May 25, 1814. He was
graduated at Geneva College, and soon after
commenced the study of the law with his father,
the Hon. George Hosmer, one of the oldest mem-
bers of the bar of Western New York. Mr. Hos-
mer was in due course licensed, and has practised
his profession with success.
His parents having settled in the Genesee val-
ley while it was yet occupied by the Seneca
Indians, Mr. Hosmer's attention was early direct-
ed to the history and legends of the race whose
home, possessions, and stronghold, had been for a
succession of ages in that valley, and whose foot-
prints were yet fresh upon its soil. His mother
conversed fluently in the dialect of the tribe, and
was familiar with its legends. These circum-
stances naturally directed Mr. Hosmer in the
choice of a theme for his first poem, Yoimondio,
an Indian tale in seven cantos, published in 1844.
In 1854 Mr. Hosmer published a complete col-
lection of his Poetical Works in two volumes
duodecimo. The first contains the Indian romance
of Yonnondio, followed by legends of the Senecas,
Indian traditions and songs, Bird Notes, a series of
pleasantly versified descriptions of a few Ameri-
can birds, and the Months, a poetical calendar of
nature. The second contains Occasional Poems,
WILLIAM H. G. H03MER.
603
Historic scenes drawn from European history,
Martial Lyrics, several of which are in honor of
the Mexican war, Songs and Ballads, Funeral
Echoes, Sonnets, and Miscellaneous Poems. The
enumeration displays the variety of the writer's
productions. He maintains throughout a spirited
and animated strain.
What is there saddening in the autumn leaves?
Have they that "srreen and yellow melancholy v
That the sweet poet spake of:
Bkainerd.
The tenth one of a royal line
Breathes on the wind his mandate loud,
And fitful gleams of sunlight shine
Around his throne of cloud :
The Genii ot the forest dim
A many-colored robe for him
Of fallen leaves have wrought;
And softened is his visage grim
By melancholy thought.
No joyous birds his coming hail,
For Summer's full-voiced choir is gone,
And over Nature's face a veil
Of dull, gray mist is drawn :
The crow, with heavy pinion-strokes,
Beats the chill air in flight, and croaks
A dreary song of dole :
Beneath my feet the puff-ball smokes,
As through the fields I stroll.
An awning broad of many dyes
Above me bends, as on I stray,
More splendid than Italian skies
Bright with the death of day ;
As in the sun-bow's radiant braid
Shade melts like magic into shade,
And purple, green, and gold,
With carmine blent, have gorgeous made
October's flag unrolled.
The partridge, closely ambushed, hears
The crackling leaf — poor, timid thing!
And to a thicker covert steers
On swift, resounding wing:
The woodland wears a look forlorn,
Hushed is the wild bee's tiny horn,
The cricket's bugle shrill —
Sadly is Autumn's mantle torn,
But fair to vision still.
Black walnuts, in low, meadow ground,
Are dropping now their dark, green balls,
And on the ridge, with rattling sound,
The deep brown chestnut falls.
When comes a day of sunshine mild,
From childhood, nutting in the wild,
Outbursts a shout of glee ;
And high the pointed shells are piled
Under the hickory tree.
Bright flowers yet linger : — from the morn
Yon Cardinal hath caught its blush,
And yellow, star-shaped gems adorn
The wild witch-hazel bush ;
Rocked by the frosty breath of Night,
That brings to frailer blossoms blight,
The germs of fruit they bear,
That, living on through Winter white,
Ripens in Summer air.
The varied aster tribes unclose
Bright eyes in Autumn's smoky bower,
And azure cup the gentian shows,
A modest little flower :
Their garden sisters pale have turned,
Though late the dahlia I diseerned
Right royally arrayed :
And phlox, whose leaf with crimson burned
Like cheek of bashful maid.
In piles around the cider-mill
The parti-colored apples shine,
And busy hands the hopper fill,
While foams the pumice fine —
The cheese, with yellow straw between
Full, juicy layers, may be seen,
And rills of amber hue
Feed a vast tub, made tight and clean,
While turns the groaning screw.
From wheat-fields, washed by recent rains,
In flocks the whistling plover rise
When night draws near, and leaden stains
Obscure the western skies:
The geese, so orderly of late,
Fly over fence and farm-yard gate,
As if the welkin black
Tlie habits of a wilder state
To memory brought back.
Yon Btreamlet to the woods around,
Sings, flowing on, a mournful tune,
Oh ! how unlike the joyous sound
Wherewith it welcomed June !
Wasting away with grief, it seems,
For flowers that flaunted in the beams
Of many a sun-bright day —
Fair flowers! — more beautiful than dreams
When life hath reached its May.
Though wild, mischievous sprites of air,
In cruel mockery of a crown,
Drop on October's brow of care
Dead wreaths and foliage brown,
Abroad the sun will look again,
Rejoicing in Ids blue domain,
And prodigal of gold,
Ere dark November's sullen reign
Gild stream and forest old.
Called by the west wind from her grave,
Once more will summer re-appear,
And gladden with a merry stave
The wan, departing year;
Her swiftest messenger will stay
The wild bird winging south its way,
And night, no longer sad,
Will emulate the blaze of day,
In cloudless moonshine clad.
The scene will smoky vestments wear,
As if U'lad Earth — one altar made —
By clouding the delicious air
With fragrant fumes, displayed
A sense of gratitude for warm,
Enchanting weather after storm,
And raindrops falling fast,
On dead September's mouldering form,
From skies with gloom o'ercast.
JOEL TYLER HEADLEY
Was born at Walton, Delaware county, New
York, December 3, 1814. He was graduated at
Union College in 1839, and studied for the minis-
try at the Auburn Theological Seminary. Com-
pelled by ill-health to relinquish this calling, he
travelled in Europe in 18-12 and 1843, passing a
considerable portion of his time in Italy. On his
return to America in 1844, he prepared a volume
descriptive of his foreign tour, Letters from Italy,
followed by The Alps and the Rhine. They
604
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
were published in the popular series of "Wiley
and Putnam's Library of American Books, and
■were received with unusual favor by the pub-
lic. In 1846 Mr. Headley achieved a still more
decided success in the publication of his spirited
biographical sketches, Napoleon and his Mar-
shah, to which Washington and his Generals
in the next year was an American companion.
A Lfe of Oliver Cromwell, based mainly upon
Carlyle's researches, in 1848; The Imperial
Guard of Napoleon, based upon a popular
French history by Emile Marco de St. Hiluire,
in 1851 ; Lines of Scott and Jackson in 1852 ;
A History of the War of 1812, in 1853, and
a Lfe of Washington, first published in Gra-
ham's Magazine in 1854, followed in sequence
the author's first successes in popular biography
and history.
Hcadley's Residence.
A spirited volume of travelling sketches, the
result of a summer excursion in northern New
York, The Adirondack, or Lfe in the Woods,
appeared from Mr. Headley's pen in 1849, which,
with two volumes of biblical sketches, Sacred
Mountains and Sacred Scenes and Characters,
and a volume of Miscellanies, Slcetches, and
Rambles, completes the list, thus far, of his
publications.
His books, impressed by the keen, active
temperament of the author, are generally notice-
able for the qualities of energy and movement,
which are at the secret of their popular suc-
cess.
Mr. Headley resides at a country seat in the
neighborhood of Kewburgh on the Hudson. In
1854 he was chosen to represent his District in
the State Legislature.
WASHINGTON AND NAPOLEON.
No one, in tracing the history of our struggle, can
deny that Providence watched over our interests,
and gave us the only man who could have conducted
the ear of the Revolution to the goal it finally
reached. Our revolution brought to a speedy crisis
the one that must sooner or later have convulsed
France. One was as much needed as the other, and
has been productive of equal good. But in tracing
the progress of each, how striking is the contrast
between the instruments employed — Napoleon and
Washington. Heaven and earth are not wider apart
than were their moral characters, yet both were
sent of Heaven to perform a great work. God acts
on more enlarged plans than the bigoted and igno-
rant have any conception of, and adapts his instru-
ments to the work he wishes to accomplish. To ef-
fect the regeneration of a comparatively religious,
virtuous, and intelligent people, no better man could
have been selected than Washington. To rend
asunder the feudal system of Europe, wThich stretch-
ed like an iron frame-work over the people, and had
rusted so long in its place, that no slow corrosion or
steadily wastii g power could affect its firmness,
there could have been found no better tha?i Bona-
parte. Their missions were as different as their cha-
racters. Had Bonaparte been put in the place of
Washington, he would have overthrown the Con-
gress, as he did the Directory, and taking supreme
power into his hands, developed the resources, and
kindled the enthusiasm of this country with such
astonishing rapidity, that the war would scarcely
have begun ere it was ended. But a vast and pow-
erful monarchy, instead of a republic, would have
occupied this continent. Had Washington been put
in the place of Bonaparte, his transcendent virtues
and unswerving integrity would not have prevailed
against the tyranny of faction, and a prison would
have received him, as it did Lafayette. Both were
children of a revolution, both rose to the chief com-
mand of the army, and eventually to the head of the
nation. One led his country step by step to free-
dom and prosperity, the other arrested at once, and
with a strong hard, the earthquake that was rocking
France asunder, and sent it rolling under the thrones
of Europe. The office of one was to defend and
build up Liberty, that of the other to break down
the prison walls in which it lay a captive, and rend
asunder its century-bound fetters. To suppose that
France could have been managed as America was, by
any human hand, shows an ignorance as blind as it
is culpable. That, and every other country of
Europe, will have to pass through successive stages
before they can reach the point at which our revo-
lution commenced. Here Liberty needed virtue and
patriotism, as well as strength — on the continent it
needed simple power, concentrated and terrible
power Europe at this day trembles over that vol-
cano Napoleon kindled, and the next eruption will
finish what he begun. Thus does Heaven, selecting
its own instruments, break up the systems of oppres-
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
605
sion men deemed eternal, and out of the power and
ambition, as well as out of the virtues of men, work
the welfare of our race.
LAFAYETTE.
He did not possess what is commonly termed ge-
nius, nor was he a man of remarkable intellectual
powers. In youth, ardent and adventurous, he
soon learned under Washington to curb his im-
pulses, and act more from his judgment. Left to
himself, he probably never would have reached any
great eminence — but there could have been no bet-
ter school for the fiery young republican, than the
family of Washington. His affection and reverence
for the latter gradually changed his entire charac-
ter. Washington was his model, and imitating his
self-control and noble patriotism, he became like
him in patriotism and virtue. The difference be-
tween them was the same as that between an origi-
nal and a copy. Washington was a man of immense
strength of character — not only strong in virtue, but
in intellect and will. Everything bent before him,
and the entire nation took its impress from his mind.
Lafayette was strong in integrity, and nothing could
shake his unalterable devotion to the welfare of
man. Enthusiastically wedded to republican insti-
tutions, no temptation could induce him to seize on,
or aid power which threatened to overthrow them.
Although somewhat vain and conceited, he was ge-
nerous, self-sacrificing, and benevolent. Few men
have passed through so many and so fearful scenes as
he. From a young courtier, he passed into the self-
denying, toilsome life of a general in the ill-clothed,
ill-fed, and ill-disciplined American army — thence
into the vortex of the French Revolution and all its
horrors — thence into the gloomy prison of Olnuitz.
After a few years of retirement, he appeared on our
shores to receive the welcome of a grateful people,
and hear a nation shout his praise, and bear him
from one limit of the land to another in its arms.
A few years pass by, and with his gray hairs falling
about his aged countenance, he stands amid the stu-
dents of Paris, and sends his feeble shout of defiance
to the throne of the Bourbon, aid it falls. Rising
more by his virtue than his intellect, ho holds a pro-
minent place in the history of France, and linked
with Washington, goes down toagre.iter immortali-
ty than awaits any emperor or mere warrior of the
human race.
His love for this country was deep and abiding.
To the last his heart turned hither, and well it
might : — his career of glory began on our shores —
on our cause he staked his reputation, fortune, and
life, and in our success received the benediction of
the good the world over. That love was returned
with interest, and never was a nobler exhibition of
a nation's gratitude, than our reception of him at his
last visit. We love him for what he did for us — we
revere him for his consistency to our principles amid
nil the chaos and revolutions of Europe ; and when
we eease to speak of him with affection and grati-
tude, we shall show ourselves unworthy of the
blessings we have received at his hands. "Honor to
Lafayette!" will ever stand inscribed on our temple
ot liberty until its ruins shall cover all it now con-
tains.
HAEEIET BEECIIEK STOWE,
Tub daughter of the Rev. Dr. Lyman Beecher,
was born in Litchfield, Connecticut," about the year
1812. Her elder sister, Esther Catherine Beecher,
born in 1800 at East Hampton, Long Island, had
established in 1822 a successful female seminary
at Hartford, Connecticut. "With this establish-
ment Harriet was associated from her fifteenth
year till her marriage in her twenty -first with
the Rev. Calvin E. Stowe, at that time Professor
of Languages and Biblical Literature in the Divi-
nity school at Cincinnati, whither Mrs. Stowe
accompanied him, and where, during a long resi-
dence, she became interested in the question of
slavery, which lias furnished the topic of her chief
literary production. Mrs. Stowe was well known
at home as a writer before her famous publication,
which gave her a world-wide reputation. She
had written a number of animated moral tales,
which showed a quick perception and much ear-
nestness in expression, a collection of which was
published by the Harpers in 1849 entitled The
May Flower ; or, Sketches of the Descendants of
the Pilgrims. A new edition, much enlarged,
appeared in 1855. Her great work, Uncle Tom's
Cabin; or, Life among the Lowly, appeared as a
book from the press of Jewett & Co. in Boston
in 1852. It had been previously published week
by week in chapters in the National Era, an anti-
slavery paper at Washington.
Uncle Tom, the hero of the story, is a negro
slave, noted for a faithful discharge of his duties,
a circumstance which does not exempt him from
the changes in condition incident to his position.
His master, a humane man, becomes embarrassed
in his finances and sells the slave to a dealer.
After passing through various hands he dies at the
south-west. The fortunes of two runaway slaves
contribute to the interest of the book. The escape
on the floating ice of the Ohio from the slave to
the free state forms one of its most dramatic inci-
dents. Masters as well as slaves furnish the dra-
matis personal, and due justice is rendered to the
amiable and strong points of southern character.
The story of little Eva, a beautiful child, dying at
an early age, is narrated with literary skill and
feeling.
Many of the scenes of Uncle Tom's Cabin having
been objected to as improbable, the author, in
justification of the assailed portions, published
606
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
A Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin, a collection of
facts on the subject of slavery drawn from south-
ern authorities. These, however, still leave the
question of the probability of Uncle Tom's adven-
tures an open one, the opponents of the book as-
serting that the pecuniary value of his virtues
would have secured a permanent home and kind
treatment to so exemplary a character, without
regard to the confessedly strong feeling of attach-
ment existing in the old settled portions of the
south towards trustworthy family servants.
Uncle Tom was originally published in book
form in two duodecimo volumes. A handsomely
illustrated edition subsequently appeared. The
sale of these editions had, by the close of 1852,
reached to two hundred thousand copies. In Eng-
land twenty editions in various forms, ranging in
price from ten shillings to sixpence a copy, have
been published. The aggregate sale of these up
to the period we have mentioned, is stated by a
late authority* to have been more than a million
of copies. " In France," the Review adds, " Un-
cle Tom still covers the shop windows of the Bou-
levards ; and one publisher alone, Eustace Barba,
has sent out five different editions in different
forms. Before the end of 1852 it had been trans-
lated into Italian, Spanish, Danish, Swedish,
Dutch, Flemish, German, Polish, and Magyar.
There are two different Dutch translations, and
twelve different German ones; and the Italian
translation enjoys the honor of the Pope's prohi-
bition. It has been dramatized in twenty different
forms and acted in every capital in Europe and in
the free states of America."
Soon after the publication of Uncle Tom's Cabin
Mrs. Stowe, in company with her husband and
the Rev. Charles Beeeher, her brother, visited
Great Britain. Her observations were commu-
nicated to the public some time after her return
by the issue, in conjunction with her husband, of
two volumes of travels, Sunny Memories Of Fo-
reign Lands.
The great reputation of her novel, and the sym-
pathy of all classes of the English people with the
views it contained, had secured to the author an
universally favorable reception, and we have con-
sequently much in her volumes of lords and ladies,
but these fortunately do not " all her praise en-
gross," for she has an eye for art, literature, and
humanitarian effort. She expresses her opinion
on art with warmth and freedom, without, how-
ever, always securing the respect of the critical
reader for her judgment.
The Rev. Charles Beeeher contributes his jour-
nal of a tour on the Continent to his sister's
volumes.
VNCT.E TOM IN JIT8 CABIN.
The cabin of Uncle Tom was a small log building,
close adjoining to " the house," as the negro par ex-
cellence designates his master's dwelling. In front it
had a neat garden-patch, where, every summer,
strawberries, raspberries, and a variety of fruits and
vegetables, flourished under careful tending. The
whole front of it was covered by a large scarlet big-
nonia and a native multiflora rose, which, entwisting
and interlacing, left scarce a vestige of the rough logs
to be seen. Here, also, in summer, various brilliant
annuals, such as marigolds, petunias, four-o'clocks,
« Edinburgh Review, April, 1855, p. 293.
found an indulgent corner in which to unfold their
splendors, and were the delight and pride of Aunt
Chloe's heart.
Let us enter the dwelling. The evening meal at
the house is over, and Aunt Chloe, who presided
over its preparation as head cook, lias left to inferior
officers in the kitchen the business of clearing away
and washing dishes, and come out into her own snug
territories, to " get her ole man's supper ;" therefore,
doubt not that it is her you see by the fire, presiding
with anxious interest over certain frizzling items in a
stewpan, and anon with grave consideration lifting
the cover of a bake-kettle, from whence steam forth
indubitable intimations of " something good." A
round, black, shining face is hers, so glossy as to sug-
gest the idea that she might have been washed over
I with white of eggs, like one of her own tea rusks.
Her whole plump countenance beams with satisfac-
tion and contentment from under her well-starched
checked turban, bearing on it, however, if we must
confessMt, a little of that tinge of self-consciousness
which becomes the first cook of the neighborhood, as
Aunt Chloe was universally held and acknowledged
to be.
A cook she certainly was, in the very bone and
centre of her soul. Not a chicken, or turkey, or duck
in the barn-yard but looked grave when they saw
her approaching, and seemed evidently to be reflect-
ing on their latter end ; and certain it wras that she
was always meditating on trussing, stuffing, and
roasting, to a degree that was calculated to inspire
terror in any reflecting fowl living. Her corn-cake,
in all its varieties of hoe-cake, dodgers, muffins, and
other species too numerous to mention, was a sublime
mystery to all less practised compounders ; and she
would shake her fat sides with honest pride and mer-
riment, as she would narrate the fruitless efforts that
one and another of her compeers had made to attain
to her elevation.
The arrival of company at the house, the arrang-
ing of dinners and suppers "in style," awoke all the
energies of her soul ; and no sight was more welcome
to her than a pile of travelling trunks launched on
the verandah, for then she foresaw fresh efforts and
fresh triumphs.
Just at present, however, Aunt Chloe is looking
into the bake-pan ; in which congenial operation
we shall leave her till we finish our picture of the
cottage.
In one corner of it stood a bed, covered neatly with
a snowy spread ; and by the side of it was a piece
of carpeting of some considerable size. On this piece
of carpeting Aunt Chloe took her stand, as being de-
eidedly in the upper watts of life; and it and the
bed by which it. lay, and the whole corner, in fact,
were treated with distinguished consideration, and
made, as far as possible, sacred from the marauding
inroads and desecrations of little folks. In fact, that
corner was the drawing-room of the establishment.
In the other corner was a bed of much humbler pre-
tensions, and evidently designed for u$e. The wall
over the fireplace was adorned with some verj- bril-
liant scriptural prints, and a portrait of General
Washington, drawn and colored in a manner which
would certainly have astonished that hero, if ever he
had happened to meet with its like.
On a rough bench in the corner, a couple of
woolly-headed boys, with glistening black eyes and
fat shining cheeks, were busy in superintending the
first walking operations of the baby, which, as is
usually the case, consisted in getting up on its feet,
balancing a moment, and then tumbling down, — each
successive failure being violently cheered, as some-
thing decidedly clever.
A table, somewhat rheumatic in its limbs, was
HARRIET BEECH ER STOWE.
607
drawn out in front of the fire, and covered with a
cloth, displaying cnps and saucers of a decidedly
brilliant pattern, with other symptoms of an ap-
proaching meal. At this table was seated Uncle
Tom, Mr. Shelby's best hand, who, as he is to be the
hero of our story, we must daguerreotype for our
readers. He was a large, broad-chested, powerfully-
made man, of a full glossy blaek, and a face whose
truly African features were characterized by an ex-
pression of grave and steady good sense, united with
much kindliness and benevolence. There was some-,
thing about his whole air self-respecting arid digni-
fied, yet united with a confiding and humble sim-
plicity.
He was very busily intent at this moment on a
slate lying before him, on which he was carefully and
slowly endeavoring to accomplish a copy of some
letters, in which operation he was overlooked by
young Master George, a smart, bright boy of thir-
teen, who appeared fully to realize the dignity of his
position as instructor. »
" Not that way, Uncle Tom, — not that way," said
he, briskly, as Uncle Tom laboriously brought up the
tail of his g the wrong side out ; " that makes a q,
you see."
" La sakes, now, does it?" said Uncle Tom, looking
with a respectful, admiring air, as his young teacher
flourishingly scrawled <^'s and g'$ innumerable for His
edification ; and then, taking the pencil in his big,
heavy fingers, he patiently re-commenced.
"How easy white folks al'us does things!" said
Aunt Chloe, pausing while she was greasing a griddle
with a scrap of bacon on her fork, and regarding
young Master George with pride. " The way he can
write, now ! and read, too ! and then to come out
here evenings and read his lessons to us, — it's mighty
interestin'!"
" But, Aunt Chloe, I'm getting mighty hungry,"
said George. " Isn't that cake iu the skillet almost
done ?"
" Mose done, Mas'r George," said Aunt Cldoe, lift-
ing the lid and peeping in, — " browning beautiful — ■
a real lovely brown. Ah! let me alone for dat.
Missis let Sally try to make some cake, t'other day ;
jes to lam her, she said. ' 0, go way, Missis,' says
I ; 'it really hurts my feehn's, now, to see good vit-
tles spiled dat ar way ! Cake ris all to one side — no
shape at all; no more than my shoe; — go way!"
And with this final expression of contempt for
Sally's greenness, Aunt Chloe whipped the cover off
the bake-kettle, and disclosed to view a neatly-baked
pound-cake, of which no city confectioner need to
have been ashamed. This being evidently the cen-
tral point of the entertainment, Aunt Chloe began
now to bustle about earnestly in the supper depart-
ment.
" Here you, Mose and Pete ! get out de way, you
niggers ! Get away, Polly honey, — mammy '11 give
her baby somefin by and by. Now, Mas'r George,
you jest take off dem books, and set down now with
my old man, and I'll fake up the sausages, and have
de first griddle full of cakes on your plates in less
dan no time."
" They wanted me to come to supper in the house,"
said George ; " but I knew what was what too well
for that, Aunt Chloe."
" So you did — so you did, honey," said Aunt Chloe,
heaping the smoking batter-cakes on his plate ; " you
know'd your old aunty 'd keep the best for you. * 0,
let you alone for dat ! Go way !" And, with that,
aunty gave George a nudge with her finger, designed
to be immensely facetious, and turned again to her
griddle with great briskness.
" Now for the cake." said Master George, when the
activity of the griddle department had somewhat
subsided ; and, with that, the youngster flourished a
large knife over the article in question.
" La bless you, Mas'r George !" said Aunt Chloe,
with earnestness, catching his arm, " you wouldn't
be for cuttin' it wid dat ar great heavy knife!
Smash all down — spile all de pretty rise of it. Here,
I've got a thin old knife, I keeps sharp a purpose.
Dar now, see ! comes apart light as a feather ! Now
eat away — you won't get anything to beat dat ar."
" Tom Lincon says," said George, speaking with
his mouth full, " that their Jinny is a better cook
than you."
"Dem Lincons an't much count, no way!" said
Aunt Chloe, contemptuously ; " I mean, set along side
our folks. They's 'spectable folks enough in a kinder
plain way ; but, as to gettin' up anything in style,
they don't begin to have a notion out. Set Mas'r
Lincon, now, alongside Mas'r Shelby! Good Lor!
and Missis Lincon, — can she kinder sweep it into a
room like my missis, — so kinder splendid, yer know!
O, go way! don't tell me nothin' of dem Lincons!" —
and Aunt Chloe tossed her head as one who hoped
she did know something of the world.
" Well, though, I've heard you say," said George,
"that Jinny was a pretty fair cook."
" So I did," said Aunt Chloe, — " I may say dat.
Good, plain, common cookin', Jinny'U do; — make a
good pone o' bread, — bile her taters far, — her corn
cakes isn't extra, not extra now, Jinny's corn cakes
isn't, but then they's far, — but, Lor, come to de higher
branches, and what can she do ? Why, she makes
pies — sartin she does; but what kinder crust ? Can
she make your real fleeky paste, as melts in your
mouth, anci lies all up like a puff? Now, I went
over thar when Miss Mary was gwine to be married,
and Jinny she jest showed mede weddin'pies. Jinny
and I is good friends, ye know. I never said nothin' ;
but go long, Mas'r George ! Why, I shouldn't sleep
a wink for a week, if I had a batch of pies like dem
'■ ar. Why, dey wau't no 'count 'tall."
" I Buppose Jinny thought they were ever so nice,"
said George.
" Thought so ! — didn't she? Thar she was, show-
ing 'em, as innocent — ye see, it's jest here. Jinny
dun t know. Lor, the family an't nothing ! She can't
l be spected to know ! 'Tau't no fault o' hern. Ah,
Mas'r George, you doesn't know half your privileges
iu yer family and bringin' up !" Here Aunt Chloe
j sighed, and rolled up her eyes with emotion.
" I'm sure, Aunt Chloe, I understand all my pie
and pudding privileges," said George. " Ask Tom
Lincon if I don't crow over him every time I meet
him."
********
By this time Master George had arrived at that
' pass to which even a boy can come (under uncom-
< mon circumstances), when he really could not eat
another morsel, and, therefore, he was at leisure to
notice the pile of woolly heads and glistening eyes
which were regarding their operations hungrily from
the opposite corner.
" Here, you Mose, Pete," he said, breaking off libe-
ral bits, and throwing it at them; " you want some,
don't you? Come, Aunt Chloe, bake them some
cakes."
And George and Tom moved to a comfortable seat
in the chimney-corner, while Aunt Chloe, after bak-
ing a goodly pile of cakes, took her baby on her lap,
and began alternately filling its mouth and her own,
and distributing to Mose and Pete, who seemed ra-
ther to prefer eating theirs as they rolled about on
the floor under the table, tickling each other! and
occasionally pulling the bnby's toes.
"0! go'long, will ye?" said the mother, giving
now and then a kick, in' a kind of general way, under
608
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
the table, when the movement became too obstrepe-
rous. " Can't 3Te be decent when white folks comes
to see ye ? Stop dat or, now, will ye '< Better mind
yourselves, or I'll take ye down a button-hole lower,
when Mas'r George is gone!"
What meaning was couched under this terrible
threat, it is difficult to say ; but certain it is that its
awful indistinctness seemed to produce very little
impression on the young sinners addressed.
********
" Well, now, I hopes you're done," said Aunt
Chloe, who hod been busy in pulling out a rude box
of a trundle-bed ; " and now, you Mose and you Pete,
get into thar ; for we's goin' to have the meetin'."
" 0 mother, we don't wanter. We wants to sit up
to meetin', — meetin's is so curis. We likes 'em."
"La, Aunt Chloe, shove it under, and let 'cm sit
up," said Master George, decisively, giving a push to
the rude machine.
Aunt Chloe, having thus saved appearances,
seemed highly delighted to push the thing under,
saying, as she did so, " Well, mebbe 'twill do 'em
some good."
The house now resolved itself into a committee of
the whole to consider the accommodations and ar-
rangements for the meeting.
" What we's to do for cheers now, /declare I don't
know," said Aunt Chloe. As the meeting had been
held at Uncle Tom's weekly, for an indefinite length
of time, without any more " cheers," there seemed
some encouragement to hope that a way would be
discovered at present.
" Old Uncle Peter sung both the legs out of dat
oldest cheer, last week," suggested Mose.
"You go long! I'll boun' you pulled 'em out;
some o' your shines," said Aunt Chloe.
" Well, it'll stand, if it only keeps jam up agin d#e
wall !" said Mose.
"Den Uncle Peter mus'n't sit in it, cause he al'ays
hitches when he gets a singing. He hitched pretty
nigh across de room t'other night," said Pete.
" Good Lor! get him in it then," said Mose, " and
den he'd begin, ' Come saints and sinners, hear me
tell,' and den down he'd go," — and Mose imitated
precisely the nasal tones of the old man, tumbling on
the floor, to illustrate the supposed catastrophe.
" Come now, be decent, can't ye?" said Aunt
Chloe ; " an't yer shamed ?"
Master George, however, joined the offender in the
laugh, and declared decidedly that Mose was a
" buster." So the maternal admonition seemed
rather to fail of effect.
" Well, ole man," said Aunt Chloe, " you'll have to
tote in them ar bar'ls."
"Mother's bar'ls is like dat ar widder's, Mas'r
George was reading 'bout in de good book, — dey
never fails," said Mose, aside to Pete.
" I'm sure one on 'em caved in last week," said
Pete, " and let 'em all down in de middle of de sing-
in' ; dat ar was failin', warnt it?"
During this aside between Mose and Pete, two
empty casks had been rolled into the cabin, and being
secured from rolling by stones on each side boards
were laid across them, which arrangement, together
with the turning down of certain tubs and pails, and
the disposing of the rickety chairs, at last completed
the preparation.
"Mas'r George is such a beautiful reader, now, I
know he'll stay to read for us," said Aunt Chloe ;
" 'pears like 'twill be so much more interestin'."
George very readily consented, for your boy is
always ready for anything that makes him of im-
portance.
The room was soon filled with a motley assem-
blage, from the old gray-headed patriarch of eighty
to the young girl and lad of fifteen. A little harm-
less gossip ensued on various themes, such as where
old Aunt Sally got her new red head-kerchief, and
how " Missis was a going to give Lizzy that spotted
muslin gown, when she'd got her new berage made
up;" and how Mas'r Shelby was thinking of buying
a new sorrel eolt, that was going to prove an addi-
tion to the glories of the place. A few of the wor-
shippers belonged to families hard by, who had got per-
mission to attend, and who brought in various choice
scraps 01 information, about the sayings and doings
at the house and on the place, which circulated as
freely as the same sort of small change does in higher
circles.
After a while the singing commenced to the evi-
dent delight of all present. Kot even all the disad-
vantage of nasal intonation could prevent the effect
j of the naturally fine voices, in airs at once wild and
! spirited. The words were sometimes the well-known
. and common hymns sung in the. churches about, and
sometimes of a wilder, more indefinite character,
picked up at camp-meetings.
The chorus of one of them, which ran as follows,
' was sung with great energy and unction: —
Die on the field of battle,
Die on the field of battle,
Glory in my souL
Another special favorite had oft repeated the
words —
O, I'm going to glory, — wont you come along with me ?
Don't you see the angels beck'ning, and a calling me away?
; Don't you see the golden city and the everlasting day ?
There were others, which made incessant mention
of "Jordan's banks," and " Canaan's fields," and the
" New Jerusalem ;" for the negro mind, impassioned
and imaginative, always attaches itself to hymns and
I expressions of a vivid and pictorial nature ; and, as
. they sung, some laughed, and some cried, and some
clapped hands, or shook hands rejoicingly with each
other, as if they had fairly gained the other side of
the river.
Various exhortations or relations of experience
followed, and intermingled with the singii g. One
old gray-headed woman, long past work, but much
revered as a sort of chronicle of the past, rose, and
leaning on her staff, said —
" Well, chil'en! Well, I'm mighty glad to hear ye
all and see ye all once more, 'cause 1 don't know
when I'll be gone to glory; but I've done got ready,
chil'en; 'peal's like I'd got my little bundle all tied
I up, and my bonnet on, jest a waitin' for the stage to
come along and take me home; sometimes, in the
night, I think I hear the wheels a rattlin', and I'm
! lookin' out all the time ; now, you jest be ready too,
for I tell ye all, chil'en," she said, striking her staff
1 hard on the floor, " dat ar glory is a mighty thing !
It's a mighty thing, chil'en, — you don'no nothing
about it, — it's wondtrful." And the old creature sat
down, with dreaming tears, as wholly overcome,
while the whole circle struck up
O Canaan, bright Canaan,
I'm bound for the land of Canaan.
Master George, by request, read the last chapters
of Revelation, often interrupted by such exclama-
j tions as "The safes now!" "Only hear that!"
'• Jest think on't !" " Is all that a eomin' sure
enough ?"
George, who was a bright boy, and well trained in
religious things by his mother, finding himself an
object of general admiration, threw in expositions of
his own, from time to time, with a commendable seri-
ousness and gravity, for which he was admired by
the young and blessed by the old ; and it was agreed,
HARRIET FARLEY; ELIZABETH F. ELLET.
609
on all hands, that " a minister couldn't lay it off
better than he did ;" that " 'twas reely 'raazin' !"
Uncle Tom was a sort of patriarch in religious
matters in the neighborhood. Having naturally an
organization in which the morale was strongly pre-
dominant, together with a greater breadth and cul-
tivation of mind than obtained among his compa-
nions, he was looked up to with great respect, as a
sort of minister among them ; and the simple, hearty,
sincere style of his exhortations might have edified
even better educated persons. But it was in prayer
that he especially excelled. Nothing could exceed
the touching simplicity, the child-like earnestness of
his prayer, enriched with the language of Scripture,
which seemed so entirely to have wrought itself into
his being, as to have become a part of himself, and
to drop from his lips unconsciously ; in the language
of a pious old negro, he " prayed right up." And so
much did his prayer always work on the devotional
feelings of his audiences, that there seemed often a
danger that it would be lost altogether in the abun-
dance of the responses which broke out everywhere
around him.
HAEEIET FARLEY,
Tfie editor of " The Lowell or New England
Offering," in an autobiographic sketch published
in Mrs. Hale's " Woman's Record," gives the fol-
lowing characteristic account of her career : —
" My father is a Congregational clergyman, and at
the time of my birth was settled in the beautiful
town of Claremont, in the state of New Hampshire.
Though I left this place when six years of age, I still
remember its natural beauties, which even then im-
pressed me deeply. The Ashcutney Mountain,
Sugar River, with its foaming falls, the distant hills of
Vermont, all are in my memory. My mother was
deseenrlel from the Moodys, somewhat famous in
New England history. One of them was the eccentric
and influential Father Moody. Another was Hand-
kerchief Moody, the one who wore, so many years,
' the minister's veil' One was the well known
Trustee Moody, of Dumwell Academy, who educated
my grandmother. She was a very talented and
estimable lady.
" My father was of the genuine New Hampshire
stock — from a family of pious, industrious, agricul-
tural people; his brothers being deacons, and some
of his sisters married to deacons. I have not learned
that any of thein ever committed a disgraceful act.
His grandmother was eminent for her medical know-
ledge and skill, and had as mucli practice as is
usually given to a country doctor. His mother was
a woman of fine character, who exerted herself, and
sacrificed much, to secure his liberal education. His
sisters were energetic in their cooperation with their
husbands, to secure and improve homes among the
White and the Green Mountains, and Wisconsin. So
much for progenitors.
" I was the sixth of ten children, and, until four-
teen, hail not that health which promises continued
life. I was asthmatic, and often thought to be in
a consumption. I am fortunate now in the possession
of excellent health, which may be attributed to a
country rearing, and an obedience to physical laws,
so far as I understand them. At fourteen years of
age I commenced exertions to assist in my own
maintenance, and have at different times followed the
different avocations of New England girls. I have
plaited palm-leaf and straw, bound shoes, taught
school, and worked at tailoring ; besides my labors
as a weaver in the factory, which suited me better
than any other.
" After my father's removal to the little town of
vol. ii. — 39
Atkinson, New Hampshire, he combined the labors
of preceptor of one of the two oldest Academies
in the state, with his parochial duties; and here,
among a simple but intelligent people, I spent those
years which give the tone to female character. At
times there was a preceptress to the Academy ; but
it was in the summer, when I was debilitated, and
my lessons were often studied on my bed. 1 learned
something of French, drawing, ornamental needle-
work, and the usual accomplishments — for it was the
design of my friends to make me a teacher — a profes-
sion for which I had an instinctive dislike. But my
own feelings were not consulted. Indeed, perhaps
it was not thought how much these were outraged ;
but their efforts were to suppress the imaginative
and cultivate the practical. This was, undoubtedly,
wholesome discipline ; but it was carried to a degree
that was painful, and droye me from my home. I
came to Lowell, determined that if I had my own
living to obtain, I would get it in my own way ; that
I would read, think, and virite, when I could, without
restraint ; that if 1 did well I would have the credit
of it; if ill, my friends should be relieved from the
blame, if not from the stigma. I endeavored to re-
concile them to my lot, by a devotion of all my spare
earnings to them and their interests. I made good
wages; I dressed economically; I assisted in the
liberal education of one brother, and endeavored to
be the guardian angel of a lovely sister, who, after
many years of feebleness, is now perhaps a guardian
angel to me in heaven. Twice before this had I left
' the mill,' to watch around the death-beds of loved
ones — my elder sister, and a beautiful and promising
brother. Two others had previously died; two
have left their native state for a Texan home. So
you will see that my feelings must have been severely
tried. But all this has, doubtless, been beneficial
to me.
" It was something so new to me to be praised and
encouraged to write, that I was at first overwhelmed
by it, and withdrew as far as possible from the atten-
tions that some of my first contributions to the
' Offering' directed towards me. It was with great
reluctance that I consented to edit, and was quite as
unwilling at first to assist in publishing. But circum-
stances seem to have compelled me forward as a
business woman, and I have endeavored to do my
duty.
" I am now the proprietor of ' The New England
Offering.' I do all the publishing, editing, canvassing,
and, as it is bound in my office, I can in a hurry help
fold, cut covers, stitch, &c. I have a little girl to
assist me in the folding, stitching, (fee. ; the rest, after
it comes from the printer's hand, is all my own work.
I employ no agents, and depend upon no one for
assistance. My edition is four thousand."
The Lowell Offering was commenced in 1841.
In 1848 Miss Farley published a volume chiefly
made up of her contributions to that periodical,
entitled Shells f om the Strand of the Sea of
Genius. Another volume from the various writers
in the same publication was collected by Charles
Knight, in London, and published in one of bis
popular libraries in 1849 — Mind among the
Sp.ndles.
ELIZABETH F. ELLET.
Mr.s. Elizaeetii Fries Ellet was born at Sodns
Point, on Lake Ontario, Few York, in October,
1818. Her maiden name was Lummis. Her fa-
ther was a physician, Dr. William Nixon Lum-
mis, the pupil and the friend of Rush, whom he
strongly resembled in person. He was.of a New
010
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Jersey family, and became one of the pioneers of
Western New York, expending a fortune in im-
provements in the country adjoining Sodus bay,
of which others reaped the advantage. lie was
a man of talent and religious character, and ad-
mired for his social qualities. His second wife,
the mother of our author, was Sarah, the daughter
of Captain John Maxwell, an oflicer in the Ame-
rican army during the Revolutionary war, and
the niece of General "William Maxwell in the same
service.
Mrs. Ellet was educated in English and French
at the female seminary, under the care of Susan
Marriott, an accomplished English Quaker lady,
at Aurora, Cayuga county, New York. She was
early married to Dr. William II. Ellet, who has
occupied the professorship of chemistry at Co-
lumbia College, New York, and in the South Ca-
rolina College at Columbia. In 1849 they came
to resido permanently in New York.
■SJSS/HtL ■
The poetical talent was marked in Mrs. Ellet at
a very early ag.\ She' wrote good verses at fif-
teen, and in 1835 published a volume of poems.
At the same period appeared a tragedy from her
pen entitled Teresa Contarini, founded on a Ve-
netian historic incident, which was performed on
the stage. In 1841 a volume in prose appeared
from her pen, The Characters of Schiller, a cri-
tical essay on the genius of that author, and ana-
lysis of his characters. Scenes in the Life of Jo-
anna of S city, partly historical and partly fanci-
ful ; and a small volume for children, Ramlles
aoont the Country, appeared about the same time.
Mrs. Ellet also, at this period, contributed articles
to the American Quarterly Review, the North
American and the New York Review's, on Italian
and French dramatic and lyric poetry, and wrote
tales and poems for monthly magazines in New
York, Philadelphia, and Charleston. In 184-8 she
published her work, The Women of the American
Revolution, in two volumes, to which a third was
subsequently added. It was an undertaking re-
quiring not only a special sympathy (which Mrs.
Ellet possessed through her family associations)
and literary skill, but much labor and research.
Theso memoirs, which shed so important a light
on the history of the Revolution, were chiefly
compiled from original materials, manuscripts of
the times, or personal recollections of the surviv-
ing friends of the heroines. A companion vo-
lume, The Domestic History of the Revolution, is
a connected narrative exhibiting the life of the
period.
Another collection of memoirs is The Pioneer
Women of the West, v ritten from original mate-
rials. Summer Rambles in tht. West describes a
tour through several of the western states, with a
full description of parts of Minnesota Territory.
She is also the author of a pleasant volume.
Evenings at Woodlawn, a collection of European
legends and traditions ; of Novellettcs of the Mu-
sicians, a series of tales, original and selected from
the German, founded on incidents in the personal
history of artists, and illustrative of their charac-
ter and the style of their works. Her Watching
Sjiirits, an illustrated volume, is an essay on the
presence and agency of spirits in this world, as
described in the Holy Scriptures.
LINKS TO .
Thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me. — Ps. cxix. 75.
Smitten of Heaven — and murmuring 'neath the rod —
Whose days are heavy with their freight of gloom:
Drooping and faint, with eyes
Not yet by Faith unclosed —
Art thou repining that thou stnnd'st apart.
Like the tree lightning-blasted? wrung with pain,
No sympathy can heal —
No time can e'er assuage.
This life to thee is but a sea of woe,
Whose deep unto its deep of sorrow calls :
While others walk a maze
Of flowers, and smiles, and joys!
Look up — thou lone and sorely stricken one!
Look up — thou darling of the Eternal Sire!
More blest a thousand-fold
Than the3' — the proudly gay!
For them earth yields her all of bliss ; — for thee
Kind Heaven doth violence to its heart of love ;
And Mercy holds thee fast,
Fast in her iron bonds — -
And wounds thee lest thou 'scape her jealous care,
And her best gifts — the cross and thorn — bestows,
They dwell within the vale,
Where fruits and flowers abound.
Tliou on affliction's high and barren place;
But round about the mount chariots of fire —
Horses of fire — encamp
To keep thee safe for heaven.
JEDID1AH V. HTJHTIKTGTON.
Mr. Huntixgton" was born in 1814, and educat-
ed as a physician. After practising his profes-
sion for several years, he became, in December,
1839, a candidate for orders in the Protestant
Episcopal Church, and a professor in St. Paul's
College, Flushing. After his ordination lie was
for a short time rector of a church in Middleburg,
Vermont. He then visited Europe, and remained
for several years in Italy. On his return he he-
came a Roman Catholic, but did not enter the
priesthood of that communion. After a residence
of a few years in New York, he removed to Bal-
timore, where he edited a monthly magazine. In
RUFUS WILMOT GRISWOLD.
611
1855 he again removed to St. Louis, and edited a
weekly jonnial, " The Leader," a literary, political,
and family newspaper.
In 1843 he published a volume of Poems, most-
ly of a religious and reflective character, including
several translations from the hymns of the Bre-
viary. His next publication, Alice, or the New
Una, appeared in London, in 1849, during his resi-
dence abroad. It is a singular compound of the
art, the religious and the fashionable novel, and
contained many scenes whose warmth of descrip-
tion laid the work open to censure. Its beauty
of language, and picturesque descriptions of natu-
ral scenery, attracted much attention. It was
reprinted during the same year in the United
States, and, in 1852, appeared in a revised edition
with many judicious alterations. Mr. Hunting-
ton's second novel, The Forest, w.*u published in
1852. It is a continuation of La.ly Alice, the
leading characters being transferred from Europe
to the Adirondack Mountains. The fine scenery
of the region is depicted with beauty, but the
fiction is, like its predecessor, deficient in the vigor-
ous delineation of character.
THE SONG OF THE OLD YEAH.
December 31st, 163S.
Of brethren we six thousand be,
Nor one e'er saw another;
By birth-law dire must each expire
To make way for a brother ;
Old Father Time our common sire,
Eternity our mother.
When we have spent the life she lent,
Her breast we do not spurn ;
The very womb from which we loom,
To it we still return;
Its boundless gloom becomes a tomb
Our shadows to inurn.
In the hour of my birth, there was joy and mirth :
And shouts of gladness filled my ear;
But directly after each burst of laugh
Came sounds of pain and fear ;
— The groans of the dying, the bitter crying
Of those who held them dear.
The regular bent of dancing feet
Ushered my advent in ;
But on the air the voice of prayer
Arose above the din ;
Its accents sweet did still entreat
Pardon for human sin.
As thus began my twelve-months' span
Through the infinite extended;
So ever hath run on my path,
'Twixt joy and grief suspended ;
But chiefly measured by things most treasured,
In death with burdens blended.
The bell aye tolls for departing souls
Of those whom I have slain ;
The ceaseless knell to me doth tell
Each minute of ny reign.
Their bodies left of life bereft.
Would cumber hill and plain.
But I have made, with my restless spade.
Their thirty-million graves;
With constant toil upturning the soil,
Or parting the salt-sea waves,
To find a bed for my countless dead
In the Becret ocean-caves.
By fond hopes blighted, of true vows plighted
Showing the little worth ;
By affections wasted : by joj's scarce tasted,
Or poisoned ere their birth;
I have proved to many, there is not any
Pure happiness on earth.
And prophetic power upon the hour
Of my expiring waits ;
What I have been not enters in
With me the silent gates :
The fruit within its grace, or sin,
For endless harvest waits.
And lo, as I pass with that running glass
That counts my last moments of sorrow.
The tale I tell, if pondered well,
The soul of young hope must harrow ;
For mirrored in me, ye behold what shall be
la the New-Year born to-morrow.
P.UFUS WILMOT GEI3WOLD
Was born in Rutland county, Vermont, Feb. 15,
1815, of an old New England family which con-
tributed some of the earliest settlers to the coun-
try. Much of his early life, as we learn from a
biographical article which originally appeared in
the Knickerbocker Magazine, " was spent in voy-
aging about the world ; before he was twenty
years of age, he had seen the most interesting por-
tions of his own country, and of southern and
central Europe." He afterwards studied divinity
and became a preacher of the Baptist denomina-
tion. He is chiefly known to the public, however,
through his literary productions. He became
early connected with the press; was associated
in the editorship of the New Yorker, the Brother
Jonathan, and New World newspapers, and other
journals in Boston and Philadelphia'. In 1842,
he was the editor of Graham's Magazine, which
he conducted with eminent success, drawing to
the work the contributions of some of the best
authors of the country who found liberal remu-
neration, then a novelty in American literature,
from the generous policy of the publisher.
In 1850, Mr. Griswold projected The Interna-
tional Monthly Magazine, five volumes of which
were published by Messrs. Stringer and Town-
612
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
send of New-York. Like all of his undertakings
of this character, it was liberally devoted to the
notice and support of American authors, with
whom Mr. Griswold has constantly maintained
an extensive personal acquaintance.
His most prominent relations of this kind, how-
ever, have been through his series of books, The
Poets and Poetry of America, the first edition of
which appeared in 1842; The Prose Writers of
America, which was first published in 1846;
and the Female Poets of America, in 1849. They
were the first comprehensive illustrations of
the literature of the country, and have exerted
an important influence through their criticisms,
and on the reputation of the numerous authors
included, in their reception at home and abroad.
Mr. Griswold is also the author of a volume,
77;e Poets and Poetry of England in the Nine-
teenth Century, in similar style with the Ameri-
can series, and has edited an octavo volume, The
Sacred Poets of England and America.
In 1847, he was engaged in Philadelphia in the
preparation of two series of biographies, Washing-
ton and the Generah of the American Revolution,
and Napoleon and the Marshals of the Empire.
Mr. Griswold, among other illustrations of
American history and society, is the author of an
interesting appendix to an edition of D'Israeli's
Curiosities of Literature, entitled The Curiosities
of American Literature. In 1842, he published
in New York a volume on an excellent plan,
worthy of having been continued, entitled The
Biographical Annual.
Among other productions of his pen should be
mentioned an early volume of Poems in 1841 ;
a volume of Sermons, and a Discourse in 1844,
on The Present Condition of Philosophy.
His latest publication is, The Republican Court,
or American Society in the Days of Washington,
a costly printed volume from the press of the Ap-
pletons, in 1854. On the thread of the domestic
life of Washington, Mr. Griswold hangs a social
history of the period, which he is thus enabled to
sketch in its leading characteristics in the north-
ern, middle, and southern states ; the career of
the great founder of the Republic, fortunately for
the common sympathy of the whole, having been
associated with all these elements of national life.
The book is full of interesting matter from the
numerous memoirs and biographies, is illustrated
by a number of portraits of the more eminent la-
dies of the time, and has been well received by
the public.
Dr. Griswold is at present engaged on a revi-
sion of his larger works on American literature,
which have passed through numerous editions
with successive improvements.
BENJAMIN DAVIS WINSLOW
Was born in Boston, February 13, 1815. His
early years were passed at home, at the residence
of Gen. William Hall, at Boston, and with the
Rev. Samuel Bipley at Waltham, where he re-
ceived his first instructions in Latin. He was
prepared for Harvard under the tuition of Mr. D.
G. Ingraham, of Boston, received his degree at
this college in 1835, entered the General Theolo-
gical Seminary of the Protestant Episcopal Church
at New York, pursued the usual term of study,
and was ordained Deacon in 1838, by his friend
Bishop Doane of New Jersey, to whom he became
assistant minister of St. Mary's Church, Burling-
ton. The brief remaining portion of his life was
passed in this service. He died November 21.,
1839.
A memorial volume of his Sermons and Poeti-
cal Remains, in an octavo volume, was prepared
by Bishop Doane, entitled The True Catholic
Churchman, in his Life and in his Death. The
sermons are earnest doctrinal compositions, writ-
ten with ease and elegance. The poems, many
of which are devoted to sacred church associa-
tions, are all in a truthful and fervent vein, with
a happy facility of execution, and on the score
both of taste and piety are well worthy to be as-
sociated with the kindred compositions of the
author's friends, Croswell and Doane.
THOUGHTS FOR THE CITY.
Out on the city's hum!
My spirit would flee from the haunts of men
To where the woodland and leafy glen
Are eloquently dumb.
These dull brick walls which span
My daily walks, and which shut me in ;
These crowded streets, with their busy din —
They tell too much of man.
Oh ! for those dear wild flowers,
Which in their meadows so brightly grew,
Where the honey-bee and blithe bird flew
That gladdened boyhood's hours.
Out on these chains of flesh 1
Binding the pilgrim who fain would roam,
To where kind nature hath made her home,
In bowers so green and fresh.
But is not nature here ?
From these troubled scenes look up and view
The orb of day, through the firmament blue,
Pursue his bright career.
Or, when the night-dews fall,
Go watch the moon with her gentle glance
Flitting over the clear expanse —
Her own broad star-lit halL •
Mortal the earth may mar,
And blot out its beauties one by one ;
But he cannot dim the fadeless sun,
Or quench a single star.
And o'er the dusky town.
The greater light that ruleth the day,
And the heav'nly host, in their bright array
Look gloriously down.
So, 'mid the hollow mirth,
The din and strife of the crowded mart ;
We may ever lift up the e3Te and heart
To scenes above the earth.
Blest thought, so kindly given !
That though he toils with his boasted might,
Man cannot shut from his brothers sight
The things and thoughts of Heaven I
T. B. THOEPE.
T. B> Thorpe was born at Westfield, Mass., March
1, 1815. His father Thomas Thorpe, a man of
literary genius, was a clergyman, who d.ed in
New York city at the early age of twenty -six.
His son lived in New York till his transfer to the
Wesleyan University at Middletown, Connecticut,
T. B. THORPE.
613
where he passed three years; but his health fail-
ing him, in 1836 he left Connecticut for the
south, where he resided in Louisiana to the year
1853. Inearly life he displayed a taste forpainting.
His picture of " the Bold Dragoon," illustrative
of Irving's story, was executed in his seventeenth
year, and exhibited at the old American Acade-
my of Fine Arts. Like Irving himself, he left
the pencil for the pen, and turned his talent for
grouping and sketching to the kindred province
of descriptive writing. He soon became known
as the author of a series of western tales, adopt-
ing the name of Tom Owen, the Bee-Hunter, the
title of one of his first stories, the subject of
which was an eccentric personage — to whom the
author has given a wild flavor of poetry — a "bee-,
hunter " by profession, with whom he fell in
shortly after his removal to the south.
,y
*(0. £4S./"?
For many years Mr. Thorpe was an editor of
one of the leading political newspapers in New
Orleans, devoted to the interests of Henry Clay.
In this enterprise, notwithstanding his fine litera-
ry tact, political knowledge, and untiring energy,
he was compelled, for lack of pecuniary resources,
to leave the field to others. On the announce-
ment of the war with Mexico, he distinguished
himself by his zeal in raising volunteers; and as
bearer of dispatches to General Taylor he was
not only early in the field, but had a most excel-
lent position to witness the scenes of war. His
letters, published in a New Orleans paper, were
the first that reached the United States. The
descriptions of the American camp, the country,
and the Mexican people, were extensively pub-
lished. Immediately after General Taylor took
possession of Metimoras, he prepared, in 1846, a
volume entitled Our Army on the Eio Grande,
succeeded by Our Army at Monterey. These
two volumes, according to their extent, have fur-
nished most of the materials that have been
wrought into the subsequent histories relating to
the events which they describe.
Mr. Thorpe bore an active part in the election
of General Taylor to the Presidency. He took
the field as a speaker, and became one of the most
popular and efficient orators of the South-West.
His speeches were marked by their good sense,
brilliancy of expression, and graphic humorous
illustration.
In 1853, Mr. Thorpe removed to New York
with his family, and among other literary enter-
prises prepared a new collection of his sketches, '-
which were published by the Appletons, with the'
title, The Hive of the " Bee-Hunter" This mis-
cellany of sketches of peculiar American charac-
ter, scenery, and rural sports, is marked by the
simplicity and delicacy with which its rough hu-
mors are handled. The style ,s easy and natural,
the sentiment fresh and unforced, showing a fine
sensibility. In ''the Bee-Hunter," there is a vein
of poetry, which has been happily caught by
Darley in the illustration which accompanies the
sketch in the volume. In proof of the fidelity of
Mr. Thorpe's hunting scenes, there is an anecdote
connected with some of his writings. His taste
for life in the back -woods, the hunter's camp fire,
and the military bivouac, shown in his published
sketches, had attracted the attention in England
of Sir William Drummond Stewart, an eccentric
Scotch nobleman, who projected and accomplished
a tour in the Rocky Mountains. On his arrival
at New Orleans, he endeavored to secure Mr.
Thorpe as a member of his party ; au offer which
could not be conveniently accepted. While Sir
William was absent, however, Mr. Thorpe wrote
a series of letters, purporting to give an account
of the " Doings of the Expedition," which were
published in this country and England as genuine,
Sir William himself pronouncing them the most
truthful of all that were written, all the while
supposing they were from some member of his
party.
Mr. Thorpe is a contributor to Harpers' Maga-
zine, where he has published several descriptive
articles on southern life and products, and a sketch,
" The Case of Lady Macbeth Medically Con-
sidered."
TOM OWEN, THE BEE-IIUNTEE,
As a country becomes cleared up and settled, bee-
hunters disappear, consequently they are seldom or
never noticed beyond the immediate vicinity of their
homes. Among this backwoods fraternity, have
flourished men of genius in their way, who have
died unwept and unnoticed, while the heroes of
the turf, and of the chase, have been lauded
to the skies for every trivial superiority they
may have displayed in their respective pursuits.
To chronicle the exploits of sportsmen is commend-
able— the custom began as early as the days of the
antediluvians, for we read, that " Nimrod was a
mighty hunter before the Lord." Familiar, how-
ever, as Nimrod's name may be — or even Davy Crock-
ett's— how unsatisfactory their records, when we
I reflect that Tom Owen, the bee-hunter, is compara-
tively unknown?
Yes, the mighty Tom Owen has " hunted," from
the time that lie could stand alone until the present
time, and not a pen has inked paper to record his ex-
| ploits. " [Solitary and alone " lias he traced his
game through the mazy labyrinth of air ; marked, I
hunted; — I found; — I conquered; — upon the car-
casses of his victims, and then marched homeward
with his spoils ; quietly and satisfiedly, sweetening
014
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
his path through life ; and, by its very obscurity,
adding the principal element of the sublime.
It was on a beautiful southern October morning,
at the hospitable mansion of a friend, where I was
staying to drown dull care, that I first had the plea-
sure of seeing Tom Owen.
He was, on this occasion, straggling up the rising
ground that led to the hospitable mansion of mine
host, and the difference between him and ordinary
men was visible at a glance; perhaps it showed it-
self as much in the perfect contempt of fashion that
he displaj'ed in the adornment of his outward man,
as it did in the more elevated qualities of his mind,
which were visible in his face. His head was
adorned with an outlandish pattern of a hat — his
nether limbs were encased by a pair of inexpressi-
bles, beautifully fringed by the brier-bushes through
which they were often drawn ; coats and vests, he
considered as superfluities ; hanging upon his back
were a couple of pails, and an axe in his right hand,
formed the varieties that represented the corpus of
Tom Owen.
As is usual with grent men, he had Ins followers,
who, with a eourtier-hke humility, depended upon
the expression of his face for all their hopes of
success.
The usual salutations of meeting were suffi-
cient to draw me within the circle of his influence,
and I at once became one of his most ready fol-
lowers.
" See yonder ! " said Tom, stretching his long
arm into infinite space, " see yonder — there's a
bee."
We all looked in the direction he pointed, but that
was the extent of our observations.
" It was a fine bee," continued Tom, " black body,
yellow legs, and went into that tree," — pointing to a
towering oak blue in the distance. " In a clear day
I can see a bee over a mile, easv !"
When did Coleridge " talk" like that? And yet
Tom Owen uttered such a sayi? g with perfect ease.
After a variety of meanderings through the thick
woods, and clambering over fences, we came to our
place of destination, as pointed out by Tom, who
selected a mighty tree coutainirig sweets, the posses-
sion of vvhich the poets have likened to other sweets
that leave a sting behind.
The felling of a mighty tree is a sight that calls
up a variety of emotions ; and Tom's game was
lodged in one of the finest in the forest. But "the
axe was laid at the root of the tree," which in Tom's
mind was made expressly for bees to build their
nests in, that he might cut them down, and obtain
possession of their honeyed treasure. The sharp
axe, as it played in the hands of Tom, was replied to
by a stout negro from the opposite 6ide of the tree,
and their united strokes fast gained upon the heart
of their lordly victim.
There was little poetry in the thought, that long
before this mighty empire of States was formed,
Tom Owen's "bee-hive" had stretched its brawny
arms to the winter's blast, and grown green iu the
summer's sun.
Yet sueh was the case, and how long I might
have moralized I know not, had not the enraged
buzzing about nry eai-s satisfied me that the occu-
pants of the tree were not going to give up their
home and treasure, without showing considerable
practical fight. No sooner had the little insects satis-
fied themselves that they were about to be invad-
ed, than they began, one after another, to descend
from their airy abode, and fiercely pitch into our
faces; anon a small company, headed by an old vete-
ran, would charge with its entire force upon all
parts of our body at once.
It need not be said that the better part of valor
was displayed by a precipitate retreat from such
attacks.
In the midst of this warfare, the tree began to
tremble with the fast repeated strokes of the axe,
and then might have been seen a "bee-line" of
stingers precipitating themselves from above, on the
unfortunate hunter beneath.
Now it was that Tom shone forth in his glory, for
his partisans — like many hai gers-on about great
men, began to desert him on the first symptoms of
danger; and when the trouble thickened, they, one
and all, took to their heels, and left only our hero
and Sambo to fight the adversaries. Sambo, how-
ever, soon dropped his axe, and fell into all kinds of
contortions ; first he would seize the back of his
neck with his hands, then his legs, and yell with
pain. " Never holler till you get out of the woods,"
said the sublime Tom, consolingly; but writhe the
: negro did, until he broke, and left Tom " alone in
i his glory."
Cut, — thwack! sounded through the confused
hum at the foot of the tree, marvellously reminding
me of the interruptions that occasionally broke in
'■ upon the otherwise monotonous hours of my school-
boy days.
A sharp crackirg finally told me the chopping
was done. and. looking aloft, I saw the mighty tree
i balancing in the air. Slowly, and majestically, it
bowed for the first time towards its mother earth, —
gaining velocity as it descended, it shivered the
trees that interrupted its downward course, and
falling with thundering sounds, splintered its
mighty limbs, and buried them deeply in the
; ground.
The sun for the first time in at least two ■eentu-
| ries, broke uninterruptedly through the chasm
made in the forest and shone with splendor upon
the magnificent Tom, standing a conqueror among
his spoils.
As might be expected, the bees were very much
astonished and confused, and by their united voices
proclaimed death, had it been in their power, to all
their foes, not, of course, excepting Tom Owen him-
self. But the wary hunter was up to the tricks of
his trade, and, like a politician, he knew how easily
an enraged mob could be quelled with smoke ; and
smoke he tried, until his enemies were completely
destroyed.
We, Tom's hangers-on, now approached his trea-
sure. It was a rich one, and, as he observed, " con-
tained a rich chance of plunder." Nine feet, by
measurement, of the hollow of the tree were full, and
this afforded many pails of pure honey.
Tom was liberal, and supplied us all with more
than wc wanted, and "toted," by the assistance of
Sambo, his share to his own home, soon to be de-
voured, and soon to be replaced by the destruction
of another tree, and another nation of bees.
Thus Tom exhibited within himself, an unconquer-
able genius which would have immortalized him,
had he directed it in following the sports of Long
Island or New Market.
We have seen the great men of the southern turf
glorying around the victories of their favorite sport
: — we have heard the great western hunters detail
the soul-stirring adventures of a bear-hunt — we
have listened with almost suffocating interest, to the
tale of a Nantucket seaman, while he portrayed the
; death of a mighty whale — and we have also seen
I Tom Owen triumphantly eng gcd in a bee-hunt —
j we beheld and wondered at the sports of the turf —
I the field — and the sea— because the objects acted on
j by man were terrible, indeed, when their instincts
were aroused.
GEORGE EDWARD ELLIS.
611
But, in the bee-hunt of Tom Owen, anil its con-
summation,— the grandeur visible was imparted by
the mighty mind of Tom Owen himself.
GEOEGE EDWAED ELLIS
Was born in Boston in 1815. lie became a gra-
duate of Harvard in 1833; studied at the Divinity
school at Cambridge, and was ordained in Charles-
town in 1838 as successor to the Rev. (now Presi-
dent) James Walker, in the ministry of the Har-
vard church.
He has been one of the editors of the Christian
Register, the religious paper of the Massachusetts
Unitarians, and is now associated with the bril-
liant pulpit orator, the Rev. Dr. George Putnam,
in the editorship of the Christian Examiner His
reading, scholarship, literary readiness, vivacity,
and good English style, admirably qualify him for
the work of periodical literature.*
Mr. Ellis is the author of three volumes of bio-
graphy in Mr. Sparks's American series : the lives
of John Mason — the author of the history of the
Pequot war — Anne Hutchinson, and William
Penn.
His contributions to periodical literature are
numerous, embracing many articles in the New
York Review, the North American, and the
Christian Examiner. He has frequently delivered
occasional discourses and orations, and his pub-
lished addresses of this kind would make a large
volume. Mr. Ellis is an active member of the
Massachusetts Historical Society, of the practical
working of which body he lately gave a pleasant
account in a communication to the fellow New
York society, of which he is a corresponding
member. In his religious views, Mr. Ellis belongs
to the class of Unitarians who earnestly advocate
the supernatural authority of the gospel, and
resist the assaults of the new school of rational-
ists ; while in respect to practical reforms, he has
sometimes taken quite bold ground with tiie pro-
gressive party.
ORGAN MELODIES.t
There is a sort of instinctive feeling within us that
an organ should be reserved for only sacred uses.
The bray of the martial trumpet seems akin to the
din and clangor of a military movement. The piano
is the appropriate ornament and instrument of the
household room of comfort and domestic delight.
Lesser instruments, with their gay tones, and their
lighter lessons for the heart, adapt themselves to the
unstable emotions of the hour — in revelry, excite-
ment, or gratification. To each of them there is a
* We may here glance at the history of the Examiner. It
grew out of the Christian Disciple, n monthly publication com-
menced by the Rev. Noah Woicester, under the auspices of
Dr. Charming and others, in 1813. At the completion of its
sixth volume, in 1S18, Dr. Worcester surrendered it to the
Eev Henry Ware, Jr., who published the work every two
months for five years. In 1S24, passing into the hands of the
Eev. ■). G. Palfrey, its title was changed to the Christian
Examiner. Ho was its editor for two years, when it was con-
ducted from 1S2IS to 1S31 by Mr. Francis Jenks. In the latter
year it was transferred to the Eev. James Walker and the
Eev. Francis William Pitt Greenwood. It was edited by the
former six years, Mr. Greenwood's health not allowing him
to labor upon it, when Dr. Walker was succeeded by the !
Eev. William Ware, and the latter in turn, after a lew years,
by the Eev. Messrs. Lamsoa and Gannett, from whose hands it
passed to the care of Messrs. Putnam and Elds. — Sidney Wil-
lardH Memorial!, ii 231-2.
t From a discourse at Charlestown — The Consecration of an
Organ. 1S52.
season, and from our youth to our age these varied
instruments may minister to us, according to their
uses and our sensibilities. The harp which the
monarch of Israel swept as the accompaniment to
his divine lyrics; the timbrel which Miriam, the
sister of Aaron, took in her hand when site raised
the glad pasan — "Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath
triumphed gloriously ;" the silver trumpets which
the priests blew to proclaim the great Jewish festi-
vals; the horn and the psaltery, the sackbut and
the dulcimer, which lifted up the anthems of the
Tabernacle or the Temple-worship, were not without
a sacred influence, helping with their strings or pipes
the effect of holy song. But the religious sentiment
is the largest that fills the heart of man; its sweep
and compass are the widest, and in the course of our
own short lives that religious sentiment will range
like "a sung of degrees" over all the varying
emotions of the soul, engaging every tone to give it
utterance.
"Praise the Lord with gladness," is the key-note
of one Psalm. " Out of the depths have I cried to
Thee, 0 Lord," is the plaintive moan of another.
"Sing unto the Lord, all the earth," is the quicken-
ing call to a general anthem. " Keep silence before
Me, O Islands ! " stills the trembling spirit into a
low whisper of its fear. " The Lord is my Shep-
herd," is the beautiful pastoral lyric for the serene
life of still waters. "lie bowed the heavens and
came down, he did fly upon the wings of the wind ;
the Lord also thundered in the heavens, and he shot
out lightnings from the sky" — this is the Psalm for
the stormy elements or a troubled heart. "O
Lord, rebuke me not in thine auger ! " is now our
imploring cry; " Though he slay me, yet will I trust
in Him," is now the boast of the resigned spirit.
" The lines are fallen to me in pleasant places," is
the bright lyric of the heart that finds its joy on
earth. " O, that I had wings like a dove, for
then would I flee away and be at rest ! " is the bur-
den of the heart when it sighs and moans over the
wreck of mortal delights. " Thou hast made man
but a little lower than the angels ! " is the tone
which befits tiie fueling of our human dignity.
" Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all
generations : thou earnest us away as with a flood,"
is the mingled note of melancholy and faith with
which we contemplate our failing years, and yield
up one after another from our earthly fellowship to
the summons of the overliving God — the everlasting
Refuge.
Thus, through the whole range of emotions and
sensibilities of the heart, in its thrills and wails, in
its elation and its gloom, in penitence, remorse, sub-
mission and hope, in gratitude, aspiration, or high
desire — that heart varies its note, but sincerity will
make music of all its utterances in psalm or dirge.
Precious, precious beyond all our terms of praise,
are those religious songs and hymns which come to
us from the prophetic lips once touched with the
fire of God. If they are dear to us, how dear must
they have been to those who sung them in their
majestic and solemn Hebrew tones, beneath the
cedars that bowed, and the hills that melted, and in
the corn-fields that laughed when the song of praise
arose to God. How many glad harvests with their
laden vintages and garners, how many rejoicing
scenes of happiness, and how many ancient sorrows
born of our inevitable lot on the earth, stand for
ever painted and rehearsed in the Psalms of David.
Over no single scene or incident in Jewish history
are we so completely engaged in sympathy with
their sad fortunes as in one in which the tender
melodies of sacred song, and the holy uses of music,
bring them touchiugly before us. When they were
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAS' LITERATURE.
weary captives in pagan Babylon, their tearful
hearts turned back to their beloved Jerusalem:
" By the rivers of Babylon there we sat down : yea,
we wept when we remembered Zion. We hanged
our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.
For there they that carried us away captive required
of us a song ; and they that wasted us required of us
mirth, saying, ' Sing us one of the songs of Ziou.'
How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange
land ? " That burst of sadness is of itself a fond and
precious song.
CYEFS A. BAETOL,
A colleague of Dr. Lowell in the ministry of the
West church, Boston, is a graduate of Bowdoin of
1832, and of the Harvard divinity school in 1835.
He has published numerous occasional sermons,
and is the author of two volumes, The Christian
Spirit and Life and Tlie Christian Body and
Form. He brings in these discourses a somewhat
elaborate literary style, uniting metaphysical in-
sight to poetical sentiment, to the usual exhorta-
tions of the pulpit. He has in preparation a vo-
lume of meditative essays suggested by a recent
European tour. A miniature book of selections
from his writings has been made, entitled Grains
of Gold.
ALLSTON'S BELSIIAZZAr's FEAST — FEOM A DISCOURSE ON PEE-
FECTION.
In yonder village, a painter paces, in quiet medi-
tation, his little room. Beautiful pictures has he
sent forth to charm every beholder ; but he alone is
not satisfied. He draws some grand theme from
the mighty chronicle of the Bible. He would turn
the words of the rapt prophet into colors. He would
hold up to the eyes of men a scene of the divine judg-
ments, that should awe down every form of sin, and
exult every resolve of holiness in their hearts. The
finished result of his labors is shortly expected. But
the idea of perfection has seized with an overmaster-
ing grasp upon him, and it must give him pause.
How shall that awful writing of doom be pencilled
on the plastered wali? How shall that finger, as it
were of a man's hand, and yet the finger of God, be
revealed ? How shall those voluptuous forms be-
low, that have been all relaxed witli the wine and
the feast and the dalliance of the hour, be represent-
ed iu their transition so swift to conscience-stricken
alarm, prostrate terror, ineffectual rage, and palsied
suspense, as they are confronted by those flaming
characters of celestial indignation, which the sooth-
sayers, with magic scrolls, and strange garb, and
juggling arts, can but mutter and mumble over, and
only the servant of Almighty God calmly explain ?
How shall it be done according to the perfect pat-
tern shown in the Mount of Revelation of God's
word? The artist thinks and labors, month by
month, and year after year. The figures of Baby-
lonish king and consort, of Hebrew seer and maiden,
and of Chaldee magician, grow into expressive por-
traits under his hand. The visible grandeur of God
the Judge, over against the presumptuous sins of
man, approaches its completeness. The spectator
would now be entranced with the wondrous deline-
ation. But the swiftly conceiving mind which shapes
out its imaginations of that dread tribunal, so sud-
denly set up in the hall of revelry, is not yet con-
tent. The idea of perfection, that smote it, smites
it again. The aspiration after a new and higher
beauty, that carried it to one point, lifts it to an-
other, and bears it far aloft, in successive flights, ever
above its own work. Yet still, on those few feet of
canvas, the earnest laborer breathes out, for the best
of a lifetime, the patient and exhaustless enthusiasm
of his soul. He hides the object, dear as a living
child to its mother, from every eye, and presses on
to the mark. If he walks, he catches a new trait of
expression, some new line of lustrous illumination, to
transfer to this painted scripture which he is com-
posing. If he sleeps, some suggestion of an improve-
ment will steal even into his dreams. In weariness
and in sickness, he still climbs slowly, painfully, to
his task. In absence, his soul turns back, and makes
all nature tributary to his art. And on his expiring
day he seizes his pencil to strive, by another stroke
still, after the perfection which flies before him, and
leaves his work as with the last breath of his mouth,
and movement of his hand, upon it, to show, amid
unfinished groups, and the measured lines for a new
trial, that, if absolute perfection cannot be reached
here on earth, yet heights of splendor and excel-
lence can be attained, beyond all the thoughts of
him whom the glorious idea has never stirred. What
a lesson for us in our moral and religious struggles!
What a rebuke for our idle loiterings in the heaven-
ward way! What a shame to our doublings about
that perfection to which God and Christ and apos-
tles call !
GEOBGE WASHINGTON GEEENE.
Geoege Washington Greene, the son of N. R.
Greene, and grandson of Major-General Greene of
the Revolutionary army, was born at East Green-
wich, Kent county, Rhode Island, April 8, 1811.
He entered Brown University in 1824, but was
obliged to leave the institution in his junior year
in consequence of ill-health. He next visited Eu-
rope, where, with the exception of a few short
visits home, he remained until 1847. In 1837 he
received the appointment of United States consul
at Rome, an office which he retained until his re-
call by President Polk in 1845. On his return
he bec::me professor of modern languages in Brown
University. In 1852 he removed to the city of
New York, where he has since resided.
During Mr. Greene's residence in Italy he de-
voted much attention to the collection of mate-
rials for a history of that country from the fall of
the Western Empire in 476 to the present time,
and was about preparing the first volume of his
proposed work for the press when he was com-
pelled to lay aside the undertaking in consequence
of the failure of his eyesight.
In 1835 he published an article in the North
American Review, the first of a long series of
contributions to that and other critical journals of
the country. A portion of these papers have
been collected in a volume with the title Histori-
cal Studies, published by G. P. Putnam in 1850.
The titles of these are Petrarch, Machiavelli, The
Reformation in Italy, Italian Literature in the first
half of the Nineteenth Century, Mauzoni, The
Hopes of Italy, Historical Romance in Italy, Li-
braries, Verazzano, and Charles Edward. It will
be seen from the enumeration that the subjects
treated of are, with two exceptions, drawn from
Italian history or literature. The exceptions are
such but in part, for in all discourse of libraries
the ancient home of learning must be prominent,
and the Italian burial-place of the exiled Stuarts
has probably contributed much to the perpetuity
of their reputation.
During the last year of his residence in Romo'
GEORGE WASHINGTON GREENE.
617
Mr. Greene prepared a life of his grandfather, Ge-
neral Greene, for Sparks'a American Biography.
Since his return to the United States he has been
engaged in arranging the papers of General Greene
for publication, and in the preparation of a more
extended biography to accompany the work. The
first volume of this important contribution to
American history will appear during the winter
of 1855-fi, and will contain a new and elaborate
life of the General. The remaining six will be
occupied with his official papers, public and pri-
vate letters, etc. On the completion of this work
it is Mr. Greene's intention to resume his History
of Italy. In 1854 he edited an edition of the
Works of Addison, in five volumes.
BOTTA, THE HISTORIAN.
The same causes which concurred in giving him
bo decided a taste for the best writers of his native
tongue, led him to view with particular fondness the
school in which they had been formed. His pro-
found knowledge of Latin favored the cultivation of
this partiality, and enabled him to study at the very
sources of classic eloquence. Hence, when he took
up his pen for the composition of history, it was
with a mind warm from the meditation of Livy, of
Tacitus, and of those who, by treading closely in
their footsteps, have formed the most durable school
of modern history. Thus the form of his works, na-
turally,— we had almost said, necessarily, — became
classic. His narrative is arranged and conducted
with consummate art. Sketches, portraits, and full
descriptions are disposed at proper intervals, accord-
ing to the nature and importance of the incident or
of the person. If there be an important question to
weigh, he puts it in the form of a debate, and makes
you a listener to the discussions of the actual heroes
of the scene. It is thus that he brings you to the
grave deliberations of the Venetian senate, or placing
you, as it were, in some hidden recess, discloses to
you the midnight counsels of a band of conspirators.
And often, so powerful is the charm of his eloquence,
you feel excited, chilled, terror-struck, — moved, in
Bhort, by turns, with all the feelings that such a scene
is calculated to awaken.
His narrations, if compared with those of the great
historians of autiquity, will be found to possess two
of the highest qualities of which this kind of writing
is susceptible ; clearness and animation. He never
wrote until he had completed his study of the event ;
and then, by the assistance of a must exact and re-
tentive memory, he wrote it out just in the order in
which it arranged itself in his head. He was thus
enabled to give his narrative that appearance of
unity of conception, which it is impossible to com-
municate, unless where the mind has, from the very
first, embraced the subject in its full extent. The
glow of composition, moreover, was never interrupt-
ed, and he was free to enter with the full force of his
feelings into the spirit of the scenes he was describ-
ing. Hence many who deny him others of the higher
qualities of an historian, allow him to be one of the
most fascinating of narrators.
His descriptions have more of the warmth of poe-
try in them than those of any other modern histo-
rian with whose works we are acquainted. Here,
indeed, he seems to be upon his own ground ; and,
whether he describe a battle-field, a midnight as-
sault, a sack, the siege or the storming of a city or
of a fortress, — the convulsions, in short, of man or
of nature herself, — he is everywhere equally master
of his subject. His eye seems to take in the whole
at a glance, and seize instinctively upon those points
which are best calculated to characterize the scene.
If he leaves less to the reader than Tacitus or Sal-
lust, the incidents that he introduces are so well
chosen, that they seize forcibly upon the imagina-
tion, and never fail to produce their full effect. His
description of the flight of the French exiles from
Savoy, of the passages of the Alps by Bonaparte and
by Maedonald, of the sack of Pavia, of the siege of
Famagosta, and of the earthquake in Calabria, may
be cited as equal to anything that ever was written.
Read the taking of Siena by Cosimo the First. Yon
are moved as if you were on the spot, and were wit-
nessing with your own eyes that scene of horror.
You can see the band of exiles worn down, emaciat-
ed, by watching and by want. The whole story of
the past is graven upon their deathlike countenances.
As the melancholy train moves slowly onward, sighs,
tears, ill suppressed groans force their way. They
touch even the hearts of the victors. Every hand
is stretched out to succor and to console. But grief
and hardship have done their work. Their file3
were thin, when they passed for the last time the
gate of their beloved home ; but, ere they reach the
banks of the Arbia, many a form has sunk exhausted
and death-struck by the way. And, to complete the
picture, he adds one little touch, which we give in
the original, for the force of the transposition would
be lost in English. " Sapevano bene di aver perduto
una patria, ma se un' altra ne avrebbero trovata, nol
sapevano."
The portraits of Botta are not equal to the other
parts of his writings. No writer ever described
character by action better than he ; but, in the unit-
ing of those separate traits which constitute indi-
vidual character, and those slight and delicate shades
which diversify it, he often fails. The same may be
said of his views of the general progress of civiliza-
tion. He never, indeed, loses sight of this capital
point ; and some of his sketches, such for example aa
the whole first book of his "History of Italy from
1789," are admirable ; but the development of the
individual and of society, and their mutual and re-
ciprocal action, are not kept so constantly in view,
and made to march on with the body of the narra-
tive, with all that distinctness and precision, which
we have a right to expect from so great a writer.
The moral bearing of every event, and of every
character, is, on the contrary, always placed in full
relief. Here his judgment is never at fault; and
the high and the low, the distant and the near, are
alike brought with stern impartiality to answer for
their deeds at the tribunal of historical morality.
"0 si," he cries, addressing himself, after the rela-
tion of one of the most horrid acts ever perpetrated,
to those who flatter themselves with the hope that
their greatness will always prove a sufficient screen
from the infamy that they deserve, " infamativi pure
co' fatti, che la storia vi infamera co' detti." And
nowhere is the goodness of his own heart more ap-
parent than in the delight with which he dwells
upon those few happy days which sometimes break
in like an unexpected gleam of sunshine upon the
monotonous gloom of history ; entering into all the
minuter details, and setting off the event and its
hero, by some well-chosen anecdote or apposite re-
flection.
Of his style we have, perhaps, already said enough.
Purity of diction, richness, variety, and an almost
intuitive adaptation of construction and of language
to the changes of the subject, are its leading charac-
teristics. The variety of his terms is wonderful ;
and no one, who has not read him with attention,
can form a correct idea of the power and inexhaus-
tible resources of the Italian. A simple narrator, an
exciting orator, soft, winning, stern, satirical at will,
consummate master of all the secrets of art, he seems
CIS
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
to us to have carried many parts of historical com-
position to a very high pitch of perfection ; and, if
in some he appear less satisfactory, it is because he
falls below the standard that we have formed from
his own writings, rather than any that we have de-
rived from those of others.
ANDEEW JACKSON DOWSING
"Was born at Newburgh, in the Hudson High-
lands, October 30, 1S15. His father was a
nurseryman at that place, and died in the year
1822. ' The family were in humble circumstances,
and Downing's education was confined to the
teaching of the academy at Montgomery, near his
native town. At the age of sixteen he joined his
brother in the management of his nursery. He
formed soon after the acquaintance of the Baron
de Liderer, the Austrian Consul-General, and
other gentlemen possessed of the fine country
estates in the neighborhood, and began to write
descriptions of the beautiful scenery about him,
in the New York Mirror and other journals. In
June, 1838, he married the daughter of J. P. De
Wint, Esq., his neighbor on the opposite side of
the Hudson. His first architectural work was
the construction of his own house, an elegant
Elizabethan cott.ige. In 1841, he published his
Treatise on the Theory and Practice of Landscape
Gardening, adapted to North America, with a
vieio to the Improvement of Country Residences,
with Remarks on Rwal Architecture. It was
highly successful, and orders for the construction
of houses and decoration of grounds followed
orders for copies to his publishers. He next
' published in 1845, The Fruits and Fruit
Trees of America. In 1846 he was invited to
become the editor of the Horticulturist, a small
monthly magazine published in Albany. He
accepted the charge, and wrote an essay a month
for it, until the close of his life.
In 1849 he added Additional Kotes and Hints
to Persons about Building in this country, to an
American reprint of Wightwick's "Hints to
Young Architect^."
In 18D0 he visited England for the purpose of
obtaining a competent a-sistant in the large
architectural business which was pressing upon
him. He remained only during the summer,
visiting with great delight those perfect examples
of his art, the great country seats of England.
In the same year appeared his Architecture of
Country Homes ; including Designs for Cottages,
Farm-hwso>, and Y.llas. In 1851 he was com-
missioned by President Fillmore to lay out and
plant, in pursuance of an act of Congress, the public
grounds in the city of Washington, lying near the
"White House, Capitol, and Smithsonian Institution.
He was actively employed in this and other pro-
fessional labors of a more private character, when
on the 27th of July he embarked with his wife
on board the steamboat Henry Clay for the city, on
his way to Newport. As they pioceeded down the
river it was soon found that the boat was racing
with it- rival the " Armenia." It was too common
a nuisance to excite alarm, until the boats were
near Yonkers, when the Henry Clay was dis-
covered to be on fire. In passing from the lower
to the upper deck Mrs. Downing was separated
by the crowd from her husband, and saw him no
more, until his dead body was brought to their
home the next day. He was seen by one of the
passengers throwing chairs from the upper deck
of the boat, to support those who had leaped
overboard, and a little after struggling in the
water, with others clinging to him. He was
heard to utter a prayer, and seen no more. His
Rural Eisays were collected and published in
1853, with a well written and sympathetic
memoir by George W. Curtis, and " A Letter to
his Friends," by Miss Bremer, who was Mr.
Downing's guest during u portion of her visit to
this country, and a most enthusiastic admirer of
the man and his works.
Downing's exertions have undoubtedly exercised
a great and salutary influence on the taste of the
community. His works, in which he lias freely
availed himself of those of previous writers on
the same topic, have been extensively read, and
their suggestions have been realized on many an
acre of the banks of his native Hudson, and other
favorite localities. His style as an essayist was,
like that of the man, pleasant, easy, and gentle-
manly.
EDMUND FLAGG.
Edmund Fi.agg is descended from an old New
England family, and the only son of the late
Edmund Flagg, of Chester, N. H. He was born
in the town of Wiscasset, Maine, on the twenty-
fourth day of November, 1815. He was gradu-
ated at Bowdoin in 1835, and immediately after
went to the West with his mother and sister,
passing the winter at Louisville, where he taught
the classics to a few boys, and was a frequent
contributor to Prentice's ''Louisville Journal."
He passed the summer of 1836 in wandering over
the prairies of Illinois and Missouri, writing
Sketches of a Traveller for the " Louisville
Journal," which were afterwards published in a
work entitled The Far West.
During the succeeding fall and winter, Mr.
Flagg read law with the Hon. Hamilton R. Gam-
ble, now Judge of the Supreme Court of Missouri,
and commenced practice in the courts. In 1838,
he edited the " St. Louis Daily Commercial Bul-
letin," and during that fall published The Far
West in two volumes, from the press of the
Harpers. In December, he became connected
with George D. Prentice, Esq., in the editorship
of "The Louisville Literary Kews-Letter." In
the spring of 1840, in consequence of ill health,
he accepted an invitation to practise law with
the Hon. Sargent S. Prentiss, of Yiekshurg,
Miss., a resident of that place.
In 1842, Mr. Flagg conducted the " Gazette"
published at Marietta, Ohio, and at the same
time wrote two novels — Carrero, or The
Prime Minister, and Francis of Valois, which
were published in New York. In 1844-5,
he conducted the " St. Louis Evening Gazette ;"
and, for several years succeeding, was " Reporter
of the Courts" of St. Louis County. In the
meantime, he published several prize novels,
among which were The Howard Queen,
Blanche of Artois, and also several dramas,
EICHARD H. DANA, Jr.
619
successfully produced in the theatres of St. Louis,
Louisville, Cincinnati, and New York.
In the spring of 1848, Mr. Flagg went out as
Secretary to the Hon. Edward A. Hannegan,
American Minister to Berlin. The appointment
afforded him an opportunity to travel over Eng-
land, Germany, and France. On his return, he
resumed his residence and the practice of the
law at St. Louis. In 1850, he received the
appointment of consul for the Port of Venice,
under the administration of President Taylor,
lie visited England and Wales, travelled through
central Europe to Venice, and entered upon the
duties of his consulate, corresponding in the
meantime with several of the New York Journals.
In the fall of 1851, he visited Florence, Rome,
Naples, and the other Italian cities, and in
November embarked at Marseilles for New
Orleans. On his arrival, he proceeded to St.
Louis, and took chargeof a democratic newspaper
at that place.
In the following year, his last work was pub-
lished in New York, in two volumes, entitled
Venice, The City of the Sea. It comprises the
history of that capital from the invasion by
Napoleon, in 171)7, to its capitulation to Radetzky,
after its revolution, and the terrible siege of 1848
and '49. A third volume, to be entitled North
Italy since 1849, is, we understand, nearly ready
for publication.
In 1868 ami 1854, Mr. Flagg contributed a
number of articles illustrating the cities and
scenery of the West to the United .States Illus-
trated, published by Mr. Meyer of New York.
Mr. Flagg has also written
pieces for various magazines.*
EICHAED H. DANA, Jr.,
The author of " Two Years before the Mast," was
born at Cambridge in 1815. He is the son of
Richard II. Dana the poet. In his boyhood, he
had a strong passion for the sea, and had he con-
sulted his inclination only, would have entered the
Navy. Influenced by the advice of his father,
he chose a student's life at home, and entered
Harvard. Here he was exposed to one of those
difficulties which college faculties sometimes put
in the way of the students by their mismanage-
ment. There was some misconduct, and an effort
was made to compel one of the class to witness
against his companion. Dana, as one of the pro-
minent rebels, was rusticated. As it was on a
point of honor, it was no great misfortune to him,
the less as he passed into the family, and under the
tutorship of the Rev. Leonard Woods, at Ando-
ver, now the president of Bowdoin — with whom
he enjoyed the intimacy of a friend of rare men-
tal powers and scholarship. On returning to
Cambridge, an attack of measles in one of the
college vacations injured his eye-sight so material-
ly, that he had to resign his books. For a reme-
dy, he thought of his love of the sea, and resolved
to rough it on a Pacific voyage as a sailor, though
he had every facility for ordinary travel and ad-
venture.
On the 14th of August, 1834, he set sail accord-
ingly in the brig Pilgrim from Boston, for a voy-
1 The Nativo Poets of Maino.
age round Cape Horn to the western coast of
North America ; performed his duty throughout
with spirit, while the object of the voyage was
accomplished in the traffic for hides, little think-
ing while toiling on the cliffs and in the unsteady
anchorages of California of the speedy familiarity
whic.i his countrymen would have with the re-
gion, and returned in the ship in September, 1836,
to the harbor of Boston.
fmL^tt.
In the year 1840, he published an account of
this adventure in the volume Two Years before
the Must, a Personal Narrative of L'fe at Sea*
Fortius, he received for the entire copyright but
two hundred and fifty dollars, a fact which shows
the very recent low standard of American litera-
ry property. A publisher now could hardly ex-
pect so lucky a windfall. It was immediately
successful, passing through numerous editions, be-
ing reprinted in London, where the British Admi-
ralty adopted it for distribution in the Navy, and
translated into several of the languages of the
Continent, including even the Italian. It has been
quoted, too, with respect for its authority on
naval matters, by Lords Brougham and Carlisle in
the House of Lords.
The work, written out from his journal and
notes of the voyage, was undertaken with the
idea of presenting the plain reality of a sailor's
life at sea. In this, its main object, it has been
eminently successful. It has not only secured
the admiration of gentle readers on shore, but, a
much rarer fortune, has been accepted as a true
picture by Jack himself. A copy of the book is
no unusual portion of the scant equipment of his
chest in the forecastle. Its popularity is further
witnessed by the returns of the cheap lending
libraries in England, where it appears high on
the list of the books in demand. The cause is
obvious. The author is a master of narrative,
and the story is told with a thorough reality. It
is probably the most truthful account of a sailor's
* Harpers' Family Library, Now York.
020
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
life at sea ever written. Its material is actual
experience, and its style the simple straight-for-
ward language of a disciplined mind, which turns
neither to the right nor to the left from its ohject.
It is noticeable, that in this universally read book,
the writer uses the technical language of the ship ;
so that the account is to that extent sometimes
unintelligible. On this, he makes a profound re-
mark. " I have found," says he, " from my own
experience, and from what I have heard from
others, that plain matters of fact in relation to
customs and habits of life new to us, and descrip-
tions of life under new aspects, act upon the inex-
perienced through the imagination, so that we are
hardly aware of our want of technical knowledge."
It has, too, this advantage. A technical term can
be explained by easy reference to a dictionary ; a
confused substitute for it may admit of no ex-
planation. Good sense and good humor sum up
the enduring merits of this book. It is life itself,
— a passage of intense unexaggerated reality.
Mr. Dana had, after his return from abroad,
entered the senior class at Harvard, from which
institution he was graduated in 1837, when he
pursued his studies at the Law-School under
Judge Story and Professor Greenleaf. His profi-
ciency in these preparatory studiesMn moot courts
and the exercises of his pen, showed his acute
legal mind, and when he began to practise law
his success was rapid. He was aided in maritime
cases by the reputation of his book ; while he
employed his influence to elevate a much abused
branch of practice, though in Boston it takes a
higher rank from being pursued in the United
States Courts. His practice is also extensive in
the State Courts.*
In 1850, Mr. Dana edited, with a preliminary
preface, Lectures on Art and Poems, hy Wash-
ington Allston.i
His Seaman 's Manual is a technical dictionary
of sea terms, anil an epitome of the laws affecting
the mutual position of master and sailor. It is
reprinted in England, and in use in both coun-
tries as a standard work.
Of late, Mr. Dana has been prominently be-
fore the public as a member of the Free-Soil
party of Massachusetts, and in his vigorous op-
position to the Fugitive Slave Law. His speech
in the case of the negro Anthony Burns, in 1854,
is noticeable, not only for its acute analysis of the
evidence offered, but for its clear picturesque
statement. The life-like character of some of its
descriptions — though no personal remarks were
made on any individual — inspired a cowardly,
brutal street attack, in a blow struck at his head
by a slung shot, which, had it varied a little,
would have proved fatal.
In a later case, an argument before the Supreme
Court of Maine, at Bangor, July 22, 1854, in an
action brought by a naturalized citizen of the
Roman Catholic faith, for injuries in the removal
of his child front the public school, in consequence
of the parents' rejection of the ordinary version of
the Bible read there, and consequent interference
with the school regulations, Mr. Dana has pro-
* The account of Dana in "Livingston's American Lawyers.*'
Part iv. June 1S52, contains references to his important cases
rip to the time when it was written.
t New York, Baker and Scribner, 1850.
nounced not merely an eloquent, but an able,
legal and philosophical argument in defence of
the superintending school committee, and of the
accepted translation of the Scriptures. His argu-
ment was sustained by the judgment of the court.
In 1853, Mr. Dana was prominently engaged in
the State Convention of Massachusetts. His
course there, in the discussion of topics of enlarg-
ed interest, determined his rank in the higher
walk of his profession.
We are enabled on this point to present ade-
quate authority in a letter on the sul ject from a
leader in the Convention, the Hon. Rufus Choate.
Boston, Sept. 29, 1854
diaries Scribner, Esq.
Sib. — I received some time since an inquiry respect-
ing the position occupied by Mr. Dana in the Con-
vention for revising the constitution of Massachu-
setts; to which I would have made an immediate
reply, but for an urgent engagement. "When I was
relieved from that, 1 unfortunately had overlooked
your letter, which I have only just now recovered.
The published debates of that body indicate quite
well, though not adequately, the space he filled in
the convention. He took a deep interest in its pro-
ceedings ; attended its sessions with great punctual-
ity, and by personal effort and influence, and occa-
sional very effective speech, had a large share in
doing good and resisting evil. He was classed with
the majority in the body, consisting in a general way
of those friendly to its convocation, and friendly to
pretty extended and enterprising schemes of change ;
hut on some fundamental questions he differed de-
cidedly front them, and upon one of these — that con-
cerning the tenure of judicial office — he displayed
conspicuous ability and great zeal, and enforced with
persuasive and important effect the soundest and
most conservative opinions. In general, there, as in
all things, and in all places, he was independent,
prompt, and firm ; and was universally esteemed not
more for his talent, culture, and good sense, than for
his sincerity and honor. I differed often from him,
but always with pain, if not self-distrust, with no
interruption of the friendship of many years.
I am very truly,
Your serv't,
Rufus Cno.vrE.
An article by Mr. Dana, on the Memoir of the
Rev. Dr. William Croswell, whom he had defend-
ed in an able and eloquent speech on an Ecclesi-
astical trial in the North American Review
for April, 1854, may be mentioned for its feeling
and judicious estimate of a man to whom the Re-
viewer stood in the relations of friend and parish-
ioner.
Mr. Dana is married to a grand-daughter of
the Rev. James Marsh. His residence is at Cam-
bridge, in the vicinity of the College.
HOMEWARD BOUND — FROM TWO TEARS BEFORE THE MAST.
It is usual, in voj-ages round the Cape from
the Pacific, to keep to the eastward of the Falkland
Islands ; but as it had now set in a strong, steady,
and clear south-wester, with every prospect of its
lasting, and we had had enough of high latitudes,
the captain determined to stand immediately to the
northward, running inside of the Falkland Islands.
Accordingly, when the wheel was relieved at eight
o'clock, the order was given to keep her due north,
and all hands were turned up to square awny the
•yards and make sail. In a moment the news ran
RICHARD H. DANA, Jr.
C21
through the ship that the captain was keeping her
off, with her nose straight for Boston, and Cape
Horn over her taffrail. It was a moment of enthu-
siasm. Every one was on the alert, and even the
two sick men turned out to lend a hand at the hal-
yards. The wind was now due south-west, aud
blowing a gale to which a vessel close-hauled could
have shown no more than a single close-reefed
sail ; but as we were going before it, we could carry
on. Accordingly, hands were sent aloft, and a reef
shaken out of the top-sails, and the reefed fore-sail
set. When we came to mast-head the top-sail
yards, with all hands at the halyards, we struck up
" Cheerily, men," with a chorus which might have
been heard half way to Staten Land. Under her
increased sail, the ship' drove on through the water.
Yet she could bear it well ; and the Captain sang
out from the quarter-deck — " Another reef out of
that fore top-sad, and give it to her!" Two hands
sprang aloft ; the frozen reef-points and earings
were cast adrift, the halyards manned, aud the sail
gave out her increased canvass to the gale. All
hands were kept on deck to watch the effect of the
change. It was as much as she could well carry,
and with a heavy sea astern, it took two men at
the wheel to steer her. She flung the foam from
her bows ; the spray breaking aft as far as the gang-
way. She was going at a prodigious rate. Still,
everything held. Preventer braces were reeved and
hauled taut: tackles got upon the backstays; and
each thing done to keep all snug aud strong. The
captain walked the deck at a rapid stride, looked
aloft at the sails, and then to windward ; the mate
stood in the gangway, rabbi.-. g his hands, and talk-
ing aloud to the ship — "Hurrah, old bucket! the
Boston girls have got hold of the tow-rope I" and
the like; and we were on the forecastle, looking to
see how the spars stoo 1 it, and guessing the rate at
which she was going, — when the captain called out
— " Mr. Brown, get up the top mast studding-sail !
What she can't carry she may drag!" The mate
looked a moment ; but he would let no one be before
him in daring. He sprang forward, — "Hurrah,
men! rig out the top-mast studding-sail boom! Lay
aloft, aud I'll send the rigging up to you!" — We
sprang aloft into the top; lowered a girt-line down,
by which we hauled up the rigging ; rove the tacks
and halyards ; ran out the boom aud lashed it fast,
and sent down the lower halyards, as a preventer.
It was a clear starlight nigiit, cold and blowing ;
but everybody worked with a will. Some, indeed,
looked as though they thought the ' old man' was
mad, but. no one said a word. We had had a new
top-mast studding-sail made with a reef in it, — a
thing hardly ever heard of, and which the sailors
had ridiculed a good deal, saying that when it was
time to reef a studding-sail, it was time to take it
in. But we found a use for it now; for, there being
a reef in the top-sail, the studding-sail could not be
set without one in it also. To be sure, a studding-
sail with reefed top-sails was rather a new thing ;
yet there was some reason in it, for if we carried
that away, we should lose only a sail and a boom ;
but a whole top-sail might have carried away the
mast and all.
While we were aloft, the sail had been got out,
bent to the yard, reefed, and ready for hoisting.
Waiting for a good opportunity, the halyards were
manned and the yard hoisted fairly up to the blocks,
but when the mate came to shake the catspaw out
of the downhaul, and we began to boom-end the
sail, it shook the ship to her centre. The boom
buckled up aud beat like a whip-stick, and we
looked every moment to see something go ; but,
being of the short, tough upland spruce, it bent like
whalebone, and nothing could break it. The car-
penter said it was the best stick he had ever seen.
The strength of all hands soon brought the tack to
the boom-end, and the sheet was trimmed down, and
the preventer aud the weather brace hauled taut
to take off the strain. Every rope-yarn seemed
stretched to tiie utmost, and every thread of can-
vass; and with this sail added to her, the ship
sprang through the water like a thing possessed.
The sail being nearly all forward, it lifted her out
of the water, aud she seemed actually to jump from
sea to sea. From the time her keel was laid, she
had never been so driven; aud had it been life or
death with every one of us, she could not have borne
another stitch of canvass.
Finding that she would bear the sail, the hands
were sent below, and our watch remained on deck.
Two men at the wheel had as much as they could
do to keep her within three points of her course,
for she steered as wild as a young colt. The mate
walked the deck, looking at the sails, and then over
the side to see the foam fly by her, — slapping his
hands upon his thighs and talking to the ship —
"Hurrah, you jade, you 've got the scent! — you
know where you're going '" And when she
leaped over the seas, and almost out of the water,
and trembled to her very keel, the spars and masts
snapping and creaking — "There she goes! — There
she goes — handsomely ! — As long as she cracks she
holds!" — while we stood with the rigging laid
down fair for letting go, and ready to take in sail
and clear away if anything went. At four bells we
hove the log, and she was going eleven knots fairly ;
and had it not been for the sea from aft which sent
the chip home, and threw her continually off her
course, the log would have shown her to have been
going much faster. I went to the wheel with a
young fellow from the Kennebec, who was a good
helmsman : and for two hours we had our hands
full. A few minutes showed us that our monkey-
jackets must come off; and cold as it was, we stood
in our shirt-sleeves in a perspiration; and were glad
enough to have it eight bells and the wheel relieved.
We turned in aud slept as well as we could, though
the sea made a constant roar under her bows,
and washed over the forecastle like a small cata-
ract.
At four o'clock we were called again. The same
sail was still on the vessel, and the gale, if there was
any change, had increased a little. No attempt was
made to take the studding-sail in : and, indeed, it
was too late now. If we had started anything to-
ward taking it in, either tack or halyards, it would
have blown to pieces, and carried something away
with it. The only way now was to let everything
stand, and if the gale went down, well and good ;
if uot, something must go — the weakest stick or rope
first — and then we could get it in. For more than
an hour she was driven on at such a rate that she
seemed actually to crowd the sea into a heap before
her, and the water poured over the sprit-sail yard
as it would over a dam. Towards daybreak the
gale abated a little, and she was just beginning
to go more easily along, relieved of the pressure,
when Mr. Brown, determined to give her no respite,
and depending upon the wind's subsiding as the sun
rose, told us to get along the lower studding-sail.
This was an immense sail, and held wind enough to
last a Dutchman a week, — hove-to. It was soon
ready, the boom topped up, preventer guys rove,
and the idlers called up to man the halyards; yet
such was still the force of the gale, that we were
nearly an hour setting the sail ; carried away the
outhaul in doing it, and came very near snapping
off the swinging boom. No sooner was it set than
622
CYCLOPAEDIA OP AMERICAN LITERATURE,
the ship tore on ngain like one that was mad, and
began to steer as wild as a hawk. The men at the
wheel were purring and blowing at their work, and
the helm was going hard up and hard down, con-
stantly. Add to this, the g:ile did not lessen as the
day come on, but the sun rose in clouds. A sudden
lurch threw the man from the weather wheel across
the deck and against the side. The mate sprang to
the wheel, and the man, regaining his feet, seized
the spokes, and they hove the wheel up just in time
to save her from broaching to, though nearly half the
6tuilding-sail went under water; and as she came to
the boom stood up at an angle of forty-five degrees.
She had evidently more on her than she could bear ;
yet it was in vain to try to take it in — the clewline
was not strong enough ; and they were thinking of
cutting away, when another wide yaw and a come-
to snapped the guys, and the swinging boom came
in with a crash against the lower rigging. The out-
haul block gave way, and the top-mast studding-sail
boom bent in a manner which I never before supposed
a stick could bend. I had my eye on it when the
guys parted, and it made one spring and buckled up
so as to form nearly a half circle, and sprang out
again to its shape. The clewline gave way at the
first pull ; the cleat to which the halyards were be-
layed was wrenched off, and the sail blew round the
spiit-sail yard and head guys, which gave us a bad
job to get it in. A half hour served to clear all
away, and she was suffered to drive on with her
top-mast studding-sail set, it being as much as she
could stagger under.
During all this day and the next night we went on
under the same sail, the gale blowing with undi-
minished force ; two men at the wheel all the time;
watch and watch, and nothing to do but to steer and
look out for the ship, and be blown along; — until
the noon of the next day —
Sunday, July 24rA, when we were in latitude
50° 27' S., longitude 62° 13' W., having made four
degrees of latitude in the last twenty-four hours.
Being now to the northward of the Falkland Islands,
the ship was kept off, north-east, for the equator;
and with her head for the equator, and Cape Horn
over her taffrail, she went gloriously on ; every
heave of the sea leaving the Cape astern, and every
hour bringing us nearer to home, and to warm
weather.
THE EKGLIBH BIBLE.*
This is the common English Bible, which has al-
ways been used. It is not a "Protestant Bible."
Great portions of the translation were made by men
in the bosom of the General Church, before the Re-
formation, by Wickliffe, Tyndale, Coverdale, and
Matthew. Testimony to its accuracy has been borne
by learned men of the Roman Church. Leddes calls
it "of all versions the most excellent for accuracy,
fidelity, and the strictest attention to the letter of
the text;" and Selden calls it " the best version in
the world." As a well of pure English undefiled, as
a fountain of pure idiomatic English* it has not its
equal in the world. It was fortunately — may we
not without presumption say providentially — trans-
lated at a time when the English language was in
its purest state. It has done more to anchor the
English language in the state it then was than all
other books together. The fact that so many mil-
lions of each succeeding generation, in all parts of
the world where the English language is used, read
the same great lessons in the same words, not only
* From the argnmcDt in the school case before the Supreme
Court of Maine.
keeps the language anchored where it was in its
j best state, but it preserves its universality, and frees
it from all material provincialisms and patois, so
that the same words, phrases, and idioms are used
in London, New York, Sau Francisco, Australia,
China, and India. To preserve this unity and stead-
fastness, the Book of Common Prayer has done
much; Shakespeare, Milton, and Bunyan have done
much ; but the English Bible has done tei.-fold more
than they all.
From the common English Bible, too, we derive
our household words, or phrases and illustrations,
the familiar speech of the people. Our associa-
tions are with its narratives, its parables, its his-
j tories, and its biographies. If a man knew the
Bible in its original Greek and Hebrew by
heart, and did not know the common English ver-
l sion, he would be ignorant of the speech of the
j people. In sermons, in public speeches, from the pul-
] pit, the bar, and the platform, would come allusions,
1 references, quotations — that exquisite electrifying by
conductors, by which the heart of a whole people is
touched by a word, a phrase, in itself nothing, but
everything in its power of conducting — and all thi3
would be to him an unknown world. Ko greater
wrong, intellectually, could be inflicted on the chil-
dren of a school, nye, even on the Roman Catholic
children, than to bring them up in ignorance of the
English Bible. As well might a master instruct his
pupil in Latin, and send him to spend his days
among scholars, and keep him in ignorance of the
words of Virgil and Horace, and Cicero and Terence
and Tacitus. As a preparation for life, an acquain-
tance with the common English Bible is indispen-
sable.
*********
If the Bible is not read, where so well can the
principles of morality and all the virtues be taught?
" How infinitely superior," says Maurice, " is a gos-
pel of facts to a gospel of notions! " How infinitely
superior to abstract ethics are the teachings of the
narratives and parables of the Bible! What has
ever taken such a hold on the human heart, and so
influenced human action ? The story of Jacob and
Esau, the unequalled narrative of Joseph and his
brethren, Abraham and Isaac, Absalom, Naaman the
Syrian, the old prophet, the wild, dramatic poetical
histories of Elijah and Elisha, the captivities of the
Jews, the episode of Ruth, unsurpassed for simple
i beauty and pathos, and time would fail me to tell
j of Daniel. Isaiah, Samuel, Eli, and the glorious com-
pany of the apostles, the goodly fellowship of the
I prophets, and the noble army of martyrs. Where
[ can a lesson of fraternity and equality be struck so
l deeply into the heart of a child as by the parable of
i Lazarus and Dives? How can the true nature and
I distinctions of charity be better expounded than by
j the parables of the widow who east her mite into
the treasury, and the woman with the alabaster box
: of precious ointment? Can the piodigal son, the
I unjust steward, the lost sheep, ever be forgotten ?
j Has not the narrative of the humble birth, the pain-
ful life, the ignominious death of our Lord, wrought
; an effect on the world greater than any and all lives
ever wrought before ? even on those who doubt the
miracles, and do not believe in the mystery of the
Holy Incarnation, and the glorious Resurrection and
Ascension.
Remember, too, we beseech you, that it is at the
school alone that many of these children can read or
hear these noble teachings. If the book is closed to
them there, it is open to them nowhere else.
Nor would I omit to refer to the reading of the
Bible as a part of the education of the fancy and
imagination. "Whatever slight may be thrown npon
ANNA CORA HOWATT.
these facilities by men calling themselves practical
men, they are powerful agents in the human system
which no man can neglect or abuse with impunity.
Preoccupy, preoccupy the minds of the young with
the tender, the beautiful, the rhythmical, the magni-
ficent, the sublime, which God in his bounty, and
wisdom too, has poured out so profusely into the
minds of his evangelists and prophets ! Nowhere
can be (bund such varieties of the beautiful and sub-
lime, the magnificent and simple, the tender and
terrific. And all this is brought to our doors and
offered to our daily eye. If the mind of the youth,
girl, and boy is not preoccupied by what is moral,
virtuous, and religious, the world is ready to attack
the fancy and imagination with all the splendor and
seductions of se:ise and sin. Their minds will have
the food for imagination and fancy, and if they are
not lei to the Psalms, and Isaiah, and Job, and the
Apocalypse, and the narratives and parables, they
will find it in Shelley, Byron, Rousseau, and George
Sand, and the feebler and more debased novels of
the modern press of France.
ANNA CORA MOW ATT.
Anna Coka., the daughter of Samuel G. Ogden, a
New York merchant, was born in Bordeaux,
France, during her father's residence in that city.
Her early years were passed in a fine old chateau
in its neighborhood, called La Castagne. One of
its apartments was fitted up as a theatre, in which
the numerous children of the family, of which the
future Mrs. Mowatt was the tenth, amused them-
selves with dramatic entertainments, for which
several of them evinced decided talent. The
family removed a few years after to New York.
While yet a school girl, Anna, in her fifteenth
year, became the wife of Mr. James Mowatt, a
lawyer of New York. The story of her first
acquaintance with her lover, who soon began to
escort her to and from school, gallantly bearing
her satchel, and the courtship and run-away match
which speedily followed, are very pleasantly told
in the lady's autobiography. The only reason for
the elopement being the unwillingness of the couple
to wait until the lady had passed seventeen sum-
mers, they soon received the paternal pardon, and
retired to a country residence at Flatbush, Long
Island. Here the education of the " child-wife,"
as she was prettily styled, was continued by the
husband, several years the senior. Some plea-
sant years were passed in Sunday-school teach-
ing, fortune-telling at fancy fairs, "shooting
swallows on the wing," in sportsman tramps
through the woods, private theatricals, and the
composition of an epic poem, Pelayo, or the
Oavern of Comidonga, in five cantos, which was
published by the Harpers, and followed by asatire
entitled Reviewers Reviewed, directed against the
critics who had taken the liberty to cut up the
poem. 15 >th appeared as the work of "Isabel."
Mrs. Mowatt's health failing, she accompanied
a newly married sister and brother in a tour to
Europe. She wrote a play, Guhara, or the
Persian Slane, during her absence, had appropriate
scenes and dresses made in Paris for its represen-
tation, and soon after her return produced the
piece with great applause at a party at -her resi-
dence, in honor of her father's birthday.
Meanwhile Mr. Mowatt had taken part in the
speculations of the day, and a commercial revulsion
occurring, was " utterly ruined" — a weakness in
the eyes preventing him from resuming his
profession of the law.
023
old
(^t^UU^oy^y^^^)
The elder Vandenhoff had just before mot with
great success in a course of dramatic readings, and
the wife, casting about for ways and means of sup-
port, determined to bring her dramatic talents
into account in this manner. She gained her
husband's consent with some difficulty, and, pre-
ferring the verdict of a stranger audience, gave
her first reading at Boston, and with decided suc-
cess. She soon after appeared in New York,
where she read to large audiences, but the tacit
disapproval of friends and the exertions required
brought on a fit of sickness, from which she
suffered for the two following years.
She next, her husband having become a pub-
lisher, turned her attention to literature, and
wrote a number of stories for the magazines with
the signature of -"Helen Berkley." These were
followed by a longer story, The Fortune Hunter,
and by the five act comedy of Fashion, which was
written for the stage, and produced at the Park
Theatre, March, 1845. It met with success there
and at theatres in other cities, and emboldened its
author, forced by the failure of her husband in the
publishing business, to contribute to their joint
support, to try her fortune as an actress. She
made her first appearance on the classic boards of
the Park Theatre, June, 1845, as Pauline in the
Lady of Lyons, and played a number of nights
with such approval that engagements followed in
other cities, and she became one of the most suc-
cessful of " stars." She appeared in her own play
of Fashion, and in 1847 wrote and performed a new
five act drama, Armani.
In 1847 Mrs. Mowatt visited England with her
husband, and made her first bow to an English
audience in the month of December, at Manchester.
She was successful, and remained in England
several years.
In February, 1851, Mr. Mowatt died. After a
temporary retirement, his widow went through a
round of farewell performances, and returned in
July to her native land. In August she appeared
G24
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
at Niblo's Garden, and after a highly successful
engagement, made a brilliant farewell tour through
the Union prior to her retirement from the stage
at New York, in 1854. A few days afterwards she
was married to Mr. William F. Ritchie, a gentle-
man of Richmond, Va.
In 1854 Mrs. Mowatt published the Autobio-
graphy of an Actress, or Eight Years on the
Stage, a record of her private and professional
life to that date.
Nay, rail not at Time, though a tyrant he be,
And say not lie cometh, colossul in might,
Our beauty to ravish, put pleasure to flight,
And pluck away friends, e'eu as leaves from the
tree ;
And say not Love's torch, which like Vesta's should
burn,
The cold breath of Time soon to ashes will turn.
You call Time a robber ? Nay, he is not so, —
"While Beauty's fair temple he rudely despoils,
The mind to enrich with its plunder he toils ;
And, sowed in his furrows, doth wisdom not
grow?
The magnet 'mid stars points the north still to view ;
So Time 'mong our friends e'er discloses the true.
Though cares then should gather, as pleasures flee
by,.
Though Time from thy features the charm steal
away,
He'll dim too mine eye, lest it see them decay ;
And sorrows we've shared, will knit closer love's
tie:
Then I'll Inugh at old Time, and at all he can do,
For he'll rob me in vain, if he leave me but you !
MAET E. HEWITT.
Mary E. Moore was born in Maiden, Massachu-
setts. After her father's death her mother re-
moved to Boston, where the daughter remained
until her marriage with the late Mr. James L.
Hewitt. She has since resided in the city of New
York. In 1845 Mrs. Hewitt published Songs of our
Land and Other Poems, a selection from her con-
tributions to various periodicals. In 1850 she
edited The Gem of the Western World, a holiday
volume, and The Memorial, a volume of contribu-
tions by the authors of the day, designed as a mark
of respect to the memory of Mrs. Osgood. Mrs.
Hewitt was lately married to Mr. Stebbins, of
New York.
Her poems are marked by their good sense,
hearty expression, aud natural feeling.
GOD BLESS THE MAKINEE.
God's blessing on the Mariner !
A venturous life leads he —
What reck the landsmen of their toil,
Who dwell upon the sea ?
The landsman sits within his home,
His fireside bright and warm;
Nor asks how fares the mariner
All night amid the storm.
God bless the hardy Mariner 1
A homely garb wears he,
And he goeth with a rolling gait,
Like a ship upon the sea.
He hath piped the loud " ay, ay, sir! "
O'er the voices of the main,
Till his deep tones have the hoarseness
Of the rising hurricane.
His seamed and honest visage
The sun and wind have tanned,
And hard as iron gauntlet
Is his broad and sinewy hand.
But oh ! a spirit looketh
From out his clear, blue eye,
With a truthful, childlike earnestness,
Like an angel from the sky.
A venturous life the sailor leads
Between the sky and sea —
But when the hour of dread is past,
A merrier who, than he ?
He knows that by the rudder bands
Stands one well skilled to save;
For a strong hand is the Steersman's
That directs liim o'er the wave.
Thine eye is like the violet,
Thou hast the lily's grace ;
And the pure thoughts of a maiden's heart
Are writ upon thy face.
And like a pleasant melody
That to memory hath clung,
Falls thy voice, in the loved accent
Of mine own New England tongue.
New England — dear New England !—
All numberless they lie,
The green graves of my people,
Beneath her fair, blue sky.
And the same bright sun that shineth
On thy home at early morn,
Lights the 'dwellings of my kindred,
And the house where I was born.
Oh, fairest of her daughters !
That bids me so rejoice
'Neath the starlight of thy beauty,
And the music of thy voice —
While memory hath power
In my heart her joys to wake,
I love thee, Mary, for thine own,
And for New England's sake.
EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWOETH.
Mrs. Socthworth is descended, both on the fa-
ther's and mother's side, from families of high
rank, who emigrated to America in 1632, and
settled at St. Mary's, where they have continued
to reside for two centuries. She was born in
the city of Washington, in the house and room
once occupied by General Washington, on the
26th of December, 1818. Her father, who had
married in 1816 a young lady of fifteen, died
in 1822, leaving his family straitened in re-
sources, in consequence of losses previously in-
curred by the French spoliations on American
commerce. Her mother afterwards married Mr.
Joshua L. Henshaw, of Boston, by whom Miss
Nevitte was educated.
In 1841 she became Mrs. Southworth. Thrown
upon her own resources in 1843, with two infants
SUSAN WARNER ; ANNA B. WARNER.
G2t.
to support, n, dreary interval in her life succeeded,
which was broken by the successful publication
of her first novel, Retribution, in 1849. She had
previously published, in 1846, an anonymous
sketch in the National Era, with which the editor,
Dr. Bailey, was so well pleased, that he sought
out the writer, and induced her to write other-
sketches and tales of a similar kind. Retribution
was commenced as one of these, and was intend-
ed to be concluded in two numbers, but the sub-
ject grew under the author's hand. Every week
she supplied a portion to the paper, " until weeks
grew into mouths, and months into quarters, be-
fore it was finished." During its composition
she was supporting herself as a teacher in a pub-
lic school, and in addition to the entire charge of
eighty boys and girls thus imposed upon her, and
of one of her children who was extremely ill,
was forced by the meagreness of her pecuniary
resources to give close attention to her household
aflairs. Iler health broke down under the pres-
sure of these complicated labors and sorrows.
Meanwhile her novel reached its termination, and
was published complete by Harper and Brothers.
The author, to use her own words, " found her-
self born, as it were, into a new life ; found inde-
pendence, sympathy, friendship, and honor, and
an occupation in which she could delight. All
this came very suddenly, as after a terrible storm
a sunburst." Her child recovered, and her own
malady disappeared.
The successful novel was rapidly followed by
others. The Deserted Wife was published in
1850 ; Shannondale and The Mother- in- Lam in
1851 ; Children of the Me and The Foster
Sisters in 1852; The Curse of Clifton; Old
Neighborhoods and New Settlements, and Marl;
Sutherland in 1853, The Lost Heiress in 1854,
and Hickory Hall, in 1855. These novels 'dis-
play strong dramatic power, and contain many
excellent descriptive passages of the Southern
life and scenery to which they are chiefly de-
voted.
SUSAN WAENEE— ANNA B. WAENEE.
Miss Warxer is the daughter of Mr. Henry
Warner, a member of the bar of the city of New
York. She has for some years resided with the
remainder of her father's family on Constitution
Island, near West Point, in the finest portion of
the Hudson highlands.
6-
Miss Warner made a sudden step into eminence
as a writer, by the publication in 1849 of The
Wide, Wide World, a novel, in two volumes. It
is a story of American domestic life, written in
an easy and somewhat diffuse style.
Her second novel, Queechy, appeared in 1S52.
It is similar in size and general plan to The Wide,
Wide World, and contains a number of agreeable
passages descriptive of rural life. The heroine,
Fleda, is introduced to us as a little girl. Her
sprightly, natural manner, and shrewd American
common sense, contribute greatly to the attrac-
tions of the book. The "help" at the farm,
vor.. ii. — 10
male and female, are pleasantly hit off, and give
a seasoning of humor to the volumes.
Miss Warner is also the author of The Law and
the Testimony, a theological work of research and
merit, and of a prize essay on the Duties of Ame-
rican Women.
Miss Anna B. Warxer, a younger sister of
Miss Susan Warner, is the author of Dollars and
Cents, a novel, as its title indicates, of practical
American life, published in 1853, and of a series
of juvenile tales, Anna Man tyomenfs Booh Shelf
three volumes of which, Mr. Rutherford's Chil-
dren and Carl Krinlcen, have appeared.
CHESTNUT GATHERING — FROM QCEECnT.
In a hollow, rather a deep hollow, behind the
crest of the hill, as Fleda had said, they came at last
to a noble group of large hickory trees, with one or
two chestnuts, standing in attendance on the out-
skirts. And also as Fleda had said, V hoped, the
place was so far from convenient access that nobody
had visited them ; they were thick hung with fruit.
If the spirit of the game had been wanting or fail-
ing in Mr. Carleton, it must have roused again into
full life at the joyous heartiness of Fleda's exclama-
tions. At any rate no boy could have taken to the
business better. He cut, with her permission, a
stout long pole in the woods ; and swinging himself
lightly into one of the trees showed that he was a
master in the art of whipping them. Fleda was de-
lighted but not surprised ; for from the first moment
of Mr. Carleton's proposing to go with her she had
been privately sure that he would not prove an in-
active or inefficient ally. By whatever slight tokens
she might read this, in whatsoever fine characters
of the eye, or speech, or manner, she knew it; and
knew it just as well before they reached the hickory
trees as she did afterwards.
When one of the trees was well stripped the
young gentleman mounted into another, while Fleda
set herself to hull and gather up the nuts under the
one first beaten. She could make but little head-
way, however, compared with her companion ; the
nuts fell a great deal faster than she could put them,
in her basket. The trees were heavy laden, and
Mr. Carleton seemed determined to have the whole:
crop ; from the 6econd tree he went to the third.
Fleda was bewildered with her happiness; this was
doing business in style. She tried to calculate
what the whole quantity would be, but it went be-
yond her ; one basketful would not take it, nor two,
nor three, — it wouldn't begin to, Fleda said to her-
self. She went on hulling and gathering with all
possible industry.
After the third tree was finished Mr. Carleton
threw down his pole, and resting himself upon the
ground at the foot, told Fleda he would wait a few
moments before he began again. Fleda thereupon
left off her work too, and going for her little tin
pail presently offered it to him temptingly, stocked
with pieces of apple-pie. When he had smilingly
taken one, she next brought him a sheet of white
paper with slices of young' cheese.
" No, thank you," said he.
" Cheese is very good with apple-pie," said Fleda,
competently.
" Is it?" said he, laughing. " Well — upon that —
I think you would teach me a good many things,
Miss Fleda, if I were to stay here long enough."
" I wish you would stay and try, sir," said Fleda,
who did not know exactl}' what to make of the
shade of seriousness which crossed his face. It was
gone almost instantly.
026
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
" I think anything is better eaten out in the woods
than it is at home," said Fleda.
" Well, I don't know," said her friend. " I have
no doubt that is the ease with cheese and apple-pie,
and especially under hickory trees which one has
been contending with pretty sharply. If a touch
of your wand, Fairy, could transform one of these
shells into a goblet of Lafitte or Amontillado we
should have nothing to wish for."
' Amontillado' was Hebrew to Fleda, but ' goblet'
was intelligible.
" I am sorry," she said, " I don't know where
there is any spring up here, — but we shall come to
one going down the mountain."
" Do you know where all the springs are ?"
" No, not all, I suppose," said Fleda, " but I know
a good many. I have gone about through the
woods so much, and I always look for the springs."
********
They descended the mountain now with hasty
step, for the day was wearing well on. At the spot
where he had stood so long when they went up, Mr.
Caiieton paused again for a minute. In mountain
scenery every hour makes a change. The sun was
lower now, the lights and shadows more strongly
contrasted, the sky of a yet calmer blue, cool and
clear towards the horizon. The scene said still the
same that it had said a few hours before, with a
touch more of sadness ; it seemed to whisper " All
things have an end — thy time may not be for ever
— do what thou wouldest do — ' while ye have light
believe in the light that ye maj- be children of the
light.'"
Whether Mr. Carleton read it so or not, he 6tood
for a minute motionless, and went down the moun-
tain looking so grave that Fleda did not venture to
Bpeak to hiin, till they reached the neighborhood of
the spring.
" What are you searching for, Miss Fleda?" said
her friend.
She was making a busy quest here and there by
the side of the little stream.
" I was looking to see if I could find a mullein
leaf," said Fleda.
" A mullein leaf? what do you want it for?"
" I want it — to make a drinking cup of," said
Fleda ; her intent bright eyes peering keenly about
in every direction.
" A mullein leaf! that is too rough ; one of these
golden leaves — what are they? — will do better;
won't it ?"
"That is hickory," said Fleda. "No; the mul-
lein leaf is the best, because it holds the water so
nicely, — Here it is ! — "
And folding up one of the largest leaves into a
most artist-like cup, she presented it to Mr. Carle-
ton.
" For me was all that trouble ?" said he. " I
don't deserve it."
" Tou wanted something, sir," said Fleda. " The
water is very cold and nice."
He stooped to the bright little stream, and filled
his rural goblet several times.
" I never knew what it was to have a fairy for
my cup-bearer before," said he. " That was better
than anything Bordeaux or Xeres ever sent forth."
He seemed to have swallowed his seriousness, or
thrown it away with the mullein leaf. It was quite
gone.
" This is the best spring in all grandpa's ground,"
said Fleda. " The water is as good as can be."
" How come you to be such a wood and water
spirit? you must live out of doors. Do the trees
ever talk to you ? I sometimes think they do to
me."
" I don't know — I think / talk to them," said
Fleda.
" It's the same thing," said her companion, smil-
ing. " Such beautiful woods I"
" Were you never in the country before in the
fall, sir?"
" Not here — in my own country often enough —
but the woods in England do not put on such a gay
face, Miss Fleda, when they are going to be stripped
of their summer dress — they look sober upon it —
the leaves wither and grow brown, and the woocla
have a dull russet color. Your trees are true Yan-
kees— they ' never say die !' "
EMILT C. JUDSON.
Miss Emily Ciiueistxk was born at Morrisville,
a town of Central New York. Soon after ceasing
to be a school girl, with a view of adding to the
limited means of her family and increasing her
own knowledge, she became a teacher in a female
seminary at Utica. It was with similar views
that she commenced her literary career by writ-
ing a few poems for the Knickerbocker Magazine,
and some little books for children, of a religious
character, for the American Baptist Publication
Society. In 1 844 she sent a communication to the
New York Weekly Mirror, with the signature of
" Fanny Forester." Mr. Willis, the editor, wrote
warmly in favor of the writer, who soon became
a frequent contributor to his paper.
/fesz^i^, ^ft^^e^^^^i-
While passing the winter at Philadelphia with
a clerical friend, the Rev. Mr. Gillette, Miss
Chubbuck became acquainted witli Dr. Judson,
the celebrated Baptist missionary. He had re-
cently lost his second wife, and applied to the
young author to write her biography. Intimacy
in the preparation of the work led to such mu-
tual liking that the pair were married not long
after, in July, 1846, and sailed immediately for
India. They arrived at the missionaries' residence
at Maulmain, where they resided until Dr. Judson
fell sick, and was ordered home by his physicians.
ANNE CHARLOTTE BOTTA.
627
His wife was unable to accompany him, and he
embarked in a very weak state in the early part
of 1850 for America. He died at sea on the
twelfth of April of the same year. His widow
returned not long after, her own health impaired
by an Eastern climate, and after lingering a few
months, died on the first of June, 1854.
Mrs. Judson was the author of Alderbrook, a
Collection of Fanny Forester's Village Sketches
and Poems, in two volumes, published in 1848.
A Biographical Sketch of Mrs. Sarah B. Judson,
184'.). An Olio of Domestic Verses, 1852, a col-
lection of her poems ; Horn to he Great, Good,
and Happy, a volume designed for children ; a
small prose volume, My Two Sisters, a Sketch,
from Memory, and a number of other poems
and prose sketches for various periodicals. The
sprightliness and tenderness of Mrs. Judson's
early sketches gained her a reputation which was
rapidly extended by her subsequent publications,
especially by those embodying, in a simple and
unostentatious manner, her wider experiences of
life as the wife of a missionary. The modest
title of her collection of .poems is an indication
of her character, but should not be suffered to
overshadow the merits of the choice contents of
the book.
One of the latest productions of Mrs. Judson's
pen was an admirable letter in defence of her
children's property in her deceased husband's
literary remains. His papers had been placed in
the hands of President Wayland, and incorporated
by him in a life of their author, when a rival and
unauthorized work from the same materials was
announced, and finally published. The letter of
Mrs. Judson was addressed to the publisher of the
last named volume, and came before the public
in the evidence produced on the trial of the
alleged invasion of copyright. It deserves to be
remembered not only from the interest connected
with the circumstances which called it forth, but
as a spirited and well reasoned assertion of the
rights of literary property.
WATCHING.
Sleep, love, sleep !
The dusty day is done.
Lo ! from afar the freshening breezes sweep,
Wild over groves of balm,
Down from the towering palm,
In at the open casement cooling run,
And round thy lowly bed,
Thy bed of pain,
Bathing thy patient head,
Like grateful showers of rain,
They come ;
While the white curtains, waving to and fr.>,
Fan the sick air ;
Ami pityingly the shadows come and go,
With gentle human care,
Compassionate and dumb.
The dusty day is done,
The night begun ;
While prayerful watch I keep.
Sleep, love, sleep!
Is there no magic in the touch
Of fingers thou dost love so much ?
Fain would they scatter poppies o'er thee now,
Or. with a soft caress,
The tremulous lip its own nepenthe press
Upon the wenry lid and aching brow,
While prayerful watch I keep —
Sleep, love, sleep 1
On the pagodc spire
The bells are swinging.
Their little golden circles in a flutter
With tales the wrooing winds have dared to utter,
Till all are singing
As if a choir
Of golden-nested birds in heaven were singing ■
And with a lulling sound
The music floats around,
And drops like balm into the drowsy ear;
Commingling with the hum
Of the Sepoy's distant drum,
And lazy beetle ever droning near,
Sounds these of deepest silence born,
Like night made visible by morn ;
So silent, that I sometimes start
To hear the throbbings of my heart,
And watch, with shivering sense of pain,
To see thy pale lids lift again.
The lizard with his mousedike eyes,
Peeps from the mortise in surprise
At such strange quiet after day's harsh din ;
Then ventures boldly out,
And looks about,
And with his hoilow feet,
Treads his small evening beat,
Darting upon his prey
In such a tricksy, winsome sort of way,
His delicate marauding seems no sin.
And still the curtains swing,
But noiselessly ;
The bells a melancholy murmur ring,
As tears were in the sky;
More heavily the shadows fall,
Like the black foldings of a pall,
Where juts the rough beam from the wall;
The candles flare
With fresher gusts of air ;
The beetle's drone
Turns to a dirge-like solitary moan ;
Night deepens, and I sit, in cheerless doubt, alone.
ANNE CHARLOTTE BOTTA.
Anne C. Lynch was born at Bennington, Ver-
mont. Herfather, at the ageof sixteen, joined the
United Irishmen of his native country, and was
an active participant in the rebellion of 179S. He
was offered pardon and a commission in the Eng-
lish army on the condition of swearing allegiance
to the British government. On bis refusal, he
was imprisoned for four years, and then banished.
He came to America, married, and died in Cuba
during a journey undertaken for the benefit of his
health, a few years after the birth of his daugh-
ter.
After receiving an excellent education at a la-
dies' seminary in Albany, Miss Lynch removed to
Providence, where she edited, in 1841, the Rhode
Island Book, a tasteful selection from the writings
of the authors of that state. She soon after came
to the city of New York, where she has since
resided.
A collection of Miss Lynch's poems lias been
published in an elegant volume, illustrated by Du-
rand, Huntington, Parley, and other lending Ame-
rican artists. Miss Lynch is also favorably known
as a prose writer by her contributions of essays
and tales to the magazines of the day.
In 1855, Miss Lynch was married to Mr. Vin-
f52S
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
-?VZt^
oenzo Botta, formerly Professor of Philosophy in
the College of Sardinia, and member of the Na-
tional Parliament.
• THOUGHTS IN A LIBRARY.
Speak low ! — tread softly through these halls ;
Here Genius lives enshrined ;
Here reign, in silent majesty,
The mouarchs of the mind.
A mighty spirit host they come,
From every age and clime ;
Above the buried wrecks of years,
They breast the tide of Time.
And in their presence chamber here
They hold their regal state,
And round them throng a noble train,
The gifted and the great.
Oh, child of Earth ! when round thy path
The storms of life arise,
And when thy brothers pass thee by
'With stern unloving eyes;
Here shall the poets chant for thee
Their sweetest, loftiest lays ;
And prophets wait to guide thy steps
In wisdom's pleasant ways.
Come, with these God-anointed kings
Be thou companion here ;
And in the mighty realm of mind,
. . Thou shalt go forth a peer !
■ WITH FLOWEES.
Go, ye sweet messengers,
To that dim-lighted room
Where lettered wisdom from the walls
Sheds a delightful gloom.
Where sits in thought profound
One in the noon of life,
Whose flashing eye and fevered brow
Tell of the inward strife ;
Who in those wells of lore
Seeks for the pearl of truth,
And to Ambition's fever dream
Gives his repose and youth.
To him, sweet ministers,
Ye shall a lesson teach ;
Go in your fleeting loveliness,
More eloquent than speech.
Tell him in laurel wreaths
No perfume e'er is found,
And that upon a crown of thorns
Those leaves are ever bound.
Thoughts fresh as your own hues
Bear ye to that abode —
Speak of the sunshine and the sky
Of Nature and of God.
PAKKE GODWIN.
Paeee Godwin was born at Paterson, New Jer-
sey, February 25, 1816. His father was an offi-
cer of the war of 1812, arid his grandfather a
soldier of the Revolution. He was educated at
Kinderhook, and entered Princeton College in
1831, where he was graduated in 183-i. He then
studied law at Paterson, N. J., and having re-
moved to the West, was admitted to practice in
Kentucky, but did not pursue the profession. In
1837, he became assistant editor of the Evening
Post, in which position he remained, with a single
year excepted, to the close of 1853 — thirteen
years of active editorial life. In February, 1843,
L/l^^Al-^L, ^Cjs^t/^O^
Mr. Godwin commenced the publication of a
weekly, political, and literary Journal, somewhat
on the plan of Mr. Leggett's Plaindealer, entitled
" The Pathfinder." Mr. John Bigelow, at present
associated with Mr. Bryant in the proprietorship
and editorship of the Post, and the author of a
volume of travels, Jamaica in 1850, contributed
a number of articles to this journal. Though well
conducted in all its departments, it was continued
but about three months, when it was dropped
with the fifteenth number. During the period
of Mr. Godwin's connexion with the Post, be-
sides his constant articles in the journal, he was a
frequent contributor to the Democratic Review,
where numerous papers on free trade, political
economy, democracy, course of civilization, the
poetry of Shelley, and the series on law reform-
ers, Bentham, Edward Livingston, and others ;
and the discussion of the subject of Law Reform,
in which the measures taken in the state of New
York were anticipated, are from his pen. He has
since written a similar series of papers on the
public questions of the day, in Putnam's Monthly
Magazine, with which he is prominently connect-
ed. In 1850, he published a fanciful illustrated
tale, entitled Vala, in which he turned his ac-
quaintance with the quaint mythologies of the
north, and the poetic arts connecting the world
of imagination with the world of reality, to the
illustration of incidents in the life of Jenny Lind.
It is a succession of pleasant pictures constructed
with much ingenuity. The volume was publish-
ed in quarto with illustrations, by the author's
friends, Hicks, Rossiter, Wolcott, and Whitley.
Another proof of M"\ Godwin's acquaintance
with German literature, is his translation of
JOHN G. SANE.
029
Goethe's Autobiography, published by "Wiley in
New York, and adopted by Bohn in London ; and
of a series of the tales of Zschokke. He has writ-
ten besides a popular account of Fourier's writ-
ings, and a small volume on Constructive Demo-
cracy.
It is understood that lie lias been for some time
engaged on a book to be entitled The History and
Organization of Labor, and the preparation of
another, The Nineteenth Century, with its Lead-
ing Men and Movements. He has also promised
the public a book of travels, A Winter Harvest,
the result of a visit to Europe a few years since,
during which he had personal interviews with the
leading French and English political reformers.
JOHN G. SAXE.
Joirsr G. Saxe was born at Highgate, Franklin
Count}', Vermont, June 2, 1816. He was gra-
duated at Middlebury College in 1839, studied
law, was admitted to the bar, and has since been
engaged in the practice of the profession in his
native State.
In 1849 Mr. Saxe published a volume of Poems
including Progress, a Satire, originally delivered
at a college commencement, and a number of
shorter pieces, many of which had previously ap-
peared in the Knickerbocker Magazine.
In the same year Mr. Saxe delivered a poem on
The Times before the Boston Mercantile Library
Association. This production is included in the
enlarged edition of his volume, in 1852. He has
since frequently appeared before the public on
college and other anniversaries, as the poet of the
occasion, well armed with the light artillery of
jest and epigram. In the summer of 1855 he pro-
nounced a brilliant poem on Literature and the
Times, at the Second Anniversary of the Associate
Alumni of the Free Academy in New York.
RHYME OF THE KAIL.
Singing through the forests,
Battling over ridges,
Shooting under arches,
Rumbling over bridges,
Whizzing through the mountains,
Buzzing o'er the vale, —
Bless me ! this is pleasant,
Biding on the rail I
Men of different " stations "
In the eye of Fame,
Here are very quickly
Coming to the same.
High and lowly people,
Birds of every feather,
On a common level
Travelling together!
Gentleman in shorts,
Looming very tall;
Gentleman at large ;
Talking very small ;
Gentleman in tights,
With a loose-ish mien ;
Gentleman in gray,
Looking rather green.
Gentleman quite old,
Asking fur the news ;
Gentleman in black,
In a fit of blues ;
Gentleman in claret,
Sober as a vicar ;
Gentleman in Tweed,
Dreadfully in liquor!
Stranger on the right,
Looking very sunny,
Obviously reading
Something rather funny.
Now the smiles are thicker,
Wonder what they mean ?
Faith, he's got the Knicker-
bocker Magazine !
Stranger on the left,
Closing up his peepers,
Now he snores amain,
Like the Seven Sleepers ;
At his feet a volume
Gives the explanation,
IIow the man grew stupid
From " Association !"
Ancient maiden lady
Anxiously remarks,
That there must be peril
'Mong so man}' sparks ;
Roguish looking fellow,
Turning to the stranger,
Says it's his opinion
She is out of danger!
Woman with her baby,
Sitting vis-a-vis;
Baby keeps a squalling,
AVomau looks at me ;
Asks about the distance,
Says it's tiresome talking,
Noises of the cars
Are so very shocking!
Market woman careful
Of the precious casket,
Knowing eggs are eggs,
Tightly holds her basket;
630
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
Feeling that a smash,
If it came, would surely
Send her eggs to pot
Rather prematurely !
Singing through the forests,
Rattling over ridges,
Shooting under arches,
Rumbling over bridges,
"Whizzing through the mountains,
Buzzing o'er the vale ;
Bless me ! this is pleasant,
Riding on the rail!
BONNET TO A CLAM.
Bum tacent clamant.
Inglorious friend ! most confident I am
Thy life is one of very little ease ;
Albeit men mock thee with thy similes
And prate of being " happy as a clam!"
What though thy shell protects thy fragile head
From the sharp bailiffs of the briny sea?
Thy valves are, sure, no safety-valves to thee.
While rakes are free to desecrate thy bed,
And bear thee off, — as foemen take their spoil,
Far from thy friends and family to roam :
Forced, like a Hessian, from thy native home,
To meet destruction in a foreign broil !
Though thou art tender, yet thy humble bard
Declares, O clam ! thy case is shocking hard!
MT BOYHOOD.
Ah me ! those joj-ous days are gone !
I little dreamt, till they were flown,
How fleeting were the hours !
For, lest he break the pleasing spell,
Time bears for youth a muffled bell.
And hides his face in flowers !
Ah ! well I mind me of the days,
Still bright in memory's flattering rays
When all was fair and new ;
When knaves were only found in books,
And friends were known by friendly looks,
And love was always true !
While yet of sin I scarcely dreamed,
And everything was what it seemed,
And all too bright for choice ;
When fays were wont to guard my sleep
And Crusoe still could make me weep,
And Santaclaus, rejoice!
When heaven was pictured to my thought,
(In spite of all my mother taught
Of happiness serene)
A theatre of boyish plays —
One glorious round of holidays,
Without a school between !
Ah me ! these joyous days are gone ;
I little dreamt till they were flown,
How fleeting were the hours!
For, lest he break the pleasing spell,
Time bears for youth a muffled bell,
And hides Ins face in flowers I
JESSE AMES SPENCER
Was born June 17, 1816, at Hyde Park, Dutchess
county, New York. His father's family, originally
from England, came over with the colony which
founded Saybrook, Connecticut. On his mother's
side (her name was Ames) he claims distant con-
nexion with Fisher Ames, the orator and patriot.
Having removed to New York city in the year
1825, he received a good English education, and
for several years was an assistant to his father as
city surveyor. He chose at first to learn a trade,
and acquired a competent knowledge of the print-
ing business with Sleight & Robinson at the age
of 17. He then determined to engage in prepa-
ration for the sacred ministry. He entered Co-
lumbia College in 1834, and was graduated with
high classical honors in 1837. He then pursued
the course at the General Theological Seminary
of the Protestant Episcopal Church, and was or-
dained deacon July, 1840. He accepted the rec-
torship of St. James's church, Goshen, New York,
directly after. Health having tailed him in 1842,
by advice of his physicians, he spent the winter
of 1842-3 at Nice, Sardinia. Returning to New
York in 1843, he devoUd 'himself to teaching, in
schools and privately, to editing a juvenile maga-
zine, The Young L'hurchmaris Miscellany, and
other literary labors. Early in the year 1 848 lie had
a severe illness ; was again sent abroad ; travelled
through England, Scotland, etc., during the sum-
mer in company with Mr. George W. Pratt. With
the same gentleman he arrived in Alexandria in
December, 1848; ascended the Nile, spent some
months in Egypt, crossed the desert in March,
1849, travelled through the Holy Land, and in
May of the same year left for Eur< ipe. He reached
New York in August, 1849. The following year
he accepted the professorship of Latin and Orien-
tal languages in Burlington College, New Jersey.
He was afterwards nominated lor professor of
ecclesiastical -history in the General Theological
Seminary, and failed of the appointment by only
one vote. He was chosen editor and secretary of
the General Protestant Episcopal Sunday School
Union and Church Book Society, November, 1851,.
which office lie still holds.
Dr. Spencer's writings are, a volume of Dis-
courses, in 1843 ; a History of the English Refor-
mation, 18mo., 1846; an edition of the iVisw Tes-
tament in Greek, icith Notes on the Historical
Books, 12mo., 1847; Casals Commentaries, with
copious Notes, Lexicon, etc., 12mo., 1848; and a
volume of foreign travel, Egypt and the Holy
Land, the first edition of which appeared in 1849.
Dr. Spencer has edited a valuable series of clas-
sical books by the late T. K. Arnold, and has
contributed largely to the current literature of
the time.
FREDEEICK WILLIAM SHELTON
Was horn at Jamaica, Queens County, Long
Island, where his father, Dr. Nathan Shelton, a
graduate of Yale, lived, much respected as a
physician. The son was graduated at the College
of New Jersey in 1834. He subsequently em-
ployed much of his time in literature at his home
on Long Island, writing frequently for the
Knickerbocker Magazine, to which he contributed
a series of local humorous sketches, commencing
with The Kushow Property, a tale of Crowbill in
1848, and followed by The Tinnecum Papers,
and other miscellaneous articles, including several
refined criticisms of Vincent Bourne, Charles
Lamb, and other select authors.
In 1837, Mr. Shelton published anonymously
his first volume, TJte Trollopiad ; or Travelling
Gentlemen in America, a satire, by Nil Admi-
rari, Esq., dedicated to Mrs. Trollope. It is in
rhyming pentameter, shrewdly sarcastic, and
FREDERICK WILLIAM SHELTON.
631
liberally garnished with notes preservative of the
memory of the series of gentlemen, whose hurried
tours in America and flippant descriptions were
formerly so provocative of the ire of native writers.
As a clever squib, and a curious record of a past
state of literature, the Trollopiad is worthy a
place in the libraries of the curious.
In 18 47, Mr. Shelton was ordained a minister
of the Protestant Episcopal Church ; and in the
discharge of the duties of this vocation, has occu-
pied country parishes at Huntington, Long Island,
and the old village of Fishkill, Dutchess county,
New York. In 1854 he became rector of a church
at Montpelier, Vermont, where he is at present
established.
Several of his writings have grown out of his
experiences as a rural clergyman, and are among
the happiest sketches of the fertile topic afforded
in that field under the voluntary system in Ame-
rica which have yet appeared. He is a genial,
kindly humorist, and his pictures of this class in
The Rector of St. Bardolph's, or Superannuated,
published in 1852, and Peeps from a Belfry, or
the Parish Sketch Book, in 1855, while truthfully
presenting all that is due to satire, are so tempered
by pathos and simplicity that they would have
won the heart of the Vicar of Wakefield himself.
In another more purely moral vein Mr. Shelton
has published two apologues, marked by poetical
refinement, and a delicate, fanciful invention : Sa-
laader and the Dragon (in 1850), and Crystal-
line, or the Heiress of Fill Dowae Castle. These
are fairy tales designed to exhibit the evils in the
world of suspicion and detraction.
In yet another line Mr. Shelton has published
a volume, Up the River, composed of a series of
rural sketches, dating from his parish in Dutchess
county, on the Hudson. It is an exceedingly plea-
sant book in its tasteful, truthful observations of
nature and animal life, and the incidents of the
country, interspersed with occasional criticism of
favorite books, and invigorated throughout by the
individual humors of the narrator.
Mr. Shelton has also published two lectures on
The Gold Mania, and The Use and Abuse of Rea-
son, delivered before the Huntington (Long Is-
land) Library Association in 1850.
A BURIAL AMONG TIIE MOTTNTArNS — Fr.OM PEEPS FROM A
BELFP.Y.
Several times has the summer come and gone —
several times have the sear and crisped leaves of au-
tumn fallen to the ground, since it was my privilege
to administer for a single winter to a small parish in
the wilderness. I call it the wilderness only in con-
tradistinction to the gay and splendid metropolis
from wlheh I went. For how great the contrast
from the din of commerce, from noisy streets, attract-
ive sights, and people of all nations, to a village
among the mountains, where the attention is even
arrested by a falling leaf. It was among the most
magnificent scenes of ^.acure, whose massive outlines
have imprinted themselves on my recollection with
a distinctness which can never be effaced.
I account it a privilege to have spent a winter in
Vermont. The gorgeous character of the scenery,
the intelligence and education of its inhabitants, the
excellence yet simplicity of living, its health and
hospitality, rendered the stay both profitable and
agreeable. Well do I remember those Sunday morn-
ings, when, with the little Winooski river on the
right hand, wriggling through the iec, and with a
snow-clad spur of the mountains on the left, I wend-
ed my solitary way through the cutting wind to the
somewhat remote and somewhat thinly-attended lit-
tle church. But the warmth, intelligence, refine-
ment, and respectful attention of that small band of
worshippers fully compensated for the atmosphere
without, which often ranged below zero. It is true
that a majority of the inhabitants had been educated
to attend the Congregational (usually denominated
the Brick Church), where a young man of fine talents,
who was my friend, administered to the large flock
committed to his charge.
How oft with him I've ranged the snow-clad hill,
Where grew the pine-tree and the towering oak 1
And as the white fogs all the valley fill,
And axe re-echoed to the woodman's stroke.
While frozen flakes were squeaking under foot,
And distant tinkliogs from the vale arise,
Upward ami upward still the way we took,
As souls congenial tower toward the skies.
"We talked of things which did beseem the place,
Matters of moment to the Church and State,
The upward, downward progress of the race,
Predestination. Destiny, and Fate.
He tracked the thoughts of Calvin or of Kant.
Such lore as from his learned sire he drew;
I searched the tomes of D'Oyley and ofMant,
Or sipped the sweetness of Castalian dew.
So when the mountain path grew dim to view.
And woollen tippets were congealed or damp,
Swift to the vale our journey we renew,
Itelight the tire, and trim the student's lamp.
Ordinary occurrences impress themselves more
deeply, associated with scenes whose features are so
grand. A conversation with a friend will be re-
membered with greater accuracy if it be made upon
the mountain or in the storm; and not with less de-
votion does the heart respond to the worship of God,
if his holy temple be buildcd among scenes of beauty ;
if it have no pillars but the uncurved rocks, no raft-
ers but the sunbeams, and no dome but the skies.
Thus, while residing on the mountains, I kept on the
tablets of memory an unwritten diary, from which
I it is pleasant to draw forth an occasional leaf.
It was in the month of January, when the boreal
; breath is so keen, after such a walk with my friend
to the summit of the mountain, that I returned at
nightfall to my chamber, with my camlet cloak and
I hat completely covered with snow. The flakes were
! large, starry, and disposed themselves in the shape
of crystals. After much stamping of the feet, shak-
ing the cloak, and thumping with a drum-like sound
upon the hat, I began to stuff into the box-stove (for
nothing but Russian stoves will keep you warm in
i Vermont) a plenty of maple-wood which abounds in
those regions, and which, after hickory, makes the
most delightful fire in the world. Then, having
dried my damp feet, looked reflectingly into the
coals, answered the tea-bell, and, as a mere matter
' of course, drank a cup of the weed called ten, I re-
turned to my solitary apartment, snuffed the caudles,
laid out a due quantity of ruled " Sermon paper,"
wiped the rusty steel pens, and began to reflect,
What theme will be most appropriate for the season?
Let me examine the Lessons — let me see if I can find
some sentiment in the Epistle or Gospel for the day,
on which it will be proper to enlarge. Such search
in the Prayer Book is never in vain. The course is
marked out— the path clear. For not more equally
is the natural year distinguished by day and night,
cold and heat, storm and sunlight, winter and spring,
summer and autumn, than is the " Year of our Lord"
by times and seasons, which are the events in His
lifetime, and which are the very periods by which
to direct our course. If in this work-day world the
daily service of the sanctuary caunot be attended,
let the devout Christian, let the earnest Churchman,
632
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
at least read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest, those
daily lessons which the Church, through Holy Writ,
teaches,
Scarce had I disposed myself for an evening's work,
when I was called on with a request to perform fu-
neral services on the next day, over the body of a
poor Irish laborer, killed suddenly on the line of the
railroad by the blasting of rocks.
The priest was absent ; for although there was a
numerous body, perhaps several hundred Irish Ca-
tholics in that vicinity, he came only once in six
weeks. During the interval those poor people were
left without shepherd ; and as they had a regard for
the decencies of Christian burial, they sometimes, as
on this occasion, requested the church clergyman to
be at hand. I willingly consented to do what ap-
peared a necessary charity, although I apprehended,
and afterwards learned, that the more rigid and dis-
ciplined of the faith were indignant, and kept away
from the funeral rites, which they almost considered
profane. Nor could I disrespect their scruples, con-
sidering the principles whence they grew.
The snow fell all night to the depth of several feet,
and when the morrow dawned, the wind blew a
hurricane, filling the air with fine particles of snow,
and making the cold intense. Muffling myself as
well as possible, I proceeded two miles to the Irish
shanty where the deceased lay, which was filled to
its utmost capacity with a company of respectful
friends and sincere mourners. It was, indeed, a
comfortless abode ; but for the poor man who re-
posed there in his pine coffin, it was as good a tene-
ment as the most sumptuous palace ever reared.
When I see the dead going from an abode like this,
the thought comes up that perhaps they have lost
little, and are gaining much ; that the grave over
which the grass grows, and the trees wave, and the
winds murmur, is, after all, a peaceful haven and a
place of rest. But when they go from marble halls
and splendid mansions, the last trappings appear a
mockery, and I think only of what they have left
behind.
Standing in one corner of that small cabin among
the sobbing relatives, while the winds of winter
howled without their requiem of the departed year,
I began to read the Church's solemn office for the
dead : —
" I am the Resurrection and the life, saith the Lord ; he that
believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live ; and
whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die."
Having completed the reading of those choral
words, which form the opening part of the order for
burial, and the magnificent and inspiring words of
St. Paul, the procession was formed at the door of
the hovel and we proceeded on foot.
The wind-storm raged violently, so that you could
scarce see, by reason of the snowy pillar, while the
drifts were sometimes up to your knees. The walk
was most dreary. On either hand the mountains
lifted their heads loftily, covered to the summit with
snows; the pine trees and evergreens which skirted
the highway, presented the spectacle of small pyra-
mids ; every weed which the foot struck was glazed
over ; and the bushes, in the faint beams of the strug-
gling light, sparkled with gems. In a wild, Titanic
defile, gigantic ici/,es hung irom the oozing rocks;
and as we passed a mill stream, we had the sight of
a frozen water-fall, arrested in its descent, and with
all its volume, spray, and mist, as if by the hand of
some enchanter changed suddenly into stone.
All these objects, in my walks through the moun-
tains, had impressed their lessons of the magnificence
and glory of God. But what new ideas did the
same scenes suggest, associated as they were with
this wintry funeral.
At last we arrived at the place of graves. It was
an acclivity of the mountain ; a small field sur-
rounded by a rude fence, in one corner of which
were erected many wTooden crosses ; and a pile of
! sand, or rather of sandy frozen clods, dug out with
i a pickaxe, and cast upon the surrounding snows, in-
dicated the spot of this new sepulture. There was
not a single marble erected, not a monument of
brown stone, or epitaph ; but the emblem of the
cross alone denoted that it was the resting-place of
the lowliest of the lowly — of the poor sons of Erin,
the hewers of wood and drawers of water, who had
from time to time, in these distant regions, given up
their lives to toil, to suffering, or to crime. But the
mountain in which they were buried was itself a
monument winch, without any distinction, in a spot
where all were equal, was erected equally for all.
There is no memorial, even of the greatest, so good
as the place in which they repose; and when I
looked at the Sinai-like peak which rose before us,
I thought that these poor people had, in their depth
of poverty, resorted to the very God of nature to
memorize their dead.
But I must not forget to notice, by way of memo-
rial, the history of that poor man. He was orfe of
those who lived by the sweat of the brow. By dig-
ging and delving in the earth ; by bearing heavy
burdens, and performing dangerous work, he ob-
tained a living by hard labor, "betwixt the daylight
and dark ;" and while the famine was raging in his
own land, like many of his race who exhibit the same
noble generosity and devotion (what an example to
those of loftier rank ! ) he had carefully saved his
earnings and transmitted them to his relatives. They
arrived too late. His father and mother had already
died of starvation ; but his only sister had scarce
reached the doors of this poor man's hovel, after so
long a journey, when, as she awaited anxiously his
return that evening, from his daily work, the litter
which contained his body arrived at the door!
I reflected upon this little history, as we ap-
proached the grave upon the mountain side, and,
melancholy as the scene was, with the snows drift-
ing upon our uncovered heads, I woidd not have
exchanged the good which it did my soul, for the
warmest and best-lighted chamber where revelry
abounds; and as I repeated those most touching
words, "0 Lord, God most holy, 0 Lord, most
mighty, 0 holy and most merciful Saviour, deliver
us not into the bitter pains of eternal death," I
thought that the surrounding gloom was itself sug-
gestive of hope to the Christian soul. In a few
months more, the mountains would again be clothed
with verdure, and the little hills would rejoice on
every side. As the winds died away into vernal
gales, as the icicles fell from the rocks, as the snows
vanished, they would he succeeded by the voice of
the blooming and beautiful earth, with all its forest
choirs, prolonging the chant of thanksgiving. How
much more should the body of him, which r.ow lay
cold in its grave, with the clods and the snows of
the mountains piled upon it, awake to a sure, and,
it was to be hoped, a joyous resurrection. With
such cheering thoughts we hurried away from the
spot, when the service was ended, humbly praying
that a portion of consolation might be conveyed to
the heart of her, who, in a strange land, mourned
the loss of an only brother. In face requiescat.
JOHN O. SARGENT— EPES SARGENT.
John Osborne Sargent was born in Gloucester,
Massachusetts, and passed his childhood there and
in the town of Hingham. He was sent to the
Latin school in Boston, the prize annals of which,
JOHN 0. SARGENT; EPES SARGENT.
633
and the record of a Latin ode, and a translation
from the Elegy of TyrtiBUS, of his compositions,
show his early proficiency in classical education.
He passed to Harvard and was graduated in 1830.
While there he established the clever periodical
of which we have already spoken in the notice of
one of its contributors, Dr. 0. W. Holmes,* The
Collegian. He was further assisted in it by the
late William H. Simmons, the accomplished elo-
cutionist and essayist; Robert Habersham, jr., of
Boston, Frederick W. Bruue of Baltimore, and by
his brother, Epes Sargent.
On leaving college Mr. Sargent studied law in
the office of the Hon. William Sullivan of Boston,
and commenced its practice in that city. This
was at the period of political agitation attending,
the financial measures of President Jackson. Mr.
Sargent became a political writer and speaker in
the Whig cause, and was elected to the lower
house of the Legislature of Massachusetts. For
some three years he was almost a daily writer for
the editorial columns of the Boston Atlas, and
added largely by his articles to the reputation
which the paper at that time enjoyed as an effi-
cient, vigorous party journal.
In 1838 Mr. Sargent removed to the city of
New York, and was well known by his pen and
oratory during the active political career which
resulted in the election of General Harrison to
the presidency. The Courier and Enquirer, for
three or four years at this time, was enriched by
leading political articles from his hand. At the
close of the contest he re-engaged in the active
pursuit of his profession. To this he devoted him-
self, with rigid seclusion from politics for eight
years, with success
He was drawn, however, again into politics in
the canvass which resulted in the election of Ge-
neral Taylor, upon whose elevation to the presi-
dency he became associated with Mr. Alexander
C. Bullitt of Kentucky, in the establishment of
the Republic newspaper at Washington. Its suc-
cess was immediate and unprecedented. In about
six months it numbered more than thirty thou-
sand staunch Whigs on its subscription list. Its
course, however, was not acceptable to the mem-
bers of the cabinet. A rupture was finally brought
about in consequence of the attempt of Messrs.
Bullitt and Sargent to separate General Taylor
from the cabinet in the matter of the Galphin
claim, and their determination to support Mr.
Clay's measures of compromise against the known
wishes of the administration. A withdrawal from
the editorship of the paper was the result. After
Mr. Fillmore's accession to the presidency by the
death of Taylor, a change in the policy of the ad-
ministration ensued, which enabled Mr. Sargent
to return to the Republic, which he conducted
with spirit and efficiency to the close of the pre-
sidential term. Mr. Sargent enjoyed the entire
confidence of President Fillmore, and was ten-
dered by him the mission to China.
Since the advent of the Pierce cabinet Mr. Sar-
gent has occupied himself exclusively with pro-
fessional pursuits in the city of Washington, where
he is engaged in an extensive legal practice.
Mr. Sargent has published several anonymous
* Ante, p. 511.
pamphlets on political and legal subjects which
have been largely circulated. His Lecture on the
lute Improvements in Steam Navigation and the
Arts of Naval Warfare, which contains a biogra-
phical sketch of .John Ericsson, has been several
times republished in England, and translated into
several of the continental languages. He is an
accomplished scholar in the modern languages.
Some of his poetical translations from the German
enjoy a high reputation.
Epes Sargent, a brother of the preceding, was
born at Gloucester, Massachusetts, but at a very
early age removed with his family to Boston.
He was subsequently at school at Ilingham. At
nine years of age he was placed at the public
Latin school in Boston, where he continued five
years, with the exception of a period of six months,
during which he made a visit with his father to
Russia. While in St. Petersburgh he was often
at the palace, examining the fine collection of
paintings at the "Hermitage," or wandering
through the splendid apartments. While here
also he was much noticed by Baron Stieglitz, the
celebrated banker and millionaire, who offered to
educate him with his son, and take him into his
counting-room, under very favorable conditions.
The proposition, however, was declined. Return-
ing to school in Boston, young Sargent was one
of half a dozen boys who started a small weekly
paper called the Literary Journal. In it he pub-
lished some account of his Russian experiences.
Mr. Sargent was admitted a member of the
freshman class of Harvard University, but did not
remain at Cambridge. Some years afterwards he
was called upon to deliver the poem before the
Phi Beta Kappa Society of that institution.
At an early age Mr. Sargent engaged in edito-
rial life. He first became connected with the Bos-
ton Daily Advertiser, but some change occurring
in the management of that journal he associated
634
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
himself with Mr. S. G-. Goodrich in the prepara-
tion of the " Peter Parley'' hooks. His labors in
hook-making were various and numerous for a
series of years.
In 1836 he wrote for Miss Josephine Clifton a
five-act play, entitled The Bride of Genoa, which
was brought out at the Tremont Theatre with
much success, and often repeated. It was sub-
sequently acted by Miss Cushman at the Park
Theatre on the occasion of her sister's debut. It
was published in the New World newspaper
under the title of The Genoese, but the author
has never thought it worthy of a permanent adop-
tion.
On the 20th of November, 1837, the tragedy of
Velasco, written for Miss Ellen Tree, was pro-
duced at the Tremont Theatre, Boston, with mark-
ed success. It was afterwards brought out at the
Park Theatre, New York, and the principal the-
atres in the country. The play was published
and dedicated to the author's personal friend,
the Hon. William C. Preston of South Carolina,
under whose an-pices it was produced at Wash-
ington.
Velasco was brought out in London in 1850-
51, and played at the Marylebone Theatre for
a number of nights. It was decidedly success-
ful, though severely criticised by most of the
papers.
In 1837 Mr. Sargent became editorially con-
nected with the Boston Atlas, and passed much
of his time, at Washington writing letters to that
journal. About the year 183!.'- 10 he removed to
New York on the invitation of General Morris,
and took charge for a short time of the Mirror.
He now wrote a number of juvenile works for
the Harpers, of which two, Wealth and Worth,
and What's to be Dove ? had a large sale. He also
wrote a comedy, Change make* Change, first
produced at Niblo's, and afterwards by Burton in
Philadelphia. Recently Mr. Burton applied to
the author for a copy to produce at the Cham-
bers street establishment, and it was found that
none was in existence. In 184-6 he commenced
and edited for some time the Modern Standard
Drama, an enterprise which he afterwards sold
out, and which is now a lucrative property.
A matrimonial alliance now drew him eastward
again. He established himself at Roxbury within
a short distance of Boston, and after editing the
Transcript for a few years, withdrew from news-
paper life, and engaged exclusively in literary pur-
suits. In 1852 he produced the Standard Speak-
er— a work of rare completeness in its department,
which has already passed through thirteen large
editions. A life of Benjamin Franklin, with a
collection of his writings, followed: then lives of
Campbell, Collins, Goldsmith, Gray, Hood, and
Rogers, attached to fine editions of their poetical
works, published by Phillips, Sampson & Co., Bos-
ton. Recently Mr. Sargent has put forth a series
of five Readers for schools, the success of which
is justly due to the minute care and elaboration
bestowed upon them, and the good taste with
which they are executed.
In March, 1855, Mr. Sargent produced at the
new Boston theatre, under the auspices of his old
friend Mr. Barry, who had'ushered into the world
his two early dramatic productions, the five-act
tragedy of The Priestess, which was played with
decided success, Mrs. Hayne (born Julia Dean)
performing the part of Norma, the heroine. The
play is partially, in the latter acts, founded on the
operatic story of Norma.
In 1849 an edition of Mr. Sargent's poems, un-
der the title of Songs of the Sea and other Poems,
was published by Ticknor & Fields. It is com-
posed chiefly of a number of spirited lyrics, seve-
ral of which have been set to music. A series of
sonnets is included : Shells and Sea- weeds, Re-
cords of a Summer Voyage to Cuba. The ex-
pression in these, as in all the poetical writings of
the author, is clear and animated.
In addition to these numerous engagements of
a career of great literary activity, Mr. Sargent
has been connected as a contributor and editor
with various magazines and periodicals.
As a lecturer he has been widely known before
the Mercantile Library Association in Boston and
similar associations in the Eastern and middle
states.
He was on terms of intimacy with Mr. Clay,
and wrote a life of that distinguished statesman.
In a preface to a recent edition of this life, Mr.
Horace Greeley says : " I have reason to believe
that Mr. Clay himself gave the preference, among
all the narratives of his life which had fallen un-
der his notice, to that of Epes Sargent, first issued
in 1842, and republished with its author's revi-
sions and additions in the summer of 1848."
A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE.
A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep;
Where the scattered waters rave,
And the winds their revels keep!
Like an eagre caged, I pine
On this dull, unchanging shore:
0 ! give me the flashing brine,
The spray and the tempest's roar !
Once more on the deck I stand,
Of my own swift-gliding craft :
Set sail ! farewell to the land!
The gale follows fair abaft.
We shoot through the sparkling foam
Like an ocean-bird set free; —
Like the ocean-bird, our home
We'll find far out on the sea.
The land is no longer in view,
The clouds have begun to frown ;
But with a stout vessel and crew,
We'll say. Let the storm come down !
And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the winds and the waters rave,
A home on the rolling sea !
A life on the ocean wave!
THE DEATH OF WARREN.
When the war-cry of Liberty rang through the land,
To arms sprang our fathers the foe to withstand ;
On old Bunker Hill their entrenchments they rear,
When the army i- joined by a young volunteer.
" Tempt not death !" cried his friends ; but he bade
them good-by,
Saying, " 0 ! it is sweet for our country to die! "
The tempest of battle now rages and swells,
'Mid the thunder of cannon, the pealing of bells ;
And a light, not of battle, illumes yonder spire —
Scene of woe and destruction ; — 'tis Charlestown on
fire!
PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE; JOHN ESTEN COOKE.
035
The young volunteer heedeth not the sad cry,
But murmurs, " 'Tis sweet for our country to die!"
With trumpets and banners the foe draweth near:
A volley of musketry checks their career !
With the dead and the dying the hill-side is strown,
And the shout through our lines is, " The day is our
own!"
" Not yet," cries the young volunteer, " do they fly !
Stand firm ! — it is sweet for our country to die !"
Now our powder is spent, and they rally again ; —
"Retreat!" says our chief, "since unarmed we re-
main !"
But the young volunteer lingers yet on the field,
Reluctant fo fly, and disdaining to yield.
A shot! Ah! he falls! but his life's latest sigh
Is, " 'Tis sweet, 0, 'tis sweet for our country to die!"
And thus Warren fell ! Happy death ! noble fall !
To perish for country at Liberty's call !
Should the flag of invasion profane evermore
The blue of our seas or the green of our shore,
May the hearts of our people re-echo that cry, — ■
" 'Tis sweet, 0,. 'tis sweet for our country to die !"
O TE KEEN BREEZES.
0 ye keen breezes from the salt Atlantic,
Which to the beach, where memory loves to wander,
On your strong pinions waft reviving coolness,
Bend your course hither!
For, in the surf ye scattered to the sunshine,
Did we not sport together in my boyhood,
Screaming for joy amid the flashing breakers,
O rude companions ?
Then to the meadows beautiful and fragrant,
Where the coy Spring beholds her earliest verdure
Brighten with smiles that rugged sea-side hamlet,
How would we hasten ?
There under elm-trees affluent in foliage,
High o'er whose summit hovered the sea-eagle,
Through the hot, glaring noontide have we rested
After our gambols.
Vainly the sailor called you from your slumber:
Like a glazed pavement shone the level ocean ;
While, with their snow-white canvass idly drooping,
Stood the tall vessels.
And when, at length, exulting ye awakened,
Rushed to the beach, and ploughed the liquid acres,
How have I chased you through the shivered billows,
In my frail shallop !
Playmates, old playmates, hear my invocation !
In the close town 1 waste this golden summer,
Where piercing cries and sounds of wheels in motion
Ceaselessly mingle.
When shall I feel your breath upon irry forehead!
When shall I hear you in the elm-trees' branches?
When shall we wrestle in the briny surges.
Friends of my boyhood ?
PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE— JOHN ESTEN COOKE.
Philip Pendleton Cooke, the son of the late
John R. Cooke, an eminent member of the Vir-
ginia bar, was born in Martinsburg, Berkeley Co.,
Va., October 2G, 1816. He entered Princeton
College at the early age of fifteen ; and after com-
pleting his course, studied law with his father at
Winchester. He wrote a few sketches in prose
and verse for the Virginian, and the early num-
bers of the Southern Literary Messenger. Before
he was of age, he was engaged in professional
practice and also a married man. An ardent
lover of field sports, and surrounded at his home
on the Shenandoah near the Blue Ridge, with every
temptation for these pursuits, he became a tho-
rough sportsman. At this time, he penned a ro-
mance of about three hundred lines, entitled
Emily, which was published in Graham's Maga-
zine. This was followed by the Froissart Bal-
lads, which appeared in a volume in 18-17. This
was his only separate publication. He afterwards
wrote part of a novel, The Chevalier Merlin, which
appeared, so far as completed, in the. Southern
Literary Messenger. He also wrote for the same
periodical, the tales entitled John Carpe, The Two
Country Houses, The Gregories of Hackwood, The
Crime of Andrew Blair, Erysicthon, Dante, and
a number of reviews.
Mr. Cooke died suddenly, January 20, 1850, at
the early age of thirty-three.
With the exception of the Froissart Ballads,
which he wrote with great rapidity, at the rate
of one a day, Mr. Cooke composed slowly ; and
his published productions, felicitous as they are,
do not, in the judgment of those who knew him,
present a full exhibition of the powers of his
mind. He shone in conversation, and was highly
prized by all about him for his intellectual and
social qualities. His manner was stately and im-
pressive.
The poems of Mr. Cooke are in a bright ani-
mated mood, vigorous without effort, preserving
the freedom of nature with the discipline of art.
The ballads, versifications of old Froissart's chi-
valric stories, run off trippingly with their spark-
ling objective life. In its rare and peculiar excel-
lence, in delicately touched sentiment, Florence
Vane has the merit of an antique song.
636
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
FLORENCE VANE.
I loved thee long and dearly,
Florence Vane ;
My life's bright dream, and early
Hath come again ;
I renew in my fond vision,
My heart's dear pain,
My hope, and thy derision,
Florence Vane.
The ruin lone and hoary,
The ruin old,
Where thou didst mark my story,
At even told, —
That spot — the hues Elysian
Of sky and plain —
I treasure in my vision,
• Florence Vane.
Thou wast lovelier than the roses
In their prime ;
Thy voice excelled the closes
Of sweetest rhyme ;
Thy heart was as a river
Without a main.
Would I had loved thee never,
Florence Vane!
But, fairest, coldest wonder !
Thy glorious clay
Lieth the green sod under —
Alas the day!
And it boots not to remember
Thy disdain —
To quicken love's pale ember,
Florence Vaue.
The lilies of the valley
By young graves weep,
The pansies love to dally
Where maidens sleep;
May their bloom, in beauty vying,
Never wane
Where thine earthly part is lying,
Florence Vane !
YOUNG ROSALIE LEE.
I love to forget ambition,
And hope, in the mingled thought
Of valley, and wood, and meadow,
Where, whilome, my spirit caught
Affection's holiest breathings —
Where under the skies, with me
Young Rosalie roved, aye drinking
From joy's bright Castaly.
I think of the valley and river,
Of the old wood blight with blossoms ;
Of the pure and chastened gladness
Upspringing in our bosoms.
I think of the lonely turtle
So tongued with melanehol y ;
Of the hue of the drooping moonlight,
And the starlight pure and holy.
Of the beat of a heart most tender,
The sigh of a shell-tinct lip
As soft as the land-tones wandering
Far leagues over ocean deep ;
Of a step as light in its falling
On the breast of the beaded lea
As the fall of the faery moonlight
On the leaf of yon tulip tree.
I think of these — and the murmur
Of bird, and katydid,
Whose home is the grave-yard cypress
Whose goblet the honey-reed.
And then I weep ! for Rosalie
Has gone to her early rest;
And the green-lipped reed and the daisy
Suck sweets from her maiden breast
Joirsr Estex Cooke, a younger brother of the
preceding, is the author of a series of fictions,
produced with rapidity, which have in a brief pe-
riod gained him the attention of the public. He
was born in Winchester, Frederick count}', Vir-
ginia, November 3, 1830. When a j-ear or more
old, his father took up his residence on his estate
of Glengary, near Winchester, whence, on the
burning of the house in 1839, the family removed
to Richmond. Mr. Cooke's first publication, if
we except a few tales and sketches contributed
to Harpers' and Putnam's Magazines, the Literary
World, and perhaps other journals, was entitled;
Leather Stocking and Silk, or Hunter John
Myers and his Times, a Story of the Valley of
Virginia, from the press of the Harpers in 185U.
The chief character, the hunter, is drawn fnjm
life, and is a specimen of manly, healthy, moun-
tain nature, efttctively introduced in the gay do-
mestic group around him. This was immediate-
ly followed by the Youth of Jefferson, or a Chro-
nicle of College Scrapes, at Williamsburgh, in
Viginia; A.B. 1764. The second title somewhat
qualifies the serious purport of the first, which
might lead the reader to look for a work of bio-
graphy ; but in fact, the book, with perhaps a
meagre hint or two of tradition, is a fanciful view
of a gayer period than the present, with the full
latitude of the writer of fiction. Love is, of
course, a prominent subject of the story, and is
tenderly and chivalrously handled. Scarcely had
these books made their appearance, almost simul-
taneously, when a longer work from the same, as
JOHN ESTEN COOKE.
cs:
yet anonymous, source, was announced in The
Virginia Comedians, or Old Days in the Old
Dominion., edited from the MSS. of C. Effing-
ham, Esq. It is much the largest, and by far the
best of the author's works thus far. The scene
has the advantage of one of the most capable re-
gions of romance in the country, the life and man-
ners of Virginia in the period just preceding the
Revolution, combining the adventure of woodland
and frontier life with the wealth and luxury of
the sea-board. We are introduced to one of the
old manorial homesteads on James river, where
the dramatis persons have little else to do than to
develope their traits and idiosyncrasies with a
freedom fettered only by the rules of art and the
will of the writer. The privilege is not suffered
to pass unimproved. The whole book is redolent
of youth and poetic susceptibility to the beauties
of nature, the charms of woman,, and the quick
movement of life. Some liberties are taken with
historical personages — there is a flitting study of
Patrick Henry in a certain shrewd man in an old
red cloak ; Parson Tag lias doubtless had his parallel
among the high living clergy and stage manager
Hallam we know existed, though we trust with
very different attributes than those to which the
necessity of the plot here subjects him. These
are all, however, but shadowy hints; the author's
active fancy speedily carrying him beyond literal
realities. In its purely romantic spirit, and the
variety and delicacy of its portraitures of the sex,
the Virginia Comedians is a work of high merit
and promise. The success of this work induced
•Mr. Cooke to avow his authorship, and take the
benefit in literature of his growing reputation,
though still devoted to his profession of the law.
A subsequent publication from his pen, — still
another, \vebelieve,is announced, — is entitled isY-
lie, or the Human Comedy, a picture of life in the
old sense of the word, a representation of man-
ners. It is a novel of the sentimental school of
the day, contrasting high and low life in the city
— the scene is laid at Richmond — % young girl,
who gives name to the book, famishing the sun-
beam to the social life in Which she is ca4. In
this portrait of girlish life, the writer, as he tells
us, " has tried to show how a pure spirit, even
though it be in the bosom of a child, will rim
through the variegated woof of that life which
surrounds it, like a thread of pure gold, and that
allwho come in contact with it, will carry away
something to elevate and purify them, and make
them better." The character is in a mood in
which the author lias been most successful.
The most noticeable characteristic of Mr.
Cooke's style is its gay, happy facility — the proof
of a generous nature. It carries the reader, in
these early works, lightly over any defects of art,
and provides for the author an easy entrance to
the best audience of the novelist, youth and wo-
manhood.
PROLOGUE TO THE VIRGINIA COMEDIANS.
The memories of men are full of old romances ;
but they will not speak — our skalds. King Arthur
lies still wounded grievously, in the fa- island val-
ley of Avilyon : Lord Odin in the misty deatli
realm: Balder the Beautif.il, sought long by great
Hermoder, lives beyond Hela's portals, and will
bless his people som; day -when he eoaies. But
when? King Arthur ever is to come: Odin will
one day wind his horn and clash his wild barbaric
cymbals through the Nordland pines as he returns,
1 but not in our generation : Balder will rise from
sleep and shine again the white sun god on his
world. But always these things will be: Arthur
and the rest are meanwhile sleeping.
Romance is history : the illustration may be lame
— the truth is melancholy. Because the men whose
memories hold this history will not speak, it dies
away with them! the great past goes deeper and
deeper into mist : becomes finally a dying strain of
: music, and is no more remembered for ever.
Thinking these thoughts I have thought it well to
set down here some incidents which took place ou
Virginia 6oil, and iu which an ancestor of my
family had no small part : to write my family ro-
mance in a single word, and also, though following
a connecting thread, a leading idea, to speak briefly
of the period to which these memories, as I may
call them, do attach.
That period was very picturesque : illustrated and
adorned, as it surely was, by such figures as one
seldom sees now on the earth. Often in my even-
ing reveries, assisted by the partial gloom resulting
from the struggles of the darkness and the dying
firelight, I endeavor, and not wholly without suc-
cess, to summon from their sleep these stalwart
cavaliers, and tender graceful dames of the far past.
They rise before me and glide onward — manly faces,
with clear eyes and lofty brows, and firm lips
covered with the knightly fringe : soft, tender faces,
with bright eyes and gracious smiles and winning
gestures ; all the life and splendor of the past again
becomes incarnate ! How plain the embroidered
doublet, and the sword-belt, and the powdered hair,
and hat adorned witli its wide floating feather!
How real are the ruffled breasts and hands, the
long-flapped waistcoats, and the buckled shoes !
And then the fairer forms: they come as plainly
with their looped-back gowns all glittering with
gold and silver flowers, and on their heads great
masses of curls witli pearls interwoven ! See the
gracious smiles and musical movement — all the
graces which made those dead dames so attractive
to the outward eye — as their pure faithful natures
made them priceless to the eyes of the heart.
If fancy needed assistance, more than one portrait
hanging on my walls might afford it. Old family
portraits which I often gaze on witli a pensive plea-
sure. What a tender maiden grace beams on me
from the eyes of Kate Effingham yonder; smiling
from the antique frame and blooming like a radiant
summer — she was but seventeen when it Avas taken
— under the winter of her snow-like powder, and
bright diamond pendants, glittering like icicles!
The canvas is discolored, and even cracked in places,
but the little place laughs merrily still — the eyes
fixed peradvent.ure upon another portrait, hanging
opposite. This is a picture of Mr. William Effing-
ham', the brave soldier of the Revolution, taken in
his younger days, when he had just returned from
college. He is most preposterously dressed in flow-
ing periwig and enormous ruffles; and his coat is
heavy witli embroidery in gold thread: lie is a
handsome young fellow, and excepting some pom-
posity in his air, a simple-looking, excellent, honest
face.
Over my fireplace, however, hangs the picture
which I value most — a portrait of my ancestor,
Champ Effingham, Esq. The form is lordly and
erect ; the face clear and pale ; the eyes full of won-
drous thought in their far depths. The lips are
chiselled with extraordinary beauty, the brow noble
and imaginative — the whole face plainly giving in-
638
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN" LITERATURE.
dication of fiery passion, and no less of tender soft-
ness. Often this face looks at me from the canvas,
and I fancy sometimes that the white hand, covered
as in Vandyke's pictures with its snowy lace, moves
from the book it holds and raises slowly the fore-
finger and points toward its owner's breast. The
lips then seem to say, "Speak of me as I was: no-
thing extenuate : set down nought in malice I" — then
the fire-light leaping up shows plainly that this all
was but a dream, and the fine pale face is again
only canvas, the white hand rests upon its book: —
my dream ends with a smile.
EPILOGUE.
It was one of those pure days which, born of
spring. =eem almost to rejoice like living things in
the bright flowers and tender buds : — and she was
failing.
All the mountain winds were faintly blowing on
the smiling trees, and on the white calm brow of
one who breathed the pure delightful airs of open-
ing spring, before she went away to breathe the
airs of that other land, so far away, where no snows
come, or frost, or hail, or rain ; but spring reigns
ever, sublimated by the light which shines on
figures in white garments round the central throne.
She heard those figures calling, calling, calling,
with their low soft voices full of love and hope;
calling ever to her in the purple twilight dying
o'er the world; rejoicing every one that 6he was
coming.
She looked upon the faces seen through mist
around her, and besought them smiling, not to weep
for her, but look to the bright land where she was
going — for her faith was strong. She begged them
to take tender care of the flower which lay but
now upon her bosom, and not think of her. A
voice had told her in the night that she was waited
for : and now the sun was lading in the west, and
she must go.
Alcestis-like she kissed them on their brows and
pointed to the skies: the time had almost come.
She looked with dim faint eyes, as in a dream,
upon that past which now had flowed from her and
left her pure: — she saw the sunset wane away and
die above the rosy headlands, glooming fast: — she
murmured that her hope was steadfast ever; that she
heard the angels; that they called to her, and bade
her say farewell to all that was around her on this
earth, for now the expected time had come.
The tender sunset faded far away, and over the
great mountains drooped the spangled veil, with
myriads of worlds all singing as her heart was sing-
ing now. She saw the rosy flush go far away, and
die away, and leave the earth : and then the voice
said Come!
She saw a cross rise from the far bright distance,
and a bleeding form : she saw the heavenly vision
slowly move, and ever nearer, nearer, brighter with
the light of heaven. She saw it now before her, and
her arms were opened. The grand eternal stars
came out above — the sunset died upon her brow —
she clasped the cross close to her bosom — and so fell
asleep.
THE DEATH OF A MOUNTAIN" nuN'TEB — FEOM LEATHEE STOCKING
AND SILK.
His thoughts then seemed to wander to times more
deeply sunken in the past than that of the event his
words touched on. "Waking he dreamed ; and the
large eyes melted or fired with a thousand memories
which came flocking to him, bright and joyous, or
mournful and sombre, but all now transmuted by his
almost ecstasy to one glowing mass of purest gold.
He saw now plainly much that had been dark to him
before; the hand of God was in all, the providence
of that great almighty being in every autumn leaf
which whirled away!
Again, with a last lingering look his mental eye3
surveyed that eventful border past, so full of glori-
ous splendor, of battle shocks, and rude delights; so
full of beloved eyes, now dim, and so radiant with
those faces and those hearts now cold ; again leaving
the present and all around him, he lived for a
moment in that grand and beauteous past, instinct
for him with so much splendor and regret.
But his dim eyes returned suddenly to those much
loved faces round him ; and those tender hearts were
overcome by the dim, shadowy look.
The sunset slowly waned away, and falling in red
splendor on the old gray head and storm-beaten
brow, lingered there lovingly and cheerfully. The
old hunter feebly smiled.
" You'll be good girls," he murmured wistfully,
drawing his feeble arm more closely round the
children's necks, " remember the old man, darlin's!"
Caroline pressed her lips to the cold hand, sobbing.
Alice did not move her head, which, buried in the
counterpane, was shaken with passionate sobs.
********
The Doctor felt his pulse and turned with a
mournful look to his brother. Then came those
grand religious consolations which so smoothe the
pathway to the grave ; he was ready — always —
God be thanked, the old man said ; he trusted in the
Lord.
And so the sunset waned away, and with it the
life and eti ength of the old storm-beaten mountaineer
— so grand yet powerless, so near to death yet so
very cheerful.
" I'm goin','' he murmured, as the red orb touched,
the mountain, " I'm goin', my darlin's ; I always
loved you all, my children, liarlin', don't cry," he
nnn mured feebly to Alice, whose heart was near
breaking. " don't any of j-ou cry for me."
The old dim eyes s.gain dwelt tenderly on the lov-
ing faces, wet with tears, and on those roor trem-
bling lips. Theie came now to the aged face of the
rude mountaineer, an expression of grandeur and
majesty, which illumined the broad brow and eyes
like a heavenly light, Then those eyes seemed to
have found what they were seeking; and were
abased. Their grandeur changed to humilit3-, their
light to shadow, their fire to softness and unspeak-
able love. The thin feeble hands, stretched out
upon the cover, were agitated slightly, the eyes
moved slowly to the window and thence returned to
the dear faces weeping round the bed ; then
whispering :
" The Lord is good to me ! he told me he was
eomin' 'fore the night was here ; come ! come — Lord
Jesus — come !" the old mountaineer fell back with a
lowsigh — so low that theoldsleeping hound dreamed
on.
The life strings parted without sound ; and hunter
John, that so long loved and cherished soul, that old
I strong form which had been hardened in so many
storms, that tender loving heart — ah, more than all,
that grand and tender heart — had passed as calmly
' as a little babe from the cold shadowy world to that
other world ; the world, we trust, of light, and love,
and joy.
IIOKACE BINXEY WALLACE.
ITonACE Binn'ey Wallace, the son of John B.
"Wallace, an eminent lawyer of Philadelphia, was
born in that city, February 26, 1817. The first
two years of his collegiate course were passed at
the University of Pennsylvania, and the remain-
IIOBACE BIXXEY WALLACE.
639
ing portion at Princeton College, where he was gra-
duated in 18S5. He studied with great thorough-
ness the science of the law, and at the age of
twenty-seven contributed notes to Smith's Selec-
tions of Leading Cases in various branches of the
Law, White and Tudor's Selection of Leading
Cases in Equity, and Decisions of American
Courts in several departments of the Law, which
have been adopted with commendation by the
highest legal authorities.
His attention was, however, by no means con-
fined to professional study. He devoted much
time to scientific study, and projected several
theories on subjects connected therewith, while in
literature he produced an anonymous novel, Stan-
ley, which, with many faults of construction, con-
tains passages of admirably expressed thought.
Mr. Wallace published a number of articles
anonymously in various periodicals. He was
much interested in philosophical speculation, and
bestowed much attention on the theory of Comte,
by whom he was highly prized.
In April, 1849, Mr. Wallace sailed for Europe,
and passed a year in England, Germany, France,
and Italy. On his return he devoted himself with
renewed energy to literary pursuits. He pro-
jected a series of works on commercial law, in
the preparation of which he proposed to devote
a year or two at a foreign university to the ex-
clusive study of the civil law. In the spring of
1852 his eyesight became impaired, owing, as
was afterwards discovered, to the incipient stages
of congestion of the brain, produced by undue
mental exertion. By advice of his physicians he
embarked on the thirteenth of November for
Liverpool. Finding no improvement in his con-
dition on his arrival, he at once proceeded to
Paris in quest of medical advice. His cerebral
disease increased, and led to his death by suicide
at Paris, on the sixteenth of December following.
In 1855 a volume was published in Philadelphia
entitled, Art, Scenery, and Philosophy in Europe ;
Being Fragments from the Portfolio of the late
Horace Biiiney Wallace, Esquire, of Philadelphia.
It contains a series of essays on the principles of
art, detailed criticisms on the principal European
cathedrals, a few travelling sketches, papers on
Michael Angelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Fra Bartolo-
meo, Perugino, and Raphael, and an article on
Comte.
These writings, though not designed for publi-
cation, and in many instances in an unfinished
state, d's.ilay great depth of thought, command
of language, knowledge of the history as well as
sesthetic principles of art, and a finely cultivated
taste. Occasional passages are full of poetic
imagery, growing naturally out of enthusiastic I
admiration of the subject in hand. Some of the :
fine <t of these passages occur in the remarks on i
the Cathedral of Milan, a paper which, although
endorsed by the writer " very unfinished," and no
doubt capable of finer elaboration, is one of the j
best in the series of which it forms a portion.
THE INTERIOR OF ST. PETER'S.
What a world within Life's open world is the in-
terior of St. Peter's! — a world of softness, bright-
ness, and richness ! — fusing the sentiments in a refined |
rapture of tranquillity — gratifying the imagination
with splendors more various, expansive, and exhaust-
less than the natural universe from which we pass, —
typical of that sphere of spiritual consciousness,
which, before the inward-working energies of faith,
arches itself out within man's mortal being. When
you push aside the heavy curtain that veils the
sanctuary from the world without, what a shower
of high and solemn pleasure is thrown upon your
spirit ! A glory of beauty fills all the Tabernacle 1
The majesty of a Perfection, that seems fragrant of
delightfulness, fills it like a Presence. Grandeur,
strength, solidity. — suggestive of the fixed Infinite,
— float unsphered within those vaulted spaees, like
clouds of lustre. The immensity of the size, — the
unlimitable richness of the treasures that have been
lavished upon its decoration by the enthusiastic pro-
digality of the Catholic world through successive cen-
turies,— dwarfs Man and the Present, and leaves the
soul open to sentiments of God and Eternity. The
eye, as it glances along column and archway, meets
nothing but variegated marbles and gold. Among
the ornaments of the obscure parts of the walls and
piers, are a multitude of pictures, vast in magni-
tude, transcendent in merit, — the master-pieces of
the world, — the communion of St. Jerome. — the
Burial of St. Petronilla, — the Transfiguration of the
Saviour, — not of perishable canvass and oils, but
wrought in mosaic, and tit to endure till Time itself
shall perish.
It is the sanctuary of Space and Silence. No
throng can crowd these aisles ; no sound of voices
or of organs can displace the venerable quiet that
broods here. The Pope, who fills the world with all
his pompous retinue, fills not St. Peter's ; and the
roar of his quired singers, mingling with the sono-
rous chant of a host of priests and bishops, struggles
for an instant against this ocean of stillness, and
then is absorbed into it like a faint echo. The
mightiest ceremonies of human worship, — celebrated
by the earth's chief Pontiff, sweeping along in the
magnificence of the most imposing array that the
existing world can exhibit, — seem dwindled into
insignificance within this structure. They do not
explain to our feelings the uses of the building. As
you stand within the gorgeous, celestial dwelling — .
framed not for man's abode — the holy silence, the
mysterious fragrance, the light of ever-burning
lamps, suggest to you that it is the home of invisi-
ble spirits, — an outer-court of Heaven, — visited, per-
chance, in the deeper hours of a night that is never
dark within its walls, by the all-sacred Awe itself.
When you enter St. Peter's, Religion, as a local
reality and a separate life, seems revealed to you.
Far up the wdde nave, the enormous baldaehino of
jetty bronze, with twisted columns and tint-like
canopy, and a hundred brazen lamps, whose unex-
tinguished flame keeps the watch of Light around
the entrance to the crypt where lie the martyred
remains of the Apostle, the rock of the church, give
an oriental aspect to the central altar, which seems
to typify the origin of the Faith which reared this
Fane. Holiest of the holy is that altar. No step
less sacred than a Pope's may ascend to minister
before it; only on days the most august in the calen-
dar, may even the hand which is consecrated by the
E.ing of the Fisherman be stretched forth to touch
the vessels which rest on it. At every hour, over
some part of the floor, worshippers may be seen
kneeling, wrapt each in solitary penitence or ado-
ration. The persons mystically habited, who jour-
ney noiselessly across the marble, bow and cross
themselves, as they pass before this or that spot, be-
token the recognition of something mysterious, that
is unseen, invisible. By day illuminated by rays
only from above, bv night always luminous witiiin
— filled by an atmosphere of its own, which changes
GiO
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
not with the changing cold and heat of the seasons
■without, — exhaling always a faint, delightful per-
fume,— it is the realm of piety, — the clime of devo-
tion— a spiritual globe in the midst of a material
universe.
ELinU G. HOLLAND
Was born of New England parentage at Solon,
Cortlandt county, New York, April 14, 1817. His
first published work was a volume entitled The
Being of Cod and the Immortal Lfe, in 1846.
His aim was to assert the doctrines of the divine
existence and the immortality of man by argu-
ments derived from the elements of human nature.
In 1S49 he published, at Boston, a volume, Re-
views and. Essays. It embraces an elaborate paper
on the character and philosophy of Confucius, an
analysis of the genius of Channing, an article on
Natural Theology, and Essays on Genius, Beauty,
the Infinite, Harmony, &c. This was followed in
1852 by another volume entitled Essays : and a
Drama in Five Acts. The essays were in a simi-
lar range with those of its predecessor. The
drama is entitled The Highland Treason, and is a
version of the affair of Arnold and Andre. In
1853 he published a Memoir of the Rev. Joseph
Badger, the revival preacher of the Christian
connexion.* Though luxuriant and prolix in ex-
pression, with a tendency to over statement in the
transcendental style, the writings of Mr. Holland
show him to be a student and thinker.
We present a pleasing passage from an Essay on
" American Scenery."
THE SUSQCEnANNAH.
It is difficult to imagine a more continuous line of
beauty than the course of the Susquehannah, a river
whose mild grace and gentleness combined with
power render it a message of nature to the affections
and to the tranquil consciousness. This trait of mild-
ness, even in its proudest flow, seems to hover upon
its banks and waters as the genius of the scene. No
thunder of cataracts anywhere announces its fame.
It is mostly the contemplative river, dear to fancy,
dear to the soul's calm feeling of unruffled peace.
This river of noble sources and many tributaries,
traverses the vale of Wyoming, where, in other
years, we have been delighted with its various sce-
nery. Its mountain ramparts, which rise somewhat
majestically to hail her onward progress, are crowned
with a vegetation of northern fir, whilst the verdant
and fertile valley is graced with the foliage of the
oak, chestnut, and sycamore. At Northumberland,
where the east and the west branch unite, the river
rolls along witli a noble expanse of surface ; opposite
the town rises, several hundred feet, a dark perpen-
dicular precipice of rock, from which the whole
prospect is exceedingly picturesque. The Alleghany
Mountains, which somehow seem to bear a paternal
relation to this river, lend it the shadow of their pre-
sence through great distances. These mountains,
though they never rise so high as to give the impres-
sion of power and sublimity, are never monotonous.
Though they are not generally gothie, but of rounded
aspect, the northern part has those that are steep and
abrupt, sharp-crested and of notched and jagsed out-
line. The Susquehannah is wealthy also in aborigi-
nal legend, and in abundant foliage. Its rude raft
likewise aids the picture. It has many beautiful
* An analysis of this work will be found in the Christian Ex-
aminer for July, 1854.
sources, particularly that in the lovely lake of
Cooperstown ; and no thought concerning its destiny
can be so eloquent as the one expressed by our first
American novelist whose name is alike honored by
his countrymen and by foreign nations. He spoke
of it as " the mighty Susquehannah, a river to which
the Atlantic herself has extended her right arm to
welcome into her bosom." Other scenery in Penn-
sylvania we have met, which, though less renowned
than Wyoming and the Juniata, is not less romantic
and beautiful. A noble river is indeed the image of
unity, a representative of human tendencies, wherein
many separate strivings unite in one main current
of happiness and success. Man concentrates himself
like a river in plans and purposes, and seek his unity
in some chief end as the river seeks it in the sea.
WILLIAM A. JONE8
Is a member of a family long distinguished for
the eminent men it has furnished to the bar
and the bench, in the state of New York, in-
cluding the ante-revolutionary period. He was
born in New York June 26, 1817. In 1836 he
was graduated at Columbia College, and is now
attached to that institution as librarian. His
contributions to the press have been numerous,
chiefly articles in the department of criticism.
To Dr. Hawks's Church Record he furnished an
extended series of articles on Old English Prose
Writers ; to Areturus numerous literary papers,
and afterwards wrote for the Whig and Demo-
cratic Reviews. He lias published two volumes
of these and other Essays and Criticisms : The
Analyst, a Collection of Miscellaneous Papers,
in 1840, and Essays upon Authors and Books in
1849. In the last year he also published a Me-
morial of his father, the late Hon. David S.
Jones, with an Appendix, containing notices of
the Jones Family of Queens County.
A passage from an article in the Democratic
Review exhibits his style, in a eulogy of a favor-
ite author.
William Hazlitt we regard, all thirgs considered,
as the first of the regular critics in this nineteenth
century, surpassed by several in some one particu-
lar quality or acquisition, but superior to them all
in general force, originality, and independence.
With less scholarship considerably than Hunt or
Southey, he has more substance than either; with
less of Lamb's fineness and nothing of his subtle
humor, he has a wider grasp and altogether a more
manly cast of intellect. He has less liveliness and
more smartness than Jeffrey, but a far profounder
insight into the mysteries of poesy, and apparently
a more genial sympathy with common lite. Then,
too, what freshness in all his writings, " wild wit,
invention ever new :" for although lie disclaims
having any imagination, he certainly possessed cre-
ative talent and fine ingenuity. Most of his essays
are, as has been well remarked, " original creations,"
not mere homilies or didactic theses, so much as a
new illustration from experience and observation of
great truths colored and set off by all the brilliant
aids of eloquence, fancy, and the choicest stores of
accumulation.
As a literary critic he may be placed rather
among the independent judges of original power
than among the trained critics of education and ac-
quirements. He relies almost entirely on individual
impressions and personal feeling, thus giving a
charm to liis writings, quite apart from, and iude-
THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS.
641
pendent of, their purely critical excellencies.
Though he has never published an autobiography,*
yet all of his works are, in a certain sense, confes-
sions. He pours out his feelings on a theme of inte-
rest to him, and treats the impulses of his heart and
the movements of his mind as historical and philo-
sophical data. Though he almost invariably trusts
himself, he is almost as invariably in the right.
For, as some are born poets, so he too was born a
critic, with no small infusion of the poetic character.
Analytic judgment (of the very finest and rarest
kind), and poetic fancy, naturally rich, and ren-
dered still more copious and brilliant by the golden
associations of his life, early intercourse with honor-
able poets, and a most appreciative sympathy with
the master-pieces of poesy. Admirable as a genial
critic on books and men, of manners and character,
of philosophical systems and theories of taste and
art, yet he is more especially the genuine critic in
his favorite walks of art and poesy ; politics and
the true literature of real life — the domestic novels,
the drama, and the belles-lettres.
As a descriptive writer, in his best passages, he
ranks with Burke and Rousseau; in delineation of
sentiment, and in a rich rhetorical vein, he has whole
pages worthy of Taylor or Lord Bacon. There is
nothing in Maoaalay for profound gorgeous decla-
mation, superior to the character of Coleridge, or of
Milton, or of Burke, or of a score of men of genius
whose portraits he has painted with love and with
power. In pure criticism who has done so much
for the novelists, the essayists, writers of comedy ;
for the old dramatists and elder poets ? Lamb's fine
notes are mere notes— Coleridge's improvised criti-
cisms are merely fragmentary, while if Hazlitt has
borrowed their opinions in some cases, he has made
much more of them than they could have done
themselves. Coleridge was a poet— Lamb a hu-
morist. To neither of these characters had Hazlitt
any fair pretensions, for with all his fancy he had a
metaphysical understanding (a bid ground for the
tender plant of poesy to flourish in), and to wit and
Humor he laid no claim, being too much in earnest
to indulge in pleasantry and jesting— though he has
satiric wit at will and the very keenest sarcasm.
Many of his papers are prose satires, while in others
there are to be foun 1 exquisite /«« d'esprit, delicate
banter, and the purest intellectual refinements upon
works of wit and humor. In all, however, the cri-
tical quality predominates, be the form that of essay,
criticism, sketch, biography, or even travels.
THOMAS WILLIAM PAESONS,
The author of a translation of The fflrst Ten
Cantos of the Inferno of Dante, published in
1813, and of a volume of original Poems in
3,854, is a native of, and resident at, Boston. His
writings bear witness to his sound classical edu-
cation, as well as to the fruits of foreign travel.
The translation of Dante, in the stanza of the
original, has been much admired by scholars.
The Poems exhibit variety in playful satire
epistle, ballad, the tale, description of nature, of
European antiquities, and the occasional record
of personal emotion. In all, the subject is con-
trolled and elevated by the language of art. It is
the author's humor in the Epistles which open
the volume to address several foreign celebrities
in the character of an English traveller in Ameri-
ca., writing to Charles Kemble on the drama; to
Edward Moxon, the London publisher, on 'the
' Tho Liber Amoris can hardly be called an exception.
VOL. II. — 41
state of letters; and to Rogers and Landor on
i poetry and art generally. In the Epistle to Lan-
dor, the comparatively barren objects of Ameri-
j can antiquities are placed by the side of the storied
| associations of Italy. The land is pictured as
l existing "in Saturn's reign before the stranger
: came," like the waste Missouri ; when the view
is changed to the Roman era : —
Soon as they rose— the Capitolian lords—
The land grew sacred and beloved of Gon;
Where'er they carried their triumphant swords
Glory sprang forth and sanctified the sod.
Nay, whether wandering by Provincial Rome,
Or British Tyne, we note the Ctesar's tracks,
Wondering how far from their Tarpeian flown,
The ambitious eagles bore the praetor's axe.
Those toga' J fathers, those equestrian kings.
Are still our masters — still within us reign,
Born though we may have been beyond the springs
Of Britain's floods — beyond the outer main.
For, while the music of their language lasts.
They shall not perish like the painted men
Brief-lived in memory as the winter's blasts!
Who here once held the mountain and the glen.
From them and theirs with cold regard we turn,
The wreck of polished nations to survey,
Nor care the savage attributes to learn
Of souls that struggled with barbarian clay.
With what emotion on a coin we trace
Vespasian's brow, or Trajan's chastened smile,
But view with heedless eye the murderous mace
And checkered lance of Zealand's warrior-isle.
Here, by the ploughman, as with daily tread
He tracks the furrows of his fertile "ground,
Dark locks of hair, and thigh-bones of the dead,
Spear-heads, and skulls, and arrows, oft are found.
On such memorials unconcerned we gaze;
No trace returning of the glow divine
Wherewith, dear Walter ! in our Eton days
We eyed a fragment from the Palatine.
It fired us then to trace upon the map
The forum's line — proud empire's chureh-yardr
paths —
Ay, or to finger but a marble scrap
Or stucco piece from Diocletian's baths.
Cellini's workmanship could nothing add,
Nor any casket, rich with gems and gold,
To the strange value every pebble had
O'er which perhaps the Tiber's wave had rolled.
One of the longer poems — Ghetto di Roma, a
story of the Jewish proscription— is admirably
told; picturesque in detail, simple in movement,
and the pnthos effectively maintained without
apparent effort. The lines On the Death of
Daniel Webster are among the ablest which
that occasion produced. The chaste and expres-
sive lines, SteuarCs Burial, are the record of a
real incident. The friend of the author whose
funeral is literally described, was Mr. David
Steuart Robertson, a gentleman well known by
his elegant rural hospitality at his residence at
Lancaster to the wits and good society of Boston.
The healthy objective life of the poems, and
their finished expression, will secure them a
reputation long after many of the feeble literary
affectations of the day are forgotten.
64:2
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
ON A BTJBT OF DANTE.
See, from this counterfeit of him
"Whom Arno shall remember long,
How stern of lineament, how glim,
The father was of Tuscan song.
There but the burning sense of wrong,
Perpetual care and scorn, abide ;
Small friendship for the lordly throng ;
Distrust of all the world beside.
Faithful if this wan image be,
No dream his life was — but a fight ;
Could any Beatrice see
A lover in that anchorite?
To that cold Ghibeline's gloomy 6ight
Who could have guessed the visions came
Of Beauty, veiled with heavenly light,
In circles of eternal flame?
The lips as Cumae's cavern close,
The cheeks with fast and sorrow thin,
The rigid front, almost morose,
But for the patient's hope within,
Declare a life whose course hath been
Unsullied still, though still severe,
Which, through the wavering days of sin,
Kept itself icy-chaste and clear.
Not wholly such his haggard look
When wandering once, forlorn, he strayed,
"With no companion save his book.
To Corvo's hushed monastic shade ;
"Where, as the Benedictine laid
His palm upon the pilgrim guest,
The single boon for which he prayed
The convent's charity was rest.*
Peace dwells not here — this rugged face
Betrays no spirit of repose ;
The sullen warrior sole we trace,
The marble man of many woes.
Such was his mien when first arose
The thought of that strange tale divine,
When hell he peopled with his foes,
The scourge of many a guilty line.
"War to the last he waged with all
The tyrant canker-worms of earth ;
Baron and duke, in hold and hall,
Cursed the dark hour that gave him birth ;
He used Rome's harlot for his mirth;
Plucked bare hypocrisy and crime;
But valiant souls of knightly worth
Transmitted to the rolls of Time.
0, Time ! whose verdicts mock our own,
The only righteous judge art thou ;
That poor, old exile, sad and lone,
Is Latium's other Virgil now :
Before his name the nations bow;
His words are parcel of mankind,
Deep in whose hearts, as on his brow,
The marks have sunk of Dante's mind.
BTEUARTS BURIAL.
The bier is ready and the mourners wait,
The funeral ear stands open at the gate.
Bring down our brother ; bear him gently, too ;
So, friends, he always bore himself with you.
Down the sad staircase, from the darkened room,
For the first time, he comes in silent gloom :
* It is told of Dante that, when he was roaminfr over Italy,
he came to a certain monastery, where he was met by one of
the friars, wlio blessed him, and asked what was his desire ; to
which the weary stranger simply answered, "Face"
"Who ever left this hospitable door
"Without his smile and warm " good-bye," before ?
Now we for him the parting word must say
To the mute threshold whence we bear his clay.
The slow procession lags upon the road, —
'T is heavy hearts that make the heavy load ;
And all too brightly glares the burning noon
On the dark pageant — be it ended soon!
The quail is piping and the locust sings, —
0 grief, thy contrast with these joyful things !
What pain to see, amid our task of woe,
The laughing river keep its wonted flow !
His hawthorns there — his proudty-waving corn—
And all so flourishing — and so forlorn !
His new-built cottage, too, so fairly planned,
"Whose chimney ne'er shall smoke at his command.
Two sounds were heard, that on the spirit fell
"With sternest moral — one the passing bell !
The other told the history of the hour,
Life's fleeting triumph, mortal pride and power.
Two trains there met — the iron-sinewed horse
And the black hearse — the engine and the corse!
Haste on your track, you fiery-winged steed!
1 hate your presence and approve your speed ;
Fly ! with your eager freight of breathing men,
And leave these mourners to their march again!
Swift as my wish, they broke their slight delay,
And life and death pursued their separate way.
The solemn service in the church washeld,
Bringing strange comfort as the anthem swelled,
And back we bore him to his long repose,
Where his great elm its evening shadow throws —
A sacred spot ! There often he hath stood,
Showed us his harvests and pronounced them good,
And we may stand, with eyes no longer dim,
To watch new harvests and remember him.
Peace to thee. Stecart! — and to us! the All- wise
Would ne'er have found thee readier for the skies
In his large love He kindly waits the best.
The fittest mood, to summon every guest ;
So, in his prime, our dear companion went,
When the young soul is easy to repent:
No long purgation shall he now require
In black remorse — in penitential fire;
From what few frailties might have stained his
morn
Our tears may wash him pure as he was born.
JOHN W. BEOWN.
John "W. Beown was born in Schenectady, New
York, August 21, 1814, and was graduated at Union
College in 1832. He entered the General Theo-
logical Seminary in 1833, and on the completion
of his course of study was ordained Deacon, July
3, 1836, and took charge of a parish at Astoria,
Long Island, with which he was connected during
the remainder of his life. In 1838 he established
a school, the Astoria Female Institute, which lie
conducted for seven years. In 1 845 he became
editor of the Protestant Churchman, a weekly
periodical. In the fall of 1848 Mr. Brown visited
Europe for the benefit of his health. He died at
Malta on Easter Monday, April 9. 1849.
In 1842 Mr. Brown published The CJiristmas
Bells: a Tale of Holy Tide: and other Poems,
a volume of pleasing verses suggested by the sea-
sons and services of his church.
In the Christmas Bells he has described with
beauty and feeling the effect of the hoi}' services
of the season upon the old and young. The poem
has been set to music.
JOHN LOTIIROP MOTLEY.
643
Mr. Brown was also the author of Constance,
Virginia, Julia of Bairn, and a few other prose
tales of a religious character for young readers.
THE CHRISTMAS BELLS.
The bells — the bells— the Christmas bells
How merrily they ring!
As if they felt the joy they tell
To every human thing.
The silvery tones, o'er vale and hill,
Are swelling soft and clear,
As, wave on wave, the tide of sound
Fills the bright atmosphere.
The bells — the merry Christmas bells,
They're ringing in the morn !
They ring when in the eastern sky
The golden light is born ;
They ring, ns sunshine tips the hills,
And gilds the village spire —
When, through the sky, the sovereign sun
Rolls his full orb of lire.
The Christmas bells — the Christmas bells,
How merrily they ring !
To weary hearts :i pulse of joy,
A kindlier life they bring.
The poor man on his couch of straw,
The rich, on downy bed,
Hail the glad sounds, as voices sweet
Of angels overhead.
The bells — the silvery Christmas bells,
O'er many a mile they sound !
And household tones are answering them
In thousand homes around.
Voices of childhood, blithe and shrill,
"With youth's strong accents blend,
And manhood's deep and earnest tones
With woman's praise ascend.
The bells — the solemn Christmas bells,
They're calling us to prayer ;
And hark, the voice of 'worshippers
Floats on the morning air.
Anthems of noblest praise there'll be.
And glorious hymns to-day,
Te Deums loud — and glorias:
Come, to the church — away.
JOHN LOTIIROr MOTLEY,
A member of a Boston family, and graduate of
Harvard of 1831, is the author of two novels of
merit, Morton's Hope, or The Memoirs of a Pro-
vincial, and Merry Mount, a Romance of the Mas-
sachusetts Colony.
The first of these fictions appeared in 1839.
The scene of the opening portion is laid at Mor-
ton's Hope, a quiet provincial country-seat in
the neighborhood of Boston. In consequence of
disappointment in a love affair, the hero leaves
his country and passes some time among the Ger-
man University towns, the manners of which are
introduced with effect. Towards the middle of
the second volume, he is summoned home by the
news of the death of his uncle, and a hint from a
relative that the fortune which this event places
in his hands can be better employed in the service
of his country, now engaged in the struggle of
the Revolution, than in an aimless foreign resi-
dence. He returns home, becomes an officer in
the Continental army, distinguishes himself, and
regain- his lost mistress.
In Merry Mount the author has availed him-
self of the picturesque episode of New England
history presented in the old narrative of Thomas
Morton, of which we have previously given an
account.* Both of these fictions are written with
spirit; the descriptions, which are frequent, are
carefully elaborated ; and the narrative is enliven-
ed with frequent flashes of genuine humor.
Mr. Motley is at present residing at Dresden,
where he has been some time engaged in writing
aJdistory of Holland, which will no doubt prove
a work of high merit, as an animated and vigor-
ous portraiture of the Dutch struggle of indepen-
dence.
COTTINGEN — FROM MORTON'S HOPE.
Gottingen is rather a well-built and handsome
looking town, with a decided look of the Middle
Ages about it. Although the college is new, the town
is ancient, and like the rest of the German Univer-
sity towns, has nothing external, with the exception
of a plain-looking building in brick for the library
and one or two others for natural collections, to re-
mind you that you are at the seat of an institution
for education. The professors lecture, each on his
own account, at his own house, of which the base-
ment floor is generally made use of as an audito-
rium. The town is walled in, like most of the con-
tinental cities of that date, although the ramparts,
planted with linden-tree's, have since been converted
into a pleasant promenade, which reaches quite round
the town, and is furnished with a gate and guard at
the end of each principal avenue. It is this careful
fortification, combined with the nine-story houses,
and the narrow streets, which imparts the compact,
secure look peculiar to all the German towns. The
effect is forcibly to remind you of the days when the
inhabitants were huddled snugly together, like sheep
in a sheep-cote, and locked up safe from the wolfish
attacks of the gentlemen highwaymen, the ruins of
whose castles frown down from the neighbouring
hills.
The houses are generally tall and gaunt, consist-
ing of a skeleton of frame-work, filled in with brick,
with the original rafters, embrowned by time, pro-
jecting like ribs through the yellowish stucco which
covers the surface. They are full of little ftdmlows,
which are filled with little panes, and as they are
built to save room, one upon another, and conse-
quently rise generally to eight or nine stories, the
inhabitants invariably live as it were in layers.
Hence it is not uncommon to find a professor occu-
pying the two lower stories or strata, a tailor above
the professor, a student upon the tailor, a beer-seller
conveniently upon the student, a washerwoman upon
the beer-merchant, and perhaps a poet upon the
top ; a pyramid with a poet for its apex, and a pro-
fessor for the base.
The solid and permanent look of all these edifices,
in which, from the composite and varying style of
architecture, you might read the history of half a
dozen centuries in a single house, and which looked
as if built before the memory of man, and like to
last forever, reminded me, by the association of con-
trast, of the straggling towns and villages of Ame-
rica, where the houses are wooden boxes, worn out
and renewed every fifty years; where the cities
seem only temporary encampments, and where, till
people learn to build for the future as well as the
present, there will be no history, except in pen and
ink, of the changing centuries in the country.
As I passed up the street, I saw on the lower story
of a sombre-looking house, the whole legend of Sam-
son and Delilah rudely carved in the brown free-
stone, which formed the abutments of the house op-
• Ante, vol. i. p. 28.
6U
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
posito ; a fantastic sign over a portentous shop with
an awning ostentatiously extended over the side-
walk, announced the cafe and ice-shop : overhead,
from the gutters of each of the red-tiled roofs, were
thrust into mid-air the grim heads of dragons with
long twisted necks, portentous teeth, and goggle
eyes, serving, as I learned the first rainy day, the
peaceful purpose' of a water spout; while on the
side- walks, and at every turn, I saw enough to con-
vince me I was in an university town, although
there were none of the usual architectural indica-
tions. As we passed the old gothic church of St.
Nicholas, I observed through the open windows of
the next house, a party of students smoking and
playing billiards, and I recognised some of the faces
of my Leipzig acquaintance. In the street were
plenty of others of all varieties. Some, with plain
caps and clothes, and a meek demeanour, eneaked
quietly through the streets, with portfolios under
their arms. 1 observed the care with which they
turned out to the left, and avoided collision with
every one they met. These were camels or " stu-
dious students" returning from lecture — others swag
gered along the side-walk, turning out for no one,
with clubs in their hands, and bull-dogs at their
heels — these were dressed in marvellously fine caps
and polonaise coats, covered with cords and tassels,
and invariably had pipes in their mouths, and were
fitted out with the proper allowance of spurs and
moustaehios. These were " Renomists," who were
always ready for a row.
At almost every corner of the street was to be
seen a solitary individual of this latter class, in a
ferocious fencing attitude, brandishing Ins club in
the air, and cutting carto and tierce in the most
alarming manner, till you were reminded of the tru-
culent Gregory's advice to his companion : " Remem-
ber thy swashing blow."
All along the street, I saw, on looking up, the heads
and shoulders of students projecting from every win-
dow. They were arrayed in tawdry smoking caps
and heterogeneous-looking dressing gowns, with the
long pipes and flash tassels depending from their
mouths. At Ins master's side, and looking out of
the same window, I observed, in many instances, a
grave and philosophical-looking poodle, with equal-
ly grim moust.'ichios, his head reposing contempla-
tively on his fore-paws, and engaged apparently,
like his master, in ogling the ponderous housemaids
who were drawing water from the street pumps.
'We passed through the market square, with its
antique fountain in the midst, and filled with an admi-
rable collection of old women, some washing clothes,
and some selling cherries, and turned at last into the
Nagler Strasse. This was a narrow street, with tall
rickety houses of various shapes and sizes, arranged
on each side, in irregular rows; while the gaunt
gable-ended edifices, sidling up to each other in one
place till the opposite side nearly touched, and at
another retreating awkwurdl}7 back as if ashamed
to show their faces, gave to the whole much the ap-
pearance of a country dance by unskilful perform-
ers. Suddenly the postillion drove into a dark,
yawning doorway, which gaped into the street like
a dragon's mouth, and drew up at the door-step of
the " King of Prussia." The house bell jingled —
the dogs barked — two waiters let down the steps, a
third seized us by the legs, and nearly pulled us out
of the carriage in the excess of their officiousness ;
while the landlord made his appearance cap in hand
on the threshold, and after saluting us in Latin,
Polish, French, and English, at last informed us in
plain German, which was the only language he real-
ly knew, that he was very glad to have the honour
of " recommending himself to us."
We paid our " brother-in-law," as you must always
call the postillion in Germany, a magnificent drink-
geld, and then ordered dinner.
SAMUEL A. HAM1IETT.
Mr. Hammett was born in 1816 at Jewett City,
Connecticut. After being graduated at the Uni-
versity of the City of New York, he passed some
ten or twelve j'ears in the South-w:est, engaged in
mercantile pursuits, and for a portion of the time
as Clerk of the District Court of Montgomery
county, Texas. In 1848 he removed to New
York, where he lias since resided.
Mr. Hammett has drawn largely on his frontier
experiences in his contributions to the Spirit of
the Times, Knickerbocker, Democratic and "Whig
Reviews, and Literary World. He lias published
two volumes — A Stray Yankee in Texas, and
The Wonderful Adventures of Captain Priest,
with the scene Down East. They are sketchy,
humorous, and inventive.
HOW I CATTGHT A CAT, AND WIIAT I DID WITH IT — FROM A
STEAY YANKEE IN TEXAS.
At last behold us fairly located upon the banks of
the river, where Joe had selected a fine, hard shingle
beach upon which to pitch our camp. This same
camp was an extemporaneous affair, a kind of al
fresco home, formed by setting up a few crotches to
sustain a rude roof of undressed shingles, manu-
factured impromptu, — there known as '-boards," —
supported upon diminutive rafters of cane.
This done, a cypress suitable for a canoe, or
" dug out," was selected, and in two days shaped,
hollowed out, and launched. Fairly embarked now
in the business, I found but little difficulty in ob-
taining a supply of green trout and other kinds of
river fish, but the huge "Cats" — where were they}
I fished at early morn and dewy eve, ere the light
had faded out from the stars of morning, and after
dame Nature had donned her robe de nuit, — all was
in vain.
Joe counselled patience, and hinted that the
larger species of "Cats" never ran but during a
rise or fall in the river, and must then be fished for
at night.
One morning, heavy clouds in the north, and the
sound of distant thunder, informed us that a storm
was in progress near the head waters of our stream.
My rude tackle was looked after, and bait prepared
in anticipation of the promised fish, which the per-
turbed waters of the river were to incite to motion.
Night came, and I left for a spot where I knew
the Cats must frequent; a deep dark hole, imme-
diately above a sedgy flat. My patience and per-
severance at length met with their reward. I felt
something very carefully examining the bait, and
at lust tired of waiting for the bite, struck with
force.
I had him, a huge fellow, too ; backwards and
forwards lie dashed, up and down, in and out. No
fancy tackle was mine, but plain and trustworthy,
at least so I fondly imagined.
At last I trailed the gentleman upon the sedge,
and was upon the eve of wading in and securing
him, wdien a splash in the water which threw it in
every direction, announced that something new had
turned up, and away went I, hook, and line, into the
black hole below. At this moment my tackle part-
ed, the robber — whether alligator or gar I knew not
— disappeared with my half captured prey, and I
crawled out upon the bank in a blessed humor.
My fishing was finished for the evening; but
CORNELIUS MATHEWS.
645
repairing the tackle as best I could, casting the line
again into the pool, and fixing the pole firmly in the
knot-hole of a fallen tree, 1 abandoned it, to fish
upon its own hook.
When I arose in the morning, a cold "norther"
was blowing fiercely, and the river had risen in the
world during the night The log to which my
pole had formed a temporary attachment, had taken
its departure for parts unknown, and was in all
human probability at that moment engaged in
making an experimental voyage on account of
" whom it may concern."
The keen eyes of Joe, who had been peering up
and down the river, however, discovered something
upon the opposite side that bore a strong resem-
blance to the missing pole, and when the sun hail
fairly risen, we found that there it surely was, and
moreover its bowing to the water's edge, and subse-
quent straightening up, gave proof that a fish was
fast to the line.
The northern blast blew shrill and cold, and the
ordinarily gentle current of the river was now a
mad torrent, lashing the banks in its fury, and
foaming over the rocks and trees that obstructed its
increased volume.
Joe and I looked despairingly at each other, and
shook our heads in silence and in sorrow.
Yet there was the pole waving to and fro, at
times when the fish would repeat his efforts to
escape — it was worse than the Cup of Tantalus, and
after bearing it as long as I could, I prepare! for a
plunge into the maddened stream. One plunge,
however, quite satisfied me; I was thrown back
upon the shore, cold and dispirited.
During the entire day there stood, or swung to
and fro, the wretched pole, now upright as an or-
derly sergeant, now bending down and kissing the
waters at its feet.
The sight I bore until flesh and blood could no
more endure. The sun had sunk to rest, the twi-
light was fading away, and the stars were beginning
to peep out from their sheltering places inquiringly,
as if to know why the night came not on, when I,
stung to the soul, determined at any hazard to dare
the venture.
Wringing the hand of Joe, who shook his head
dubiously, up the stream I bent my course until I
reached a point some distance above, from which
the current passing dashed with violence against
the bank, and shot directly over to the very spot
where waved and wagged my wretched rod, cribbed
by the waters, and cabined and confined among the
logs.
I plunged in, and swift as an arrow from the bow,
the water hurried me on, a companion to its mad
career. The point was almost gained, when a shout
from Joe called my attention to the pole: alas, the
fish was gone, and the line was streaming out in the
fierce wind.
That night was I avenged ; a huge eat was borne
home in triumph. How 1 took it, or where, it mat-
ters not ; for so much time having been occupied in
narrating how I did not, I can spare no more to tell
how I did.
The next point was to decide as to the cooking of
him. Joe advised a barbacue; "a fine fellow like
that," he said, "with two inches of clear fat upon
his back-bone, would make a noble feast." Let not
the two inches of clear fat startle the incredulous
reader; for in that country of lean swine, I have
<'fteu heard that the catfish are used to fry bacon
la.
But to the cooking.
Wo cooked him that night, and we cnoked him next day,
And we cjoked him iu vain until both parsed away.
He would not be cooked, and was in fact much
worse, and not half so honest as a worthy old gander
— once purchased by a very innocent friend of mine
— that was found to contain in its maw a paper
embracing both his genealogy and directions with
reference to the advisable mode of preparing him
for the table ; of which all that I remember is, that
parboiling for sixteen days was warmly recom-
mended as an initial step.
Sixteen days' parboiling I am convinced would
but have rendered our friend the tougher. We tried
him over a hot fire, and a slow one, — we smoked
him, singed him, and in fine tried ail known methods
in vain, and finally consigned him again, uneaten,
to the waters.
CORNELIUS MATHEWS.
Cokxelius Mathews was burn October 28, 1817,
in the village of Port Chester, in Westchester
county, State of New York. It is a spot situated
on the Sound, on the borders of Connecticut, and
was, until recently, before modern taste had altered
the name, designated Saw-pitts, from the branch
of industry originally pursued there. The early
country life of Mr. Mathews in Westchester, on
the banks of Byram river, or by the rolling up-
lands of Rye and its picturesque lake, is traceable
through many a page of his writings, in fanciful
descriptions of nature based upon genuine experi-
ence, and in frequent traits of the rural person-
ages who filled the scene. Mr. Mathews was
among the early graduates of the New York
University, an association which he revived some
years afterwards, by an address on Americanism,
before one of the societies. I lis literary career
began early. For the American Monthly Ma-
gazine of 1836, he wrote both in verse and
prose. A series of poetical commemorations of
incidents of the Revolution entitled, Our Fore-
fathers, in this journal, are from his pen, with
the animated critical sketches of Jeremy Taylor
and Owen Felltham, among some revivals of the
old English prose writers. In the New York Re-
view for 1837 he wrote a paper, The Ethics of
Eating, a satiric sketch of the uhra efforts tit
dietetic reform then introduced to the public. lie
was also a contributor to the Knickerbocker Maga-
zine of humorous sketches. In the Motley Book
in 1838, a collection of tales and sketches, he gave
further evidence of his capacity for pathos and
humor in description. It was followed the next
year by Behemoth, a Legend of the Moundbiiihlcrs,
an imaginative romance, in which the physical
sublime was embodied in the great mastodon,
the action of the story consisting in the efforts of
a supposed ante -Indian race to overcome the
huge monster. This "fossil romance" was
a purely original invention, with very slender
materials in the books of Priest, Atwater, and
others ; but such hints as the author procured from
these and similar sources, were more than repaid
in the genial notes which accompanied tho first
ed.tion.
In 1810 his sketch of New York city election-
eering life, The Politicians, a comedy, appeared;
the subject matter of which was followed up in
The Career of Puffer Hopkins in 1841, a novel
which embodies many phases of civic political
life, which have rapidly passed away. Both the
play and the tale were the precursors of many
similar attempts in local fiction and description.
646
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
//litfAils ?h& /&#U4 ,
At this time, from December, 1840, to May,
1842, Mr. Mathews was engaged in the editor-
ship of Arcturus, a Journal of Books and Opi-
nion, a monthly magazine, of which three volumes
appeared ; and in which he wrote numerous papers,
fanciful and critical, including the novel just
mentioned.
In 1843 he published Poems on Man in the Re-
public, in which, with much vigor of thought, he
pusses in review the chief family, social, and po-
litical relations of the citizen. His Big Abel and
the Little Manhattan, a "fantasy piece," is a pic-
ture of New York, sketched in a poetical spirit,
with the contrast of the native original Indian
element with the present developments of civili-
zation ; personated respectively by an Indian, and
a representative of the first Dutch settlers.
In 1 846 Mr. Murdoch brought upon the stage at
Philadelphia Mr. Mathews's tragedy of Witchcraft,
a story of the old Salem delusion, true to the weird
and quaint influences of the time. The suspected
mother in the piece, Ambla Bodish, is an original
character well sustained. The play was successful
on the stage. Mr. Murdoch also performed in it
at Cincinnati, where it was received with enthusi-
asm. A second play, Jacob Leisler, founded on a
passage of New York colonial history, was also
first performed at Philadelphia in 1848, and sub-
sequently with success in New York and else-
where.
One of the difficulties Witchcraft had to contend
with on the representation, was the age of the
heroine. An actress could scarcely be found
who would sacrifice the personal admiration of
the hour to the interest of the powerful and truth-
ful dramatic delineation in the mother, grey with
sorrow and time. As a contemporary testimony to
the merits of the play in poetic conception and cha-
racter, we may quote the remarks by the late
Margaret Fuller, published in her Papers on Lite-
rature and Art. " Witchcraft i3 a work of strong
and majestic lineaments ; a fine originality is
shown in the conception, by which the love of a
son for a mother is made a sufficient motiv (as the
Germans call the ruling impulse of a work) in the
production of tragic interest ; no less original is
the attempt, and delightful the success, in mak-
ing an aged woman a satisfactory heroine to the
piece through the greatness of her soul, and the
magnetic influence it exerts on all around her,
till the ignorant and superstitious fancy that the
sky darkens and the winds wait upon her as she
walks on the lonely hill-side near her hut to com-
mune with the Past, and seek instruction from
Heaven. The working of her character on the
other agents of the piece is depicted with force
and nobleness. The deep love of her son for her,
the little tender, simple ways in which he shows
it, having preserved the purity and poetic spirit
of childhood by never having been weaned from
his first love, a mother's love, the anguish of his
soul when he too becomes infected with distrust,
and cannot discriminate the natural magnetism
of a strong nature from the spells and lures of
sorcery, the final triumph of his faith, all offered
the highest scope to genius and the power of
moral perception in the actor. There are highly
poetic intimations of those lowering days with
their veiled skies, brassy light, and sadly whis-
pering winds, very common in Massachusetts, so
ominous and brooding seen from any point, but
from the idea of witchcraft invested with an
awful significance. We do not know, however,
that this could bring it beyond what it has ap-
peared to our own sane mind, as if the air was
thick with spirits, in an equivocal and surely sad
condition, whether of purgatory or downfall ; and
the air was vocal with all manner of dark inti-
mations. We are glad to see this mood of nature
so fitly characterized. The sweetness and
naivete with which the young girl is made
to describe the effects of love upon her, as
supposing them to proceed from a spell, are
also original, and there is no other way in
which this revelation could have been induced
that would not have injured the beauty of the
character and position. Her visionary sense of
her lover, as an ideal figure, is of a high order of
poetry, and these facts have very seldom been
brought out from the cloisters of the mind into
the light of open day."
Moneypenny, or the Heart of the World, a
Romance of the Present Times, a novel of con-
trasted country and city life, was published in
1850, and in the same year Chanticleer, a Thanks-
giving Story of the Peabody Family, an idyllic tale
of a purely American character. A Pen and Ink
Panorama of New York City, is a little volume
in which the author has gathered up his contri-
butions to the journals of the day, a series of fan-
ciful and picturesque sketches, chiefly illustrative
of a favorite topic in his writings.
Besides these works, Mr. Mathews has been a
constant writer in the journalism of the day, fre-
quently in the Literary World of critical articles
and sketches, and on social and other topics in the
daily press of New York. He is also prominent-
ly identified with the discussion of the Interna-
tional Copyright Question, a subject which ho
has illustrated in his Address of the Copyright
Club to the American People, and other writings,
with ingenuity and felicity.
A characteristic of Mr. Mathews's writings is
their originality. He has chosen new subjects,
CORNELIUS MATHEWS.
617
and treated them in a way of his own, never
without energy and spirit.
A collected edition of Mr. Mathews's writings
has been published from the press of the Har-
pers. A second edition of the Poems on Man
was published in 1846. An edition of Chanticleer
has been published by Rediield.
THE JOURNALIST.
As shakes the canvass of a thousand ships,
Struck by a heavy laud breeze, far at sea —
Ruffle the thousand broad-sheets of the land,
Filled with the people's breath of potency.
A thousand images the hour will take,
From him who strikes, who rules, who speaks,
who sings ;
Many within the hour their grave to make —
Many to live, far in the heart of things.
A dark-dyed spirit he who coins the time,
To virtue's wrong, in base disloyal lies —
Who makes the morning's breath, the evening's
tide,
The utterer of his blighting forgeries.
How, beautiful who scatters, wide and free,
The gold-bright seeds of loved and loving truth I
By whose perpetual hand, each day, supplied —
Leaps to new life the empire's heart of youth.
To know the instant and to speak it true,
Its passing lights of joy, its dark, sad cloud,
To fix upon the unnumbered gazers' view,
Is to thy ready hand's broad strength allowed.
There is an in-wrought life in every hour,
Fit to be chronicled at large and told —
'Tis thine to pluck to light its secret power,
And on the air its many-colored heart unfold.
The angel that in sand-dropped minutes lives,
Demands a message cautious as the ages —
Who stuns, with dusk-red words of hate, his ear,
That mighty power to boundless wrath enrages.
Hell not the quiet of a Chosen Land,
Thou grimy man over thine engine bending;
The spirit pent that breathes the life into its limbs,
Docile for love is tyrannous iu rending.
Obey, Rhinoceros! an infant's hand,
Leviathan ! obey the fisher mild and young,
Vexed Ocean ! smile, for on thy broad-beat sand
The little curlew pipes his shrilly song.
THE POOR MAN.
Free paths and open tracts about U9 lie,
'Gainst Fortune's spite, though deadliest to undo :
On him who droops beneath the saddest sky,
Hopes of a better time must flicker through.
No yoke that evil hours would on him lay,
Can bow to earth his unreturning look ;
The ample fields through which he plods his way
Are but Ids better Fortune's open book.
Though the dark smithy's stains becloud his brow,
His limbs the dank and sallow dungeon claim ;
The forge's light may take the halo's glow,
An angel knock the fetters from his frame.
In deepest needs he never should forget
The patient Triumph that beside him walks
Waiting the hour, to earnest labor set,
When, face to face, his merrier Fortune talks.
Plant in thy breast a measureless content,
Thou poor man, cramped with want or racked
with pain,
Good Providence, on no harsh purpose bent,
Ha6 brought thee there, to lead thee back again.
No other bondage is upon thee cast
Save that wrought out by thine own erring
hand ;
By thine own act, alone, thine image placed —
Poorest or President, choose thou to stand.
A man — a man through all thy trials show !
Thy feet against a soil that never yielded
Other than life, to him that struck a rightful blow
In shop or street, warring or peaceful fielded I
DIETETIC CIIARLATAKET.
We think one of the rarest spectacles in the world
must be (what is called) a Graham boarding-house
at about the dinner-hour. Along a table, from
which, perhaps, the too elegant and gorgeous luxu-
ry of a cloth is discarded, (for we have never enjoy-
ed the felicity of an actual vision of this kind,) seat-
ed some thirty lean-visaged, cadaverous disciples,
eyeing each other askance — their looks lit up with
a certain cannibal spirit, wdiich, if there were any
chance of making a full meal off each other's bones,
might perhaps break into dangerous practice. The
gentlemen resemble busts cut in chalk or white
flint ; the lady-boarders (they will pardon the allu-
sion) mummies preserved in saffron. At the left
hand of each stands a small tankard or pint tumbler
of cold water, or, perchance, a decoction of hot
water with a little milk and sugar — " a harmless and
salutary beverage ;" — at the right, athiu segment of
bran-bread. Stretched on a plate in the centre lie,
melancholy twins! a pair of starveling mackerel,
flanked on either side by three or four straggling
radishes, and kept in countenance -by a sorry bunch
of asparagus served up without sauce. The van of the
table is led by a hollow dish with a dozen potatoes,
rather corpses of potatoes, in a row, lying at the
bottom.
At those tables look for no conversation, or for
conversation of the driest and dullest sort. Small
wit is begotten off spare viands. They, however,
think otherwise. " Vegetable food tends to preserve
a delicacy of feeling, a liveliness of imagination, and
acuteness of judgment seldom enjoyed by those who
live principally on meat." Green peas, cabbage, and
spinach are enrolled in a new catalogue. They are
no longer culinary and botanical. They take rank
above that. They are become metaphysical, and
have a rare operation that way ; they " tend to pre-
serve a delicacy of feeling," &«. Cauliflower is a
power of the mind ; and asparagus, done tenderly,
is nothing less than a mental faculty of the first or-
der. " Buttered parsnips" are, no doubt, a great
help in education ; and a course of vegetables, we
presume, is to be substituted at college in the place
of the old routine of Greek and Latin classics. The
student will be henceforth pushed forward through
his academic studies by rapid stages of Lima beans,
parsley, and tomato.
There is a class of sciolists, who believe that all
kinds of experiments are to be ventured upon the
human constitution : that it is to be hoisted by pul-
leys and depressed by weights: pushed forward by
rotary principles, and pulled back by stop-springs
and regulators. They have finally succeeded in
looking upon the human frame, much as a neigh-
boring alliance of stronger powers regard a petty
state which is doing well in the world and is ambi-
tious of rising in it. It must be kept under. It must
be fettered by treaties and protocols without num-
ber. This river it must not cross : at the foot of that
mountain it must pause. An attempt to include yon-
der forest in its territories, wonld awaken the wrath
of its powerful superiors, and they would crush it
648
CYCLOP JEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
instantly. Or the body is treated somewhat as a
small-spirited carter treats his horse ; it must be kept
on a handful of oats and made to do a full day's
wort. Famine lias become custodian of the key
which unlocks the gate of health to knowledge, to
religious improvement and the millennium.
LITTLE TRAPPAN.
Tenderly let us deal with the memory of the
dead — though they may have been the humblest
of the living ! Let us never forget that though they
are parted from us, with a recollection of many
frailties clinging about their mortal career, they
have passed into a purer and a better light, where
these very frailties may prove to have been virtues
in disguise — a grotesque tongue to be translated into
the clear speecli of angels when our ears come to be
purged of the jargon-sounds of worldly trade and
selfish fashion. While we would not draw from
household concealments into the glare of general
notice any being whose life was strictly private, we
may, with unblamed pen, linger for a moment, in a
hasty but not irrespective sketch, over the departure
of one whose peculiarities — from the open station he
held for many years — were so widely known, that
no publicity can affront his memory. Thousands
will be pleased sorrowfully to dwell with a quaint
regret over his little traits and turns of character,
set forth in their true light by one who wished him
well while living, and who would entomb him gen-
tly now that he is gone.
Whoever has had occasion any time, for the last
ten years, to consult a file of newspapers at the
rooms of the New York Society Library, must re-
member a singular little figure which presented itself
skipping about those precincts with a jerky and
angular motion. He must recollect in the first half-
minute after entering, when newly introduced, hav-
ing been rapidly approached by a man of slender
build, in a frock coat, low shoes, a large female head
in a cameo in his bosom, an eye-glass dangling to
and fro ; and presently thrusting into his very face
a wrinkled countenance, twitchy and peculiarly dis-
torted, in (we think it was) the left eye. This was
little Trappan himself, the superintendent of the
rooms, and arch-custodian of the filed newspapers:
who no doubt asked you sharply on your first ap-
pearance, rising on one leg, as he spoke :
" Well, sir, what do you want?"
This question was always put to a debutant with
a sternness of demeanor and severity of tone, abso-
lutely appalling. But wait a little, and you will
see the really kind old gentleman softening down,
and meek as a lamb, leading you about to crop of
the sweetest hunches his garden of preserves could
furnish. It was his way only : and, while surprised
into admiration of his new suavity, you were linger-
ing over an open paper which he had spread before
you with alacrity, you were startled into fresh and
greater wonder, at the uprising of avoice in a distant
quarter, shouting, roaring almost in a furious key,
and demanding with clamorous passion —
"Why the devil gentlemen couldn't conduct
themselves as gentlemen, and keep their legs off the
tables!"
Looking hastily about, you discover the little old
man, planted square in the middle of the floor, fir-
ing hotshot and rapid speech, in broadsides, upon a
doubled-up man, half on a chair, and half on the
reading-table — with a perfect chorus of eyes rolling
about the room from the assembled readers, centring
upon the little figure in its spasm. Silence again
for three minutes, and all the gentlemen present are
busy with the afternoon papers (just come in), when
suddenly a second crash is heard, and some des-
perate unknown mutilator of a file — from which an
oblong, three inches by an inch and a half, is gone —
is held up to the scorn, contumely, and measureless
detestation of the civilized world. The peal of
thunder dies awa3', and with it the spare figure has
disappeared at a side door, out of the Reading Room
into the Library ; but it is not more than a couple
of minutes after, that the Reading Room tables are
alive with placards, bulletins, and announcements in
pen and ink, variously requiring, imploring, and
warning frequenters of the room against touching
said files with unholy hands. These are no sooner
set and displayed, than the irrepressible Superin-
tendent is bending over some confidential friend at
one of the tables, and making him privately and
fully acquainted with the unheard of outrages which
require these violent demonstrations.
And yet a kind old man was he! We drop a tear
much more promptly — from much nearer the heart
— over his lunely grave, than upon the tomb of even
men as great and distinguished as the City Alder-
men, who onee welcomed Father Mathew among us
with such enthusiasm. Little Trappan had his
ways, and they were not bad ways — take them al-
together. He cherished his ambition as well as
other men. It was an idea of his own* — suggested
from no foreign source, prompted by the movement
of no learned society — to make a full, comprehen-
sive, and complete collection of all animated crea-
tures of the bug kind taken within the walls and in
the immediate purlieus of the building (for such he
held the edifice of the New York Society to be par
excellence). This led him into a somewhat more ac-
tive way of life than he had been used to, and in-
volved him in climbings, reachinge-forth of the arms,
rapid scurries through apartments, -in pursuit of flies,
darning needles, bugs, and beetles, which, we
sometimes thought, were exhausting too rapidly the
scant vitality of the old file-keeper. He however
achieved his object in one of the rarest museums of
winged and footed creatures to be found anywhere.
We believe he reckoned at the time of his demise,
twenty-three of the beetle kind, fourteen bugs, and
one mouse, in his depository. In one direction he
was foiled. There was a great bug, of the roach
species, often to be seen about the place — a hideous-
ly ill-favored and ill-mannered monster — which,
with a preternatural activity, seemed to possess the
library in every direction — sometimes on desk,
sometimes on ladder, tumbling and rolling about the
floor — and perpetually, with a sort of brutish in-
stinct of spite, throwing himself in the old man's
way, and continually thwarting his plans. And he
was never, with all his activity and intensity of pur-
pose, able to captui e the great bug and stick a pin
through him, as he desired. This, we think, wore
upon the old man and finally shortened his days. It
is not long since that the little superintendent yield-
ed up the ghost. We hope some friend to his me-
mory will succeed in mastering the bug, and in car-
rying out the (known) wishes of the deceased.
This curious and rare collection was, however,
but a subordinate ambition of the late excellent
superintendent. It was a desire of his — -the burn-
ing and longing hope of his life — to found a library
which should be in some measure worthy of the
great city of New York. With this object in view,
he made it a point to frequent all the great night
auctions of Chatham street, the Bowery, and Park
Row : and he scarcely ever returned of a night
without bringing home some rare old volume or
pamphlet not to be had elsewhere for love ormoney
— which nobody had ever heard of before — and
which never cost him more than twice its value.
GEORGE W. PECK.
C4D
lie seemed to have acquired his peculiar taste in the
selection and purchase of books from that learned
and renowned body, the trustees of the Society
Library, with which he had been so long associated.
It has been supposed by some that he was prompted
in his course by a spirit of rivalry with the parent
institution. There is some plausibility in this con-
jecture, for at the time of his death he was pushing
it hard — having accumulated in the course of ten
years' diligent devotion of the odd sums he could
spare from meat and drink and refreshment, no less
than three hundred volumes, pamphlets, and odd
numbers of old magazines. We suppose, that in
acknowledgment of a generous emulation, it is
the intention of the Trustees to place a tablet
to. his memory on the walls of the Parent Insti-
tution.
There is a single other circumstance connected
with the career of the deceased superintendent
scarcely worth mentioning. It is perhaps too ab-
surd and frivol /Us to refer to at all: a ,d to save
ourselves from being held in light esteem by every
intelligent reader, and impelling him to laugh in our
very face, we shall be obliged to disclose it tenderly,
and under a generality.
A character so marked and peculiar as Little
Trappan (Old Trap, as he was familiarly called)
could have scarcely failed to attract more or less,
the attention of the observers of human nature.
They would have spied the richness of the land, and
dwelt with lingering pleasantry on his little traits
of character and disposition from day to day. And
it would have so happened that among these he
could not have escaped the regard of men who
ma le it a business to study, and to describe human
nature in its varieties. For instance, if Little Trap-
pan had been, under like circumstances, a denizen
of Paris, lie might probably, long before this, have
figured in the quaint notices of Jules Janin ; Hans
Christian Andersen would have taken him for a
god-send in Stockholm : Thackeray must have de-
veloped him, we can readily suppose, with some
little change iu one of his brilliant sketches or
stories.
Then what a time we should have had of it !
Such merry e:ijo3Tment, such peals of honest laugh-
ter*,, over the eccentricities of little old Trap; such
pilgrimages to the library to get a glimpse of him ;
such paintings by painters of his person ; such
sketches by sketchers; such a to-do all ronud'the
world ! But it was his great and astounding mis-
fortune to belong to this miserable, wo-begone, and
fun-forsaken city of New York, and to have fallen,
as we are told (though we know nothing about it),
into the hands of nobody but a wretched American
humorist, who, it is vaguely reported, has made
him the hero of a book of some three hundred and
fifty pages — as in a word — Sew York is New York
— Little Trappan, Little Trappan — and the author a
poor devil native scribbler — why, the less said about
the matter the better! AVe trust, however, his
friendly rivals, the trustees of the library, will be
good enough to erect the tablet; if not, they will
oblige us by passing a resolution on the subject
GEORGE W PECK
Was born in Rehoboth, Bristol county, Massa-
chusetts, December 4, 1817. His ancestor, Joseph
Peck, who came from Hingham in Norfolk, Eng-
land, was one of the small company who settled
the town in 1641* The Plymouth court ap-
pointed him to "administer" marriage there in
1650. His descendants, for six generations, have
lived at or near the spot where he built his cabin.
In the war of the Revolution three members of
the family, uncles of our author, served in the
continental army ; one fell at Crown Point, ano-
ther at Trenton, and the third became crippled
and a pensioner. The father of Mr. Peck was a
farmer, and added to this the business of sawing
plank for ships. Until his death, in 1827, his son
was bred to work upon the farm, with, however,
good schooling at the district school and at home.
After various pupilage and preparation for college
under teachers of ability, and the interval of a
year passed at Boston in the bookstore of the
Massachusetts Sunday School Society, Mr. Peck
entered Brown University in 1833. After receiv-
ing his degree in 1837 he went to Cincinnati and
thence to Louisville. Opposite the latter city in
Jeffersonville, Indiana, he taught school three
months ; and afterwards, on a -plantation near
Louisville, lie then taught music at Madison,
Indiana, and. at Cincinnati. At the close of the
year he started in the latter city a penny paper,
The Daily Sun, which attained considerable pros •
perity. It was merged, the following year, in
The Republican, Mr. Peck still continuing to take
part in its editorship. After its early extinction
he found employment for some months as clerk of
a steamboat.
He left the West the nest spring and returned
to Bristol, Rhode Island, whither his mother had
removed, and entered the office of Governor Bul-
lock as a law student. The following year ho
continued his studies at Boston with Mr. II. II.
Dana, Jr., until he was admitted to the bar i:i
1843. He continued in the office of Mr. Dana for
about two years. During this time he delivered
lectures on many occasions in the city and coun-
try towns. Finding himself ill adapted for the
extemporaneous speaking of the bar he turned
from the profession to literature, and wrote seve-
ral communications for the Boston Post, which
were so well received that he was engaged as mu-
sical and dramatic critic for that paper in the
winter of 1843-1, and continued to write for it
for some time after. Among his novelties in prose
and verse were a series of Sonnets of the S.de-
tsalk.
[n the spring of 1843, through the aid of the
Hon. S. A. Eliot, and a few other known patrons
of mu-ic, Mr. Peck started and conducted The
Huston Musical Review, four numbers of which
were published. Ill the winter of the same year
he was engaged as a violin player in the orchestra
of the Howard Athenaeum, continuing to write
and report for various journals. In June, 1846,
he convoyed a party of Cornish miners to the
copper region of Lake Superior.
In the fall of that year he went to New York,
and through an acquaintance with Mr. II. J. Ray-
mond, then associated in the conduct of the paper,
* Rehoboth 13 celebrated as the theatre of "King Philip's
War." Its first minister, the Rev. samnel Newman, wrote
there, partly, as tradition says, by the light of pine knots, a folio
Concordance to the Bible, afterwards published ia London.
The first English Mayor of New York City, Captain Thomas
Willet, was a native of Rehoboth. — History of Rehoboth, by
Leonard Bliss.
650
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Enquirer. He shortly after became a regular con-
tributor to Mr. Colton's American Review, and
was its associate editor from July, 1848, to Janu-
ary, 1849. He next published a species of apo-
logue entitled Aurifodina ; or, Adventures m the
Gold Region. From that time he was variously
employed as writer and correspondent of the re-
views and newspapers, the American and Metho-
dist Quarterly Reviews, the Literary World, Cou-
rier and Enquirer, the Art-Union Bulletin, &c,
till February, 1853, when he sailed from Boston
for Australia. After nine weeks at Melbourne,
where he witnessed the first developments of the
gold excitement, and wrote the first Fourth of
Jul)' address ever spoken on that continent, he
crossed the Pacific, visited Lima and the Chincha
Islands, and returned to New York after a year's
absence. As a result of this journey he published
in New York, in 1854, a volume, Melbourne and
the Chincha Islands ; with Sketches of Limn, and
a Voyage Bound the World, a book of noticeable
original observation and reflection ; in which tho
author brings a fine critical vein to the study of
character under unusual aspects, and such as sel-
dom engage the attention of a cultivated scholar.
Mr. Peck has, since the production of this book,
resided at Cape Ann and Boston, writing a series
of Summer Sketches, and other correspondence
descriptive and critical, for the New York Courier
and Enquirer. Mr. Peck is a well read literary
critic of insight and acumen, and a writer of
freshness and originality.
TnE GOVERNOR OF THE CHINCHAB.
I did not go ashore till the next morning after my
arrival, when , whom I mentioned having met
at Callao, took me with him to the Middle island.
The landing is under the precipice, on a ledge that
makes out in front of a great cave, extending quite
through the point, over which, a hundred feet above,
project shears for hoisting up water and provision.
On the ledge, a staircase, or rather several stair-
cases, go up in a zigzag to close by the foot of the
shears ; the lowest staircase, about twenty feet loDg,
hangs from shears at the side of the ledge at right
angles with the rest in front of the cave, and is rigged
to be hoisted or lowered according to the tide, and
to be drawn up every evening, or whenever the Go-
vernor of the Island chooses to enjoy his dignity
alone.
A few rods from the edge of the cliff, directly over
the cave, is the palace of the said governor, who
styles himself in all his State papers,
The palace is a large flat-roofed shanty, con-
structed of rough boards, and the canes and coarse
rush matting which answers generally for the com-
monest sort of dwellings in Peru. It has, if I re-
member correctly, two apartments, with a sort of
portico, two or three benches, a table, and grass
hammock in front surrounded by a low paling, form-
ing a little yard, where a big dog usually mounts
guard. One of the apartments is probably the store-
room ; there is a kitchen shanty adjoining the piazza
on the side most exposed to the sun. The other is
the bed-chamber and dining-room of Governor Kos-
suth and his aids. It contains three or four cot beds,
an old table, and writing desk, and is decorated with
a few newspapers, colored lithographs, and old Ger-
man plans of the battles of Frederick the Great.
Over Kossuth's couch are 6ome cheap single barrel
pistols ; the floor is guano. The situation overlooks
nearly all the shipping between the Middle and
North islands. Directly under it, but far beneath,
the cavern from before which the stairs go up, runs
through and opens into a narrow bight or cove,
whose precipices reach up to within a few yards of
the shanty '1 he noise of the surf comes up here ia
a softened monotone ; below are a hundred tall ves-
sels— the North island with its strange rocks and
dark arches fringed with foam — in the distance, north
and east, the hazy bay of Pisco lying in the suDshine,
and if it be afternoon, the snowy Andes.
We found Kossuth at home. He is a Hungarian,
or at least looks like one, and has selected a Hunga-
rian name. He is a middle sized, half soldier-like,
youngish individual, with quick gray eyes, and an
overgrown red moustache. He wears his hair
trimmed close at the back of his head, which goes
up in a straight wall, broadening as it goes, and
causing his ears to stand out almost at right argles.
From this peculiarity, as well as his general cast of
countenance, he looks combative and hard. But his
forehead, gathering down in a line with his nose, and
his speech and actions show so much energy of cha-
racter, that he does not look like a very bad fellow
after all. He is full of life, and display, and shrewd-
ness, and swearing, and broken English. I rather
liked him.* His favorite exclamation is " Hellan-
fire !" and he loves to show his authority. He was
polite enough to me, though the captains often com-
plained of being annoyed by his caprices.
He inf ited me to come ashore and see him, and
offered to tell me " all the secrets of the island."
He told me that he was one of the party of Hunga-
rians who came to New York on the representations
of Ujhazy, who had obtained for them a grant of
land. But he snid, that land was of no use to them,
they were soldiers — they could not work. Ujhazy,
who had been a landowner at home, and rot a mili-
tary man, had made a blunder in obtainii g land —
they wanted employment in the army, or as engi
neers and the like. That he, (Kossuth,) finding how
matters stood, left New York for New Orleans,
where he joined the Lopez expedition. From this
he escaped, he did not tell me how, into Mexico,
thence reached San Francisco, where he joined
Flores, and so came to South America. Here, when
that expedition failed, he took service in Peru, and '
finally had obtained the place lie held on this island,
where he said he meant to make money enough to
buy land, and tell other people to work, but not to
work himself. He pitied the poor Chinese slaves
here, but what could he do i He could only make
them work — and so on.
He talked and exclaimed " Ilellannre !" and ges-
ticulated, altogether with so much rapidity that it
was on effort to follow him ; treated us to some of
the wine of the country, (very much like the new
wine of Sicily,) and other good things ; cold ham,
sardines, and preserved meats, which he says the
captains present him with, more than he wants, and
he never knows where they come from. According
to him they all expect cargoes at once, and as he
cannot accommodate them, they try to influence him
by arguments and long talks and flattery, and in
every sort of way, and he gets wearied to death in
his efforts to please them — poor man ! He told all
this with a lamentable voice and face, and every
now and then a roguish twinkle of the eye, that made
it a great trial of the nerves to listen to him without
laughing — knowing as I did the exact sum which
* He appreciates Shakespeare. I frave the Spanish doctor an
old copy, and Kossuth boucht it of him. I told him it showed
he must have some claim to his name.
J. ROSS BROWNE.
651
had been paid him by some captains, to get loaded
before the expiration of their lay days I
After finishing our call upon him, we walked oyer
the height of the island; that is, over the rounded
hill of guano which covers it, and of winch but a
small portion comparatively has been cut away on
one side for shipment. The average .height of the
rock which is the substratum of the island, is from
an hundred and fifty to two and three hundred feet.
Kossuth's place stands on the surface of tins at about
the lowest of those elevations. On this the guano
lies as upon a scaffolding or raised platform rising
out of the sea. It lies on a smooth rounded mound,
and is on this island about a hundred and sixty feet
in the central part, supposing the rock to maintain
the average level of the height when it is exposed.
Perhaps twenty acres or more have been cut away
from the side of the hill towards the north or lee side
the island, next the shipping.
J. ROSS BROWNE.
Mk Bkowne commenced his career as a traveller
in his eighteenth year by the descent of the
Ohio and Mississippi from Louisville to New
Orleans. His subsequent adventures are so well
and concisely narrated in his last published
volume, Yusef that the story cannot be better
presented than in his own words :—
Ten years ago, after having rambled all over the
United States— sixteen hundred miles of the dis-
tance on foot, and sixteen hundred in a flat-boat—
I set out from Washington with fifteen dollars, to
make a tour of the East. I got as far east as New
York, when the last dollar and the prospect of
reaching Jerusalem came to a conclusion at the
same time. Sooner than return home, after having
made so good a beginning, I shipped before the mast
in a whaler, and did some service, during a voyage
to the Indian Ocean, in the way of scrubbing decks
and catching whales. A mutiny occurred at the isl-
and of Zanzibar, where I sold myself out ot the
vessel for thirty dollars and a chest of old clothes ;
and spent three months very pleasantly at the con-
sular residence, in the vicinity of his Highness the
Imaum of Muscat. On my return to Washington, I
labored hard for four years on Bank statistics and
Treasury reports, by which time, in order to take
the new administration by the fore-lock, I deter-
mined to start for the East again. The only chance
I had of getting there was, to accept of an appoint-
ment as third lieutenant in the Revenue service, and go
to California, and thence to Oregon, where I. was to
report for duty. On the voyage to Rio, a difficulty
occurred between the captain and the passengers of
the vessel, and we were detained there nearly a
month. I took part with the rebels, because I be-
lieved them to be right. The captain was deposed
by the American consul, and the command of the
vessel was offered to me ; but, having taken an active
part against the late captain, I could not with pro-
priety accept the offer. A whaling captain, who had
lost liis vessel near Buenos Ayres, was placed in the
command, and we proceeded on our voyage round
Cape Horn. After a long and dreary passage we
made the island of Juan Fernandez. In company
with ten of the passengers, I left the ship seventy
miles out at sea, and went ashore in a small boat,
or the purpose of gathering up some tidings in re-
gard to my old friend Robinson Crusoe. What be-
fell us on that memorable expedition is fully set
forth in a narrative published in Harpers' Magazine.
Subsequently we spent some time in Lima, " the
City of the Kings." It was my fortune to arrive
penniless in California, and to find, by way of con-
solation, that a reduction had been made by Con-
gress in the number of revenue vessels, and that my
services in that branch of public business were no
longer required. While thinking seriously of taking
in washing at six dollars a dozen, or devoting the
remainder of my days to mule-dnvmg as a profes-
sion, I was unexpectedly elevated to the position of
post-office agent; and went about the country tor
the purpose of making postmasters. I only made
one—the post-master of San Jose. After that, the
Convention called by General Riley met at Monte-
rev and I was appointed to report the debates on
the formation of the State Constitution. For this 1
received a sum that enabled me to return to Washing-
ton and to start for the East again. There was luck m
the third attempt, for, as it may be seen, I got there at
last having thus visited the four continents, and tra-
velled by sea and land a distance of a hundred thou-
sand miles, or more than four times round the world,
on the scanty earnings of my own head and hands.
In 1846 Mr. Browne published Etchings of a
Whaling Cruise, with Notes of a Sojourn on the
Island of Zanzibar. To which is appended a
brief History of the Whale Fishery, its Past and
Present Condition. It contains a spirited and
faithful description of an interesting portion of the
author's experience as a whaler, which does not
appear to have favorably impressed him with tha
ordinary conduct of the service. He writes
warmly in condemnation of the harsh treatment
to which sailors are in his judgment exposed.
The work is valuable as an accurate presentation
of an important branch of our commercial marine,
and as a graphic and humorous volume of per-
sonal adventure.
On his return from Europe, Mr. Browne pub-
lished Yusef or the Journey of the Frangij A
Crusade in the East. It is a narrative ot the
usual circuit of European travellers in the East,
the dragoman of the expedition standing god-
father to the book. His humorous peculiarities,
with those of the author's occasional fellow tra-
vellers, are happily bit off. The pages ot the
volume are also enlivened by excellent comic
sketches from the author's designs.
JOHN TABOE'3 E1DE— A TARN FROM THE ETCHINGS OF A
WHALING CRUISE.
" I was cruising some years ago," he began, "on
the southern coast of Africa. The vessel in which
I was at the time had been out for a long time, and
many of the crew were on the sick-list. I had
smuggled on board a large quantity of liquor, which
I had made use of pretty freely while it lasted.
Finding the crew in so helpless a condition, the
captain put into Algoa Bay, where we had a tempo-
rary hospital erected for the benefit of the sick.
I saw that they led a very easy life, and soon man-
aged to get on the sick-list-myself. As soon as I got
ashore I procure.! a fresh supply of liquor from
some of the English settlers there, and in about a
week I was laid up with a fever in consequence of
my deep potations. One night, while I lay in the
hospital burning with this dreadful disease, I felt an
unusual sensation steal over me. My blood danced
through my veins. I sprang up from my catauda
as strong as a lion. I thought I never was better m
my life and I wondered how it was I had so long
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
been deceived as to my disease. A thrilling desire to !
exert m3"self canieoverme. I wouldhavegiven worlds
to contend with some giant. It seemed to me I
could tear him to pieces, as a wolf would tear a
lamb. Elated with the idea of my infinite power, I
rushed out and ran toward the beach, hoping to
meet a stray elephant or hippopotamus on the way
thao I might pitch him into the sea, but very fortu-
nately, I saw none. It was a calm, still night.
There was scarcely a ripple on the bay. I put my
ear to the sand to listen ; for I thought I heard the
breaches of a whale. I waited for a repetition of
the sounds, scarcely daring to breathe, lest I
should miss them. Kot a murmur, except the low ;
heaving of the swell upon the beach, broke the
stillness of the night. 1 was suddenly startled by
a voice close behind me, shouting, ' There she
breaches !' and jumping up, I saw, standing within
a few yards of me, such a figure as I shall never for-
get, even if not occasionally reminded of his ex- '
istence, as I was to-night. The first thing I could
discern was a beard, hanging down from the chin of
the owner in strings like rope yarns. It had pro-
bably once been white, but now it was discolored
with whale-gurry and tar. The old fellow was not
more than five feet high. He carried a hump on his
shoulders of prodigious dimensions; but notwith-
standing his apparent great age, which must have
been over a hundred years, he seemed as spry and '
active as a mokak. His dress consisted of a treinen- :
dous sou-wester, a greasy duck jacket, and a pair of j
well-tarred trowsers, something the worse for the
wear. In one hand he carried a harpoon ; in the
other a coil of &hort warp. I felt very odd, I assure
you, at the sudden apparition of such a venerable
whaleman. As I gazed upon him, he raised his fin-
ger in a mysterious and solemn manner, and pointed
toward the offing. I looked, and saw a large whale
sporting on the surface of the water. The boats were
lying upon the beach. He turned his eyes meaningly
toward the nearest. I trembled all over; for I never
experienced such strange sensations a* I did then.
" ' Shall we go ? ' said he.
" ' As you say,' I replied.
" ' You are a good whaleman, I suppose? Have
you ever killed your whale at a fifteen fathom dart?'
" I replied in the affirmative.
" ' Very well,' said he, ' you'll do/
" And without more delay, we launched the boat
and pushed off. It was a wild whale-chase, that !
"We pulled and tugged for upwards of an hour. At
last we came upon the whale, just as he rose for the
second time. I sprang to the bow, for I wanted to
have the first iron i.,to him.
" ' Back from that !' said the old whaleman, sternly.
" ' It's my chance,' I replied.
" ' Back," I tell you ! I'll strike that whale!'
" There was something in his voice that inspired
me with awe, and I gave way to him. The whale
was four good darts off ; but the old man's strength
was supernatural, and his aim unerring. The h:ir-
poon struck exactly where it was pointed, just back
of the head.
" ' Sow for a ride !' cried the old man ; and his
features brightened up, and his eves glared strangely.
' Jump on, John Tabor, jmvip on !' said h< .
" ' How do you mean ?' said I ; for although I had
killed whales, and eat of them too, such an idea as
that of riding a whale-back never before entered my
mind.
" ' Jump on, I eay, jump on, John Tabor !' he re-
peated, sternly.
" ' Damme if I do !' said I, and my hair began to
6tand on end.
" ' You must,' shouted the old whaleman.
" ' But I won't !' said I, resolutely.
" ' Won't you?' and with that he seized me in his
arms, and, making a desperate spring, reached the
whale's back and drove the boat adrift. He then
set. me down, and bade me hold on to the seat of his
ducks, while he made sure his own fastening by a
good grip of the iron pole. With the other hand he
drew from his pocket a quid of tobacco and rammed
it into his mouth; after which he began to hum an
old song. Peeling something rather uncommon on
his back, the whale set off with the speed of light-
ning, whizzing along as if all the whalers in the
Pacific were after him.
" ' Go it!' said the old man, and his eyes flashed
with a supernatural brilliancy. ' Hold fast, John
Tabor! stick on like grim Death!'
'■ ' What the devil kind of a wild-goose chase is
this?' said I, shivering with fear and cold; for the
spray came dashing over us in oceans.
" ' Patience!' rejoined the old man ; 'you'll see
presently.' Away we went, leaving a wake behind
us for miles. The land became more and more in-
distinct. We lost sight of it entirely. We were on
the broad ocean.
" ' On ! on ! Stick to me, John Tabor !' shouted
the old man, with a grin of infernal ecstacy.
" ' But where are you bound ?' said I. ' Damme
if this don't beat all the crafts I ever shipped in!'
and my teeth chattered as if I had an ague.
" ' Belay your jaw-tackle, John Tabor ! Keep
your main hatch closed, and hold on. Go it! go it,
old sperm !'
" Away we dashed, bounding from wave to
wave like a streak of pigtail lightning. Whizz!
whizz! we flew through the sea I never saw the
like. At this rate we travelled till daylight, when
the old man sang out, ' Land oh!'
" ' Where away ?' said I, for I had no more idea of
our latitude and longitude than if I had been dropped
down out of the clouds. 'Oft' our weather eye?'
" ' That's the Cape of Good Hope !'
" Ke'er went John Gilpin faster than we rounded
the cape.
"'Hard down your flukes!' 'shouted my com-
panion, and in five minutes Table Mountain looked
blue in the distance. The sun had just risen above
the horizon, when an island appeared ahead.
" ' Land oh!' cried the old man.
" ' Why, you bloody old popinjay,' said I, peep-
ing through the clouds of spray that rose up before
us, ' where are you steering ? '
" ' That's St. Helena !'
" ' The devil you say !' and before the words were
well o it of my mouth we shot past the island and
left it galloping astern.
"Stick on! stick on, John Tabor!' cried old
greasy-beard ; and I tightened my giaspon the seat
of his ducks. The sea was growing rough. We
flew onward like wildfire.
" ' Land oh!' shouted the old man again.
" ' Where's that?' said 1, holding on with all my
might.
" ' That's Cape Hatteras !'
" Our speed now increased to such a degree that
my hat flew off, and the wind whistled through my
hair, for it stood bolt upright the whole time, so
fearful was I of losing my passage. I had travelled
in steam-boats, stages, and locomotives, but I had
never experienced or imagined anything like this.
I couldn't contain myself any longer; so I made
bold to tell the old chap with the beard what I
thought about it
" ' Shiver me!' said I, 'if this isn't the most out-
landish, hell-bent voyage I ever went. If you don't
come to pretty soon, you and I'll part company.'
HENRY DAVID THOREAU.
653
" ' Land ho!' roared the "old man.
" 'In the devil's name,' said 1, ' what d'ye call that?'
" ' Nantucket,' replied my comrade.
" We passed it in the winking of an eye, and
away we went up Buzzard's Bay. The coast was
lined with old whaling skippers, spying us with
glasses; for certainly so strange a sight was never
seen before or since.
' ' There she breaches 1' cried some.
" ' There she blows!' cried others ; but it was all
one to them. We were out of sight in a jiffy.
" The coast of Massachusetts was right ahead.
On, on we flew. Taborstown, the general receptacle
for Tabors, stood before us. High and dry we
landed on the beach. Still onward went the whale,
blowing and pitching, and tearing up the sand with
his flukes.
' 'My eyes!' said I, scarcely able to see a dart
ahead, ' look out, or 3'ou'll be foul of the town
pump!'
"' ' Go it! Never say die! Hold fast, John Ta-
bor!' shouted the old chap; and helter-skelter Ave
flew down Main-street, scattering children, and wo-
men, and horses, and all manner of live stock and
domestic animals, on each side. The old Cape Horn
and plum-pudding captains rushed to their doors at
a sight so rare.
' There she breaches ! There she breaches !' re-
sounded through the town fore and aft; and with
the ruling passion strong even in old age, they came
hobbling after us, armed witli lances, harpoons, and
a variety of old rusty whale-gear, the hindmost
singing out,
' ' Don't you strike that whale, Captain Tabor!'
1 the foremost shouting to those behind, ' this is
my chance, Captain Tabor!' while the old man with
the long beard, just ahead of me, kept roaring,
' Stick fast, John Tabor ! hang on like grim
Death, John Tabor !'
And I did hang on. As I had predicted, we
fetched up against the town pump ; and so great
was the shock, that the old fellow flew head-fore-
most over it, leaving in my firm grasp the entire
seat of his ducks. I fell myself; but being further
aft, I didn't go quite so far as my comrade. How-
ever, I held on to the stern-sheets. As the old man
jhted up, he presented a comical spectacle to the
good citizens of Taborstown. The youngsters seeing
such an odd fish floundering about, got their minia-
ture lances and harpoons to bear upon him, in a
manner that didn't tickle his fancy much.
The whale at length got under weigh again, and
onward we went, with about twenty irons dangling
at each side. I grasped the old man by the collar
of his jacket this time. A shout of laughter fol-
lowed us.
' You've lost your whale, Captain Tabor !' cried
one.
' The devil's in the whale, Captain Tabor!' cried
another.
' ' As long as I've been Captain Tabor,' said a
third, ' I never saw such a whale.'
" ' As sure as I'm Captain Tabor, he's bewitched,'
observed a fourth.
" ' Captain Tabor, Captain Tabor ! I've lost my
irons !' shouted a fifth.
" ' Who's that aboard, Captain Tabor ?' asked a
sixth.
" ' That's John Tabor !' replied the seventh.
" ' John Tabor, John Tabor, hold fast!' roared the
old man, and away we went as if possessed of the
devil, sure enough. Over hills and dales, and through
towns and villages flew we. till the Alleghanies hove
''in sight. We cleared them in no time, and came
down with a glorious breach right into the Alle-
ghany River. Down the river we dashed through
steam-boats, flat-boats, and all manner of small craft,
till we entered the Ohio. Right ahead went we,
upsetting every thing in our way, and astonishing
the natives, who never saw any thing in such a shape
go at this rate before. We entered the Mississippi,
dashed across all the bends, through swamp and
canebrake, and at last found ourselves in the Gulf
of Mexico, going like wildfire through a fleet of
whalers. Nothing daunted, the whale dashed ahead ;
the coast of South America hove in sight. Over the
Andes went we — into the Pacific — past the Sand-
wich Islands — on to China — past Borneo — up the
Straits of Malacca — through the Seychelles Islands
— down the Mozambique Channel, and at last we
fetched up in Algoa Bay. We ran ashore with such
headway that I was pitched head-foremost into the
sand, and there I fastened as firm as the stump of a
tree. You may be sure, out of breath as I was, I
soon began to smother. This feeling of suffocation
became so intolerable, that I struggled with the
desperation of a man determined not to give up the
ghost. A confusion of ideas came upon me all
at once, and I found myself sitting upright in my
catanda in the old hospital "
Here Tabor paused.
" Then it was all a dream?" said I, somewhat dis-
appointed. He shook his head, and was mysteri-
ously silent for a while.
HENRY DAVID THOEEATT.
Two of (he most noticeable books in American
literature on the score of a certain quaint study
of natural history and scenery, are Mr. Thoreau's
volumes on the Concord and Merrimack rivers,
and Life in the Woods. The author is a humorist
in the old English sense of the word, a man of
humors, of Concord, Mass., where, in the neigh-
borhood of Emerson and Hawthorne, and in the
enjoyment of their society, he leads, if wo may take
his books as the interpreter of his career, a medi-
tative philosophic life.
zz?
-Z^?tZ0<^^
We find his name, on the Harvard list of gra-
duates of 1837. In 18-49, having previously been
a contributor to the Dial, and occupied himself
in school-keeping and trade in an experimental
way, he published A Week on the Concord and
Merrimack Ri/eers. It is a book of mingled es-
say and description, occasionally rash and con-
ceited, in a certain transcendental affectation of ex-
pression on religious subjects ; but in many other
passages remarkable for its nicety of observation,
and acute literary and moral perceptions. It is
divided into seven chapters, of the days of the
week. A journey is accomplished in the month of
August, 1S39, descending the Concord river, from
the town of that name, to the Merrimac ; then as-
cending the latter river to its source : thence
backward to the starting point. This voyage is
performed by the author in company with his
brother, in a boat of their own construction,
winch is variously rowed, pulled, dragged, or
propelled by the wind along the flats or through
the canal ; the travellers resting at night under a
tent which they carry with them. The record is
of the small boating adventures, and largely of the
654
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
reflections, real or supposed, suggested by the
moods or incidents of the way. There are a
variety of illustrations of physical geography, the
history of the interesting settlements along the
way; in the botanical excursions, philosophical
speculations and literary studies.
The author, it will be seen from the date of his
publication, preserved the Horatian maxim, of
brooding over his reflections, if not keeping his
cop}7, the approved period of gestation of nine
years.
His next book was published with equal delibe-
ration. It is the story of a humor of the author,
which occupied him a term of two j~ears and two
months, commencing in March, 1845. Walden,
or Life in the Woods, was published in Boston in
1854. The oddity of its record attracted univer-
sal attention. A gentleman and scholar retires
one morning from the world, strips himself of
all superfluities, and with a borrowed axe and
minimum of pecuniary capital, settles himself as
a squatter in the wood, on the edge of a New
England pond near Concord. He did not own
the land, but was permitted to enjoy it. He fell-
ed a few pines, hewed timbers, and for boards
bought out the shanty of James Collins, an Irish
laborer on the adjacent Fitchburg railroad, for
the sum of four dollars twenty-five cents. He
was assisted in the raising by Emerson, George
AV. Curtis, and other celebrities of Concord,
whose presence gave the rafters an artistic flavor.
Starting early in the spring, he secured long be-
fore winter by the labor of his hands "a tight
shingled and plastered house, ten feet wide by fif-
teen long, and eight feet posts, with a garret and
a closet, a large window on each side, two trap-
doors, one door at the end, and a brick fire-place
opposite." The exact cost of the house is given : —
Thoreau's House.
Boards, $8 03K, mostly shanty boards.
Eefuse shingles for roof and
sides. . . 4 no
Laths, 1 25
Two second-hand windows
with glass 2 4-3
One thousand old brick, . . 4 00
Two casks of lime 2 40 That was high.
Hair, 0 31 More than Ineeded.
Mantle-troe iron, 0 15
Nails 3 90
Hii'gcs a:id screws, .... 0 14
Latch 0 10
Chalk, 0 CI
Transportatio 1 40 [ X Ca™b1aafood part on
In all $28 12X
These are all the materials excepting the timber,
; stones, and sand, which I claimed by 6quatter's right.
1 I have also a small wood-shed adjoining, made
chiefly of the stuff which was left after building the
house.
The rest of the account from Mr. Thoreau's
: ledger is curious, and will show " upon what
j meats this same Caesar fed," that he came to in-
| terest the public so greatly in his housekeeping :-
By surveying, carpentry, and day-labor of various
I other kinds in the village in the mean while, for I
have as many trades as fingers, I had earned $13 34.
The expense of food for eight months, namely, from
July 4th to March 1st, the time when these estimates
| were made, though 1 lived there more than two
years, — not counting potatoes, a little green corn,
and some peas, which 1 had raised, nor considering
the value of what was on hand at the last date, was
Eice, . .
! Molasses, .
Eye meal, .
Indian meal,
! Pork, . .
I Flour, . .
$1 73;
1 73
1 04}
0 99}
0 22
0 I
Cheapest form of the saccharine.
Cheaper than rye.
Sugar, . . .
Lard, . . .
Apples, ...
Dried apple, .
Sweet potatoes,
One pumpkin,
One watermelon,
Salt, ....
0 I
0 65
0 25
0 22
0 10
0 06
2
I } Cost more than Indian meal,
J both money and trouble.
1.6
= 3
o o
Yes, I did eat $8 74. all told ; hut I should not
thus unblushingly publish my guilt, if I did not •
know that most of my readers were equally guilty
with myself, and that their deeds would look no bet-
ter in print. The next year I sometimes caught a
mess offish for my dinner, and once I went so far as
to slaughter a woodchuck which ravaged my bear.-
field, — effect his transmigration, as a Tartar would
say, — and devour him, partly for experiment's sake;
but though it afforded me a momentary enjoyment,
notwithstanding a musky flavor,. I saw that the long-
est use would not make that a good practice, how-
ever it might seem to have your woodchucks ready
dressed by the village butcher.
Clothing and some incidental expenses within the
same dates, though little can be inferred from this
item, amounted to
Oil and some household utensils,
$S 40}
. 2 00
So that all the pecuniary outgoes, excepting for
washing and mending, which for the most part were
done out of the house, and their bills have not yet
been received, — and these are all and more than all
the ways by which money necessarily goes out in
this part of the world, — were
House, $2" 1 H
Farm one year, 14 72^
Food eight months, 8 74
Clothing, &c. eight months, .... 840}
Oil, &c., eight months, 2 00
In all,
$151 99}
I address myself now to those of my readers who
have a living to get. And to meet this I have for
farm produce sold
$23 44
Earned by day-labor, 13 34
In all,
which subtracted from the sum of the outgoes leaves
a balance of $25 21f on the one side, — this being
HENRY DAVID THOREAU.
655
very nearly the means with which I started, and the I
measure of expenses to be incurred, — and on the
other, beside the leisure and independence and
health thus secured, a comfortable house for me as
long as I chose to occupy it.
He had nothing further to do after his "family
bating," which, the family consisting of a unit, j
could not have been large or have come round
very often, than to read, think, and observe. Ho- J
mer appears to have been his favorite book. The
thinking was unlimited, and the observation that
of a man with an instinctive tact for the wonders
of natural history. He sees and describes insects,
birds, such "small deer" as approached him, with
a felicity which would have gained him the heart
of Izaak Walton and Alexander Wilson. A topo-
graphical and hydrographical survey of Walden
Pond, is as faithful, exact, and labored, as if it had
employed a government or admiralty commis-
sion.
As in the author's previous work, the imme-
diate incident is frequently only the introduction
to higher themes. The realities around him are
occasionally veiled by a hazy atmosphere of trans-
cendental speculation, through which the essayist
sometimes stumbles into abysmal depths of the
bathetic. We have more pleasure, however, in
dwelling upon the shrewd humors of this modern
contemplative Jacques of the forest, and his fresh,
nice observation of books and men, which has
occasionally something of a poetic vein. He who
would acquire a new sensation of the world about
him, would do well to retire from cities to the
banks of Walden pond ; and he who would open
his eyes to the opportunities of country life, in its
associations of fields and men, may loiter with
profit along the author's journey on the Merri-
mack, where natural history, local antiquities, re-
cords, and tradition, are exhausted in vitalizing
the scene.
A CHARACTER — FROM WALDEV.
Who should come to my lodge this morning but a
true Homeric or Paphlagonian man, — lie had so
suitable and poetic a name that I am sorry I cannot
print it here, — a Canadian, a wood-chopper and post
maker, who can hole fifty posts in a day, who made
his last supper on a woodchuck which his (log caught.
He, too, has heard of Homer, and, " if it were not
fcr books," would "not know what to do rainy
days," though perhaps he has not read one wholly
through for many rainy seasons. Some priest who
could pronounce the Greek itself, taught him to read
his verse in the Testament in his native parish far
away ; and now I must translate to him, while he
holds the book, Achilles' reproof to Patroclus, for
his sad countenance. — " Why are you in tears, Pa-
troclus, like a young girl? "
Or have you alone heard some news from Phthla?
They say that Mencetius lives yet, son of Actor,
And Peleus lives, son of ^acus, among the Myrmidons.
Either of whom having died, we should greatly grieve.
He says, " That's good." He has a great bundle of
white-oak bark under his arm fora sick man, gather-
ed this Sunday morning. " I suppose there's no
harm in going after such a thing to-day," says he.
To him Homer was a great writer, though what his
writing was about lie did not know. A more sim-
ple and natural man it would be hard to find. Vice
and disease, which cast such a sombre moral hue
over the world, seemed to have hardly any existence
for him. He was about twenty-eight years old, and
had left Canada and his father's house a dozen years
before to work in the States, and earn money to buy
a farm witli at last, perhaps in his native country.
He was cast in the coarsest mould; a stout but slug-
gish body, yet gracefully carried, with a thick sun-
burnt neck, dark bushy hair, and dull sleepy blue
eyes, which were occasionally lit up with expression,
lie wore a fiat gray cloth cap, a dingy wool-colored
greatcoat, and cowhide boots. He was a great con-
sumer of meat, usually carrying his dinner to his
work a couple of miles past my house, — for he chop-
ped all summer, — in a tin pail; cold meats, often
cold woodchueks, and coffee in a stone bottle which
dangled by a string from his belt ; and sometimes he
offered me a drink. He came along early, crossing
my beanfield, though without anxiety or haste to
get to his work, such as Yankees exhibit. He wasn't
a-going to hurt himself. He didn't care if he only
earned his board. Frequently he would leave his
dinner in the bushes, when his dog had caught a
woodchuck by the way, and go back a mile and a
half to dress it and leave it in the cellarof the house
where he boarded, after deliberating first for half an
hour whether he could not sink it in the pond safely
till nightfall, — loving to dwell long upon these
themes. He would say, as he went by in the morn-
ing, " How thick the pigeons are! If working every
day were not my trade, I could get all the meat I
should want by hunting pigeons, woodehucks, rab-
bits, partridges, — by gosh I I could get all I should
want for a week and one day."
A BATTLE OF ANTS — FROM WALDEN.
One day when I went out to my wood-pile, or ra-
ther my pile of stumps, I observed two large ants,
the one red, the other much larger, nearly half an
inch long, and black, fiercely contending with one
another. Having once got hold they never let go,
but struggled and wrestled and rolled on the chips
incessantly. Looking farther, 1 was surprised to find
that the chips were covered with such combatants,
that it was not a duclium, but a bellum, a war be-
tween two races of ants, the red always pitted against
the black, and frequently two red ones to one black.
The legions of these Myrmidons covered all the hills
and vales in my wood-yard, and the ground was al-
ready strewn with the dead and dying, both red and
black. It was the only battle which I have ever
witnessed, the only battle-field I ever trod while the
battle was raging ; internecine war ; the red repub-
licans on the one hand, and the black imperialists on
the other. On every side they were engaged in
deadly combat, yet without any noise I could hear,
and human soldiers never fought so resolutely. I
watched a couple that were fast locked in each
other's embraces, in a little sunny valley amid the
chips, now at noon-day prepared to fight till the
sun went down, or life went out. The smaller red
champion had fastened himself like a vice to his ad-
versary's front, and through all the tumblings on
that field never for an instant ceased to gnaw at one
of his feelers near the root, having already caused
the other to go by the board ; while the stronger
black one dashed him from side to side, and, as I saw
on looking nearer, had already divested him of seve-
ral of his members. They fought with more perti-
nacity than bull-dogs. Neither manifested the least
disposition to retreat. It was evident that their
battle-cry was — Conquer or die. In the mean while
there came along a single red ant on the hill-side of
this valley, evidently full of excitement, who either
had despatched his foe, or had not yet taken part in
the battle ; probably the latter, for he had lost none
656
CYCLOP JEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
of his limbs; whose mother had charged him to re-
turn with his shield or upon it. Or perchance he
was some Achilles, who had nourished his wrath
apart, and had now come to avenge or rescue his
Patroclus. Pie saw this unequal combat from afar
— for the blacks were nearly twice the size of the
red, — he drew near with rapid pace till he stood on
his guard within half an inch of the combatants;
then, watching his opportunity, he sprang upon the
black warrior, and commenced his operations near
the root of his right fore-leg, leaving the foe to select
among his own members ; and so there were three
united for life, as if a new kind of attraction had
been invented which put all other locks and cements
to shame. I should not have wondered by thistime
to find that they had their respective musical bands
stationed on some eminent chip, and playing their
national ail's the while, to excite the slow and cheer
the dying combatants. I was myself excited some-
what even as if they had been men. The more you
think of it, the less the difference. And certainly
there is not the fight recorded in Concord history,
at least, if in the history of America, that will bear
a moment's comparison with this, whether for the
numbers engaged in it, or for the patriotism and
heroism displayed. For numbers and for carnage it
was an Austerlitz or Dresden. Concord Fight! Two
killed on the patriots' side, and Luther Blanchard
wounded! Why here every ant was a Buttrick, —
" Fire! for God's sake fire! " — and thousands shared
the fate of Davis and Hosmer. There was not one
hireling there. I have no doubt that it was a prin-
ciple they fought for, as much as our ancestors, and
not to avoid a three-penny tax on their tea ; and the
results of this battle will be as important and memo-
rable to those whom it concerns as these of the battle
of Bunker Hill, at least.
I took up the chip on which the three I have par-
ticularly described were struggling, carried it into
my house, and placed it under a tumbler on my
window-sill, in order to see the issue. Holding a
microscope to the first-mentioned red ant, I saw tiiat,
though lie was assiduously gnawing at the near fore-
leg of his enemy, having severed his remaining feel-
er, his own breast was all torn away, exposii.g what
vitals he had there to the jaws of the black warrior,
whose breast-plate was apparently too thick for him
to pierce ; and the dark carbuncles of the sufferer's
eyes shone with ferocity, such as war only could ex-
cite. They struggled half an hour longer under the
tumbler, and when I looked again the black soldier
had severed the heads of his foes from their bodies,
and the still living heads were hanging on either
side of him like ghastly trophies at his saddle-bow,
still apparently as firmly fastened as ever, and he
was endeavoring with feeble struggles, being with-
out feelers and with only the remnant of a leg, and
I know not how many other wounds, to divest him-
self of them; which at length, after half an hour
more, he accomplished. I raised the glass, and he
went off over the window-sill in that crippled state.
Whether he finally survived that combat, and spent
the remainder of his days in some Hotel des Inva-
lides, I do not know ; but I thought that his indus-
try would not be worth much thereafter. I never
learned which party was victorious, nor the cause
of the war ; but I felt for the rest of that day as if I
had had my feelings excited and harrowed by wit-
nessing the struggle, the ferocity and carnage, of a
human battle before my door.
Kirby and Spence tell us that the battles of ants
have long been celebrated and the date of them re-
corded, though they say that Huber is the only mo-
dern author who appears to have witnessed them.
" ./Eneas Sylvius," say they, " after giving a very
circumstantial account of one contested with great
obstinacy by a great and small species on the trunk
of a pear tree," adds that " ' This action was fought
in the pontificate of Eugenius the Fourth, in the pre-
sence of Kicholas Pistoriensis an eminent lawyer,
who related the whole history of the battle with the
greatest fidelity. A similar engagement between
great and small ants is recorded b}' Olaus Magnus,
in which the small ones, being victorious, are said to
have buried the bodies of their own soldiers, but left
, those of their giant enemies a prey to the birds.
: This event happened previous to the expulsion of the
] tyrant Christian the Second from Sweden." The
; battle which I witnessed took place in the Presidency
, of Polk, five years before the passage of Webster's
' Fugitive-Slave Bill.
ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE.
Arthur Cleveland Coxe is the son of the Rev.
; Samuel H. Coxe, of Brooklyn, the author of
i Quakerism, not Christianity ; Interrincs, Memo-
mble and Useful, from Diary and Memory, re-
', produced ; and other publications. He was lorn at
Mendham, New Jersey, May 10, 1818. On his
mother's side he is a grandson of the Rev. Aaron
j Cleveland, an early poet of Connecticut.
Mr. Cleveland was born at Haddain, February
3, 1744. His father, a missionary of the Society
for the Propagation of the Gospel, dying when
the son was but thirteen years of age, the latter
received few educational advantages. He, how-
ever, at the age of nineteen, produced a descrip-
tive poem, Tlic Philosopher and Boy, of some
merit. He soon after became a Congregational
minister. In 1775 he published a poem on
Slavery, in blank verse. He was also the author
of several satirical poems directed against the
Jeffeivonians. He died on the twenty-first of
September, 1815.*
Mr. Coxe was prepared for college under the
private tuition of Professor George Bush. lie
entered the University of the City of New York,
and was graduated in 1838. During his fresh-
man year he wrote a poem, The Progress of Am-
bit.on, and in 1837 published Advent, a Mystery,
| a poem after the manner of the religious dramas
i of the Middle Ages. In 1838 appeared Athwold,
a Bomaunt, and Saint Jonathan, the Lay of the
I Scald, designed as the commencement of a semi-
humorous poem, in the Don Juan style.
Mr. Coxe soon after became a student in the
| General- Theological Seminary, New York. While
, at this institution he delivered a poem, Atha-
, nasion, before the Alumni of Washington College,
Hartford, at the Commencement in 1840. In
the same year he published Christian Ballads, a
collection of poems, suggested for the most part
by the holy seasons and services of his church.
Five editions of this popular volume have since
appeared.
Mr. Coxe was ordained deacon in July, 1841,
and in the August following became rector of St.
Anne's church, Morrisania, where he wrote his
poem Halloween, privately printed in 1842. He
was next called to St. John's church, at Hart-
ford. During his residence at that place he pub-
lished, in 1845, Saul, a Mysteiy, a dramatic poem
of much greater length than his Advent, but, like
that production, modelled on the early religious
• Everest's Poets of Connecticut
ARTHUR CLEVELAND CONE.
657
plays. He is at present rector of Grace church,
Baltimore.
In addition to his poetical volumes Mr. Coxe
has published Sermons on Doctrine and Duty,
preached to the parishioners of St. John's church,
Hartford, and numerous articles in the Church
Review and other periodicals. He has also
translated a work of the Abbe Laborde, on the
Impossibility of the Immaculate Conception as an
Article of Faith, with notes.
OLD TRINITY.
Easter Even, 1S40.
Thy servants think upon her stones, and it pitieth them to
see her in the dust. — Psalter.
The Paschal mooa is ripe to-night
On fair Manhada's bay,
And soft it falls on Hoboken,
As where the Saviour lay ;
And beams beneath whose paly shine
Nile's troubling angel tlew.
Show many a blood-besprinkled door
Of our passu ver too.
But here, where many an holy year
It shone on arch and aisle.
What means its cold and silver ray
On dust and ruined pile?
■ Oh, where's the consecrated porch,
The sacred lintel where,
And where's that antique steeple's height
To bless the moonlight air f
I seem to miss a mother's face
In this her wonted home ;
And linger in the green churchyard
As round that mother's tomb.
Old Trinity ! thou too art gone !
And in thine own blest bound,
They've laid thee low, dear mother church,
To rest in holy ground !
The vaulted roof that trembled oft
Above the chaunted psalm ;
The quaint old altar where we owned
Our very Paschal Lamb ;
The chimes that ever in the tower
Like seraph-music sung,
And held me spell-bound in the way
When I was very young ; —
The marble monuments within ;
The 'scutcheons, old and rich ;
And one bold bishop's ethgy
Above the chancel-niche;
The mitre and the legend there
Beneath the colored pane ;
All these — thou knewest, Paschal moo:i,
But ne'er shalt know -again!
And thou wast shining on this spot
That hour the Saviour rose !
But oh, its look that Easter morn,
The Saviour only knows.
A thousand years — and 'twas the same,
And half a thousand more ;
Old moon, what mystic chronicles,
Thou keepest, of this shore !
And so, till good Queen Anna reigued.
It was a heathen sward:
But when they made its virgin turf,
An altar to the Lord,
With holy roof they covered it ;
And when Apostles came,
They claimed, for Christ, its battlements.
And took it in God's name.
VOL. II. — f'2
Then, Paschal moon, this sacred spot
No more thy magic felt,
Till flames brought down the holy place,
Where our forefathers knelt :
Again, 'tis down — the grave old pile ;
That mother church sublime I
Look on its roofless floor, old moon.
For 'tis thy last — last time I
Ay, look with smiles, for never there
Shines Paschal moon agen,
Till breaks the Earth's great Easter-day
O'er all the graves of men!
So wane away, old Paschal moon,
And come next year as bright ;
Eternal rock shall welcome thee,
Our faith's devoutest light !
They rear old Trinity once more:
And, if ye weep to see,
The glory of this latter house
Thrice glorious shall be !
Oh lay its deep foundations strong,
And, yet a little while,
Our Paschal Lamb himself shall come
To light its hallowed aisle.
HE STANDETH AT THE DOOR AND KNOCKETH.
In the silent midnight watches,
List, — thy bosom door I
How it knocketh — knocketh — knocketh,
Knocketh evermore !
Say not 't is thy pulse is beating:
"Pis thy heart of sin ;
'Tis thy Saviour knocks, and crieth —
" Rise, and let me in."
Death comes on with reckless footsteps,
To the hall and hut :
Think you, Death will tarry, knocking.
Where the door is shut ?
Jesus waiteth, waiteth, waiteth —
But the door is fast;
Grieved away thy Saviour goeth ;]
Death breaks in at last !
Then, 'tis time to stand entreating
Christ to let thee in;
At the gate of heaven beating,
Wailing for .thy sin.
Nay, — alas, thou guilty creature!
Hast thou then forgot ?
Jesus waited long to know thee,
Now he knows thee not.
THE VOLttKTEEIt'S MARCH.
March — march — march !
Making sounds as they tread,
Ho-ho ! how they step,
Going down to the dead!
Every stride, every tramp,
Every footfall is nearer,
And dimmer each lamp,
As darkness grows drearer:
But ho ! how they march,
Making sounds as they tread
Ho-ho ! how they step,
Going down to the dead !
March — march — march !
Making sounds as they tread,
Ho-ho ! how they laugh,
Going down to the dead !
How they whirl, how they trip,
How they smile, how they dally.
How blithesome they skip.
Going down to the valley!
053
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Oh ho ! how they march,
Making sounds as they tread ;
Ho-ho! how they skip.
Going down to the dead !
March — march — march ! .
Earth groans as they tread ;
'Each carries a skull,
Going down to the dead !
Every stride — every stamp,
Every footfall is bolder;
'Tis a skeleton's tramp,
With a skull on his shoulder.
But ho ! how he steps
"With a high tossing head,
That clay-covered bone,
Going down to the dead!
JOHN STEINFORT KIDNEY
Is the author of a volume, Catawba River, and
Other Poems, published in 1847. He is a clergy-
man of the Protestant Episcopal Church, settled
at Saratoga Springs, New York. He was born
in 1819, in Essex County, N. J., where his ances-
tors had lived for a hundred and fifty years, was
educated partly at Union College, and gave some
attention to the law before entering the church
through the course of instruction of the General
Theological Seminary. After his ordination he
was for a time rector of a parish in North Caro-
lina, and afterwards in Salem, N. J.
His verses show an. individual temperament,
and the tastes of a scholar and thinker.
COME IN THE MOONLIGHT.
Come in the moonlight — come in the cold,
Snow-covered the earth,
Yet O, how inviting!
Come — 0 come !
Come, ye sad lovers, friends who have parted,
Lonely and desolate,
All h^vy-hearted ones,
Come — O come !
Come to the beauty of frost in the silence,
Cares may be loosened,
Loves be forgotten, —
Come — 0 come !
Deep is the sky ; — pearl of the morning,
Rose of the twilight,
Lost in its blueness,
Come — 0 come !
Look up and shudder ; see the lone moon
Like a sad cherub
Passing the clouds.
Come^O come !
Lo! she is weeping ; — tears in the heaven
Twinkle and tremble.
Tenderest sister!
Come — 0 come !
Keen is the air ; — keener the sparkles
Sprinkling the snow-drift,
Glancing and glittering,
Come — 0 come!
Look to the earth — from earth to her sister,
See which is brightest !
Both white as the angels !
Come — (J come !
Robed in the purity heaven hath sent her.
Gone are the guilt-stains —
Drowned in the holiness.
Come — 0 come!
Grief hath no wailing
Colder and purer
Freezes the spirit !
Come — O come !
-Rapture is silent.
GEOEGE H. COLTON.
George Hooker Colton, the son of the Rev.
George Colton, was born at Westford, Otsego
County, New York, on the 27th of October, 1818.
He was graduated, with a high rank in his class,
at Yale College, in 184-0. In the fall of the same
year, while engaged as a teacher in Hartford, he
determined to write a poem on the Indian Wars,
in which the newly elected President, General
Harrison, had been engaged. It was to have ap-
peared at the time of the Inauguration, but, the
I plan expanding as the author proceeded, was not
' published until the spring of 1842.
The poem, Tecumseh, or the West Thirty Years
Since, is in nine cantos, in the octosyllabic mea-
sure and style of Sir Walter Scott, with the usual
Ordinary felicities of illustration bestowed upon
! this class of compositions in America, of which
! many have been produced with little success.
In 1842 Mr'. Colton also prepared, from the
materials which he had accumulated during the
i progress of his poem, a course of lectures on the
Indians, which were delivered in various places
I during 1842 and 1843.
In the summer of 1844 he delivered a poembe-
! fore the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Yale College.
In January, 1845, he published the first number
; of the American Whig Review, a monthly ffiaga-
I zine of politics and literature, under his editorship.
j Mr. Colton entered upon this important enterprise
with great energy, securing a large number of the
leading politicians and authors of the country as
! its friends and contributors. He edited the work
with judgment, wrote constantly for its pages, and
had succeeded in gaining a fair measure of success,
when he was seized in November, 1847, by a
violent attack of typhus fever, which put an e:«.d
to his life on the first of December following.*
PHILIP SCIIAFF.
Dr. Philip ScnAFF, Professor of Theology in the
Seminary of the German Reformed Church at
Mercersburg, Pa., the author of a History of the
Apostolic Church and of other theological works,
which have received considerable attention in
America, is a native of Switzerland. He was
born at Coire (Chur), Canton Graubundten,
January 1, 1819. He was educated at the college
of his native city, afterwards at the Gymnasium
of Stuttgart, and in the Universities of Tubingen,
Halle, and Berlin. He received his degree in
1841, as Doctor of Philosophy and Bachelor of
Divinity, at the University of Berlin, which sub-
sequently (1854) presented him the Diploma of
D.D. honoris causa. At the conclusion of his
early college life, he travelled for nearly two
years through Germany, Switzerland, France, and
Italy, as tutor of a young Prussian nobleman.
In 1842 he became a lecturer on theology in the
University of Berlin, after having gone through
the examination of public academic teachers. In
1843, he received a unanimous call as professor
of Church History and Exegesis to the Theologi-
■ Now Englander, vii. 228.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
659
eal Seminary at Mercersburg, Pennsylvania, from
the Synod of the German Reformed Church of
the United States, on the recommendations of Drs.
Meander, Hengstenberg, Tholuck, Midler, Krum-
•maeher, and others, who had been consulted
about a suitable representative of German Evan-
gelical Theology for America. In the spring of
1844 he left Berlin, and after some months' travel
in Southern Germany, Switzerland, Belgium, and
England, he crossed the Atlantic and soon identi-
fied himself with American interests.
He has since been engaged in teaching the
various branches of exegetical and historical
theology at Mercersburg, both in the German
and English languages, with the exception of the
year 1854, which he spent on a visit to his
friends in Europe.
The Church History of Dr. Schaff is remarka-
ble for its thorough and apparently exhaustive
learning, for its clear style and somewhat artistic
groupings, for its union of doctrinal persistency
with philosophical enlargement. His position is
that of strong supernaturalism, with great
emphasis upon the church organism, and the
high Lutheran doctrine of divine grace, which is
saved from Calvinism by the decided high church
view of the sacraments.
His life of Augu-tine is a scholarlike and philo-
sophical development of the great saint's doctrinal
positions from his experience and life.*
Marshall College, with which, under the presi-
dency of the Rev. Dr. John W. Kevin, Dr. Schaff
held the Professorship of ^Esthetics and German
Literature, was first situated at Mercersburg,
Franklin Co. Pa.j and was founded under a
charter from the Legislature of Pennsylvania in
180"i. It sprang originally out of the high school
attached . to the Theological Seminary of the
German Reformed Church, and is in intimate
union with that institution. By an act of the
state in 1850, it was united with Franklin College
at Lancaster, and in 1853 was removed to that
place, the new institution bearing the title Frank-
lin and Marshall College.
Adolphus L. Koeppen, author of a series of
lectures on Geography and History, and a valua-
■ The following I* a list of the publications of Dr. Schaff: —
t. The Sin against the Holy Ghost, and the Dogmatical and
Ethical Inferences derived from it. With an Appendix on the
Life and Death of Francis Spiera. Halle, 1841. (German.)
2. James, the Brother of the Lord, and James the Less. An
exegetical and historical essaj. Berlin, 1842. (German.)
3. The Principle of Protestantism, as related to the present
state of the Church. Charnbersburg. Pa., 1845. (German
and English Translation, with an Introduction by Dr. Nevin.)
4. What is Church History? A Vindication of the Idea of
Historical Development Philadelphia. 1S46. (English.)
5. History of the Apostolic Church, with a General Intro-
duction to Church History. First German edition, Mercers-
burg, Pa., 1851. Second German edition. Leipzic, 1854.
(English translation by the Rev. E. Yeomans, New York,
1853. Reprinted in Edinburgh, 1854)
G. Life and Labors of St. Augustine (English edition. New
York. 1353, and another, London, 1854. German edition, Ber-
lin. 1S54.)
7. America, The Political, Social, and Religions Condition of
the United States of N. A. Berlin. 1854. (German. An
English translation will appear before the end of 1855.)
8. Der Deutsche Kirchenfreund ('-The German Church
Friend, or Monthly Organ for the General Interests of the
German Churches in America." commenced in 1848, and edited
and published by Dr. Schaff till the close of the 6th volume in
ls53; now continued by the Rev. William J. Mann, Philadel-
phia, P:l)
9. Several Tracts and Orations on Anglo-Germanism. Dante,
Systematic Benevolence, etc. etc., and Articles in the Blblio-
theca Sacra, Methodist Quarterly, Mercersburg Review, and
ether journals of America and Germany.
ble publication on the subject, is Professor of
German Literature, ^Esthetics, and History, in this
institution.
Dr. Nevin, the associate of Professor Schaff, is
also the author of a work on The Mystical
Presence, a Vindication of the Reformed or Gal-
ninistie Doctrine of the Holy Eucharist, and other
theological writings of the school of divinity to
which he is attached, and of which the Mercers-
burg Review, commenced in January, 1849, has
been the organ.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
Is the descendant of an old New England family,
which has long held important stations in Massa-
chusetts. His ancestor, Percival Lowell, settled
in the town of Newbury in 1639. His grand-
father, John Lowell, was an eminent lawyer, a
member of Congress and of the convention which
formed the first constitution of Massachusetts.
His father is Charles Lowell, the venerable pastor
of the West Church in Boston; his mother was a
native of New Hampshire, a sister of the late
Capt. Robert T. Spence of the U. S. Navy, and is
spoken of as of remarkable powers of mind and
possessing in an eminent degree the faculty of
acquiring languages.*
J. r?. l^-cj^.
James Russell Lowell, who is named after his
father's maternal grandfather, Judge James Rus-
sell, of Charleston, was born at the eountrr-soat
of Elmwood, the present residence of the-family,
at Cambridge, Mass., February 22, 1810. He
was educated in the town, and "in 1S3S received
* This faculty is inherit, d by her daughter, Mrs. Putnam,
whose controversy with Mr. iiowen, editor of the North Ameri-
can Review, respecting the late war in Hungary, brought her
name prominently before the public. Mrs. Putnam converses
readily in French, Italian, Gentian, Polish; Swedish, and Hun-
garian, and is familiar with twenty modern dialects, besides
the Greek. Latin, Hebrew, Persic, and Arabic. Mrs. Putnam
made the first translation into English of Frederica Bremer's
novel of the Neighbors, from the' Swedish. The translation
by Mary Howitt was made from the. German. — Homes of
American AttiAore — Art. Lowell.
6G0
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
his degree at Harvard. His first production in
print, a class poem, appeared at this time. This
was succeeded, in 1811, by a collection of poems
— A Tear's Lfe. It was" marked by a youthful
delicacy and sensibility, with a leaning to tran-
scendental expression, but teeming with proofs
of the poetic nature, particularly in a certain vein
of tenderness. In January, 1843, he commenced,
in conjunction with his friend Mr. Robert Carter,
the publication of The Pioneer, a Literary and
Critical Magazine, which, though published in
the form of a fashionable illustrated magazine,
was of too fine a cast to be successful. But three
monthly numbers were issued : they contained
choice articles from Poe, Keal, Hawthorne, Par-
sons, Du-ight, and others, including the editors.
This unsuccessful speculation was an episode in a
brief career at the bar, which Mr. Lowell soon
relinquished for a literary life. The reception of
Mr. Lowell's first poetic volume had been favora-
ble, and encouraged the author's next adventure,
a volume containing the Lege id of Brittany, Mis-
cellaneous Poems and Sonne's, in 1841. There
was a rapid advance in art in these pages, and a
profounder stud}' of passion. The leading poem
is such a story as would have engaged the heart
of Shelley or Keats. A country maiden is be-
trayed and murdered by a knightly lover. Her
corpse is concealed behind the church altar, and
the guilty presence made known on a festival day
by a voice demanding baptism for the unborn
babe in its embrace. The murderer is struck
with remorse, and ends his days in repentance.
The story thus outlined is delicately told, and its
repulsiveness overcome by the graces of poetry
and feeling with which it is invested in the cha-
racter of the heroine Margaret. The poem in
blank verse entitled Prometheus, which followed
the legend in the volume, atforded new proof of
the author's ability. It is mature in thought and
expression, and instinct with a lofty imagination.
The prophecy of the triumph of love, humanity,
and civilization, over the brute and sensual
power of Jove, is a fine modern improvement of
the old fable. The apologue of RJioxus is also in
a delicate, classical spirit.
The next year Mr. Lowell gave the public a
volume of prose essays — a series of critical and
aesthetic Conversations on some of the Old Poets,
Chaucer and the dramatists Chapman and Ford
being the vehicles for introducing a liberal stock
of reflections on life and literature generally. It
is a book of essays, displaying a subtle know-
ledge of English literature, to which the form of
dialogue is rather an incumbrance.
Another series of Poems, containing the spirit
of the author's previous volume, followed in
1848. About the same time appeared The Vision
of Sir Launfal, founded on a legend of a search
for the San Greal. The knight in his dream dis-
covers charity to the suffering to be the holy
cup.
As a diversion to the pursuit of sentimental
poetry, Mr. Lowell at the close of the year sent
forth a rhyming estimate of contemporaries in
a Fable for Critics, which, though not without
some puerilities, contains a series of sharply
drawn portraits in felicitous verse.
The Biglow Papers, edited with an Introduc-
tion, Notes, Glossary, and Copious Index, complete
| the record of this busy year. The book purports
! to be written by Homer Wilbur, A.M., Pastor of
the First Church in Jaalam and (prospective)
: Member of many Literary, Learned, and Scientific
Societies. It is cast in the Yankee dialect, and is
quite an artistic product in that peculiar lingo.
The subject is an exposure of the political pre-
tences and shifts which accompanied the war
with Mexico, the satire being directed against
war and slavery. It is original in style and pun-
gent in effect.
This is Mr. Lowell's last published volume, his
time having been since occupied in a residence
abroad, though he has occasionally written for
the Xorth American Review, Putnam's Magazine,
and other journals, and was for a time a stated
• contributor to the Anti-slavery Standard.
He was married in December, 1844, to Miss
Maria White, of Watertown, a lady whose lite-
rary genius, as exhibited in a posthumous vo-
lume privately printed by her husband in 1855,
deserves a record in these pages. She was born
: JulyS, 1921, and died October 27, 1853. We
quote from the memorial volume alluded to,
which is occupied with a few delicately simple
poems of her composition, chiefly divided be-
tween records of foreign travel and domestic
pathos, this touching expression of resignation : —
THE ALPINE SHEEP — ADDRESSED TO A FP.EE>T> AFTER TI7E L083
OF A CHILD.
When on mv ear your loss was knelled.
And tender sympathy upburst,
A little spring from memory welled,
Which once had quenched my bitter thirst.
And I was fain to bear to yon
A portion of its mild relief,
That it might be a healing dew,
To steal some fever from your grief.
After our child's untroubled breath
Up to the Father took its way,
And on our home the shade of Death,
Like a long twilight hanntii.g lay,
And friends came round, with us to weep
Her little spirit's swift remove,
The story of the Alpine sheep
Was told to us by one we love.
They, in the valley's sheltering care,
Soon crop the meadows' tender prime,
And when the sod grows brown and bare.
The Shepherd strives to make them climb
To airy shelves of pasture green,
That hang along the mountain's side,
Where grass and flowers together lean,
And down through mist the sunbeams slide.
But naught can tempt the timid things
The steep and rugged path to try.
Though sweet the shepherd calls and sings,
And seared below the pastures lie,
Till in his arms his lambs he takes,
Along the dizzy verge to go,
Then, heedless of the rifts and breaks;
They follow on o'er rock and snow.
And in those pastures, lifted fair,
More dewy-soft than lowland mead,
The shepherd drops his tender care,
And sheep and lambs together feed.
This parable, by Mature breathed.
Blew on me as the south-wind free
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL,
601
O'er frozen brooks, that flow unsheathed
From iey thraldom to the sea.
A blissful vision, through the night
Would all my happy senses sway
Of the Good Shepherd on the height,
Or climbing up the starry way,
Holding our little lamb asleep,
While, like the murmur of the sea,
Sounded that voice along the deep,
Saying, "Arise and follow me."
It is to the death of Maria Lowell, at Cam-
bridge, that Mr. Longfellow alludes in his poem
published in Putnam's Magazine in April, 185-A,
entitled
THE TWO ANGELS.
Two angels, one of Life, and one of Death,
Passed o'er the village as the morning broke;
The dawn was on their faces, and beneath,
The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke.
Their attitude and aspect were the same,
Alike their features and their robes of white ;
But one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame,
And one with asphodels, like flakes of light.
I saw them pause on their celestial way,
Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed,
" Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray
The place where thy beloved are at rest! "
And he who wore the crown of asphodels,
Descending, at my door began to knock,
And my soul sank within me, as in wells
The waters sink before an earthquake's shock.
1 recognised the nameless agony,
The terror and the tremor and the pain,
That oft before had filled and haunted me.
And now returned with threefold strength again.
The door I opened to my heavenly guest,
And listened, for I thought I heard God's voice,
And knowing whatsoe'er he sent was best,
Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice.
Then with a smile that filled the house with light,
" My errand is not Death, but Life," he said.
And ere I answered, passi.ig out of sight
On his celestial embassy he sped.
'Twas at thy door, O friend ! and not at mine,
The angel with the amaranthine wreath,
Pausing, descended, and with voice divine,
Whispered a word that had a sound like Death.
Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom,
A shadow on those features fair and thin,
And softly, from that hushed and darkened room,
Two angels issued, where but one went in.
All is of God ! If he but wave bis hand,
The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud,
Till with a smile of light on sea and hind,
Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud.
Angels of Life and Death alike are His ;
Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er ;
Who then would wish or dare, believing this,
Against his messengers to shut the door?
In 1854 Mr. Lowell delivered a course of lec-
tures before the Lowell Institute on English
Poetry, including the old ballad writers Chaucer,
Pope, and others, to Wordsworth and Tennyson.
They were marked by an acute critical spirit and
enlivened by wit ami fancy.
Mr. Lowell has edited the poems of Andrew
Marvell and Donne in the series of Messrs. Little
& Brown's standard edition of the English poets.
Early in 1855 he was appointed to the Belles
Lettres professorship lately held by Mr. Long-
fellow in Harvard College, with the privilege of
passing a preliminary year in Europe before
entering on its duties.
MARGARET — FROM THE LEGEND OF BEITTANT.
Fair as a summer dream was Margaret, —
Such dream as in a poet's soul might start
Musing of old loves while the moon doth set:
Her hair was not more sunny than her heart,
Though like a natural golden coronet
It circled her dear head with careless art,
Mocking the sunshine, that would fain have lent
To its frank grace a richer ornament.
His loved-one's eyes could poet ever speak,
So kind, so dewy, and so deep were hers, —
But, while he strives, the choicest phrase too weak,
Their glad reflection in his spirit blurs,
As one may see a dream dissolve and break
Out of his grasp when he to tell it stirs.
Like that sad Dryad doomed no more to bless
The mortal who revealed her loveliness.
She dwelt for ever in a region bright,
Peopled with living fancies of her own,
Where nought could come but visions of delight,
Far, far aloof from earth's eternal moan ;
A summer cloud thrilled through with rosy light,
Floating beneath the blue sky all alone,
Her spirit wandered by itself, and won
A golden odge from some unsetting sun.
The heart grows richer that its lot is poor, —
God blesses want with larger sympathies, —
Love enters gladliest at the humble door,
And makes the cot a palace with his eyes ; —
So Margaret's heart a softer beauty wore,
And grew in gentleness and patience wise,
For she was but a simple herdsman's child,
A lily chance-sown in the rugged wild.
There was no beauty of the wood or field
But she its fragrant bosom-secret knew,
Nor any but to her would freely yield
Some grace that in her sold took root and grew ;
Nature to her glowed ever new-revealed.
All rosy-fresh with innocent morning dew,
And looked into her heart with dim, sweet eyes
That left it full of sylvan memories.
0, what a face was hers to brighten light,
And give back sunshine with an added glow,
To wile each moment with a fresh delight,
And part of memory's best contentment grow'
0, how her voice, as with an inmate's right.
Into the strangest heart would welcome go,
And make it sweet, and ready to become
Of white and gracious thoughts the chosen home !
None looked upon her but he straightway thought
Of all the greenest depths of country cheer,
And into each one's heart was freshly brought
What was to him the sweetest time of year
So was her every look and motion fraught
With out-of-door delights and forest lere ;
Not the first violet on a woodland lea
Seemed a more visible gift of spring than she.
rAN INCIDENT IN A RAILROAD CAR.
He spoke of Burns : men rude and rough
Pressed round to hear the praise of one
Whose heart was made of manly, simple stuff
As homespun as their own.
662
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
And, -when he read, they forward leaned,
Drinking, with thirsty hearts and ears,
His brook-like songs whom glory never weaned
From humble smiles and tears.
Slowly there grew a tender awe,
Sun-like, o'er faces brown and hard,
As if in him who read they felt and saw
Some presence of the bard.
It was a sight for sin and wrong
And slavish tyranny to see,
A sight to make our faith more pure and strong
In high humanity.
I thought, these men will carry hence
Promptings their former life above,
And something of a finer reverence
For beauty, truth, and love.
God scatters love on every side, '
Freely among his children all.
And always hearts are lying open wide,
Wherein some grains may fall.
There is no wind but soweth seeds
Of a more true and open life,
'Which burst, unlooked-for, into high-souled deeds,
With wayside beauty rife.
We find within these souls of ours
Some wild germs of a higher birth,
Which in the poet's tropic heart bear flowers
Whose fragrance fills the earth.
Within the hearts of all men lie
These promises of wider bliss.
Which blossom into hopes that cannot die,
In sunny hours like this.
All that hath been majestieal
In life or death, since time began,
Is native in the simple heart of all,
The angel heart of man.
And thus, among the untaught poor.
Great deeds and feelings find a home,
That east in shadow all the golden lore
Of classic Greece and Rome.
O, mighty brother-soul of man,
Where'er thou art, in low or high.
Thy skyey arches with exulting span
O'er-roof infinity !
All thoughts that mould the age begin
Deep down within the primitive soul,
And from the many slowly upward win
To one who grasps the whole :
In his broad breast the feeling deep
That struggled on the raany's tongue,
Swells to a tide of thought, whose surges leap
O'er the weak thrones of wrong.
All thought begins in feeling. — wide
In the great mass its base is hid,
And, narrowing up to thought, stands glorified
A moveless pyramid.
Nor is he far astray who deems
That every hope, which rises and grows broad
In the world's heart, by ordered impulse streams
From the great heart of God.
God wills, man hopes : in common souls
Hope is but vague and undefined,
Till from the poet's tongue the message rolls
A blessing to his kind.
Never did Poesy appear
So full of heaven to me, as when
I saw how it would pierce through pride and fear
To the lives of coarsest mep.
It may be glorious to write
Thoughts tliat shall glad the two or three
High souls, like those tar stars that come in sight
Once in a century ; —
But better far it is to speak
One simple word, which now and then
Shall waken their free nature in the weak
And friendless sons of men ;
To write some earnest verse or line,
Which, seeking not the praise of art,
Shall make a clearer faith and manhood shine-
In the untutored heart.
He who doth this, in verse or prose,
ilay be forgotten in his day,
But surely shall be crowned at last with those
Who live and speak for aye.
THE FIEST SNOW FALL
The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highwny
With a silence deep and white.
Every pine and fir and hemlock
AVore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
Was ridged inch-deep with pearl.
From sheds, new-roofed with Carrara,
Came chanticleer's muffled crow,
The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down,
And still fluttered down the snow.
I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sadden flurries of snow-birds
Like brown leaves whirling by.
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood,
How the flakes were folding it gently.
As did robins the babes in the wood.
Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, " Father, who makes it snow i "
And I told of the good Allfnther
Who cares for us all below.
Again I looked at the snowfall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow.
When that mound was heaped so high
I remembered the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The sear of that deep-stabbed woe.
And again to the child I whispered
"The s:iow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall * "
Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her,
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss -was given to her sister
Folded close under deepening snow.
THE COCETES\
Zekle erep' up, quite unbeknown,
An' peeked in thru the winder.
An' there sot Huldy all alone,
'ith no one nigh to bender.
Agin' the chimbly crooknecks hung,
An' in amongst 'em rusted
The old queen's arm thet gran'ther Young
Fetched back from Concord busted.
WILLIAM W. STORY.
663
The wannut logs shot sparkles out
Towards the pootiest, bless her !
An' leetle fires danced all about
The chiny ou the dresser.
The very room, coz she was in,
Looked warm from floor to eeilin',
An' she looked full as rosy agin
Ez th' apples she was peelin'.
She heerd a foot an' knowed it, tu,
Araspin' on the scraper, —
All ways to once her feelins flew
Like sparks in burnt-up paper.
He kin' o' l'itered on the mat.
Some doubtfle o' the seekle ;
His heart kep' goin' pitypat,
But hem weut pity Zekle.
WILLIAM W. STORY,
The poet and artist, is the son of the late Judge
Story. He was born in Salem, February 19,
18111. He became a graduate of Harvard in
1838, and applied himself diligently, under his
father's auspices, to the study of the law. He
was a frequent contributor, in prose and verse,
to the Boston Miscellany, edited by Mi'. Nathan
Hale, in 1842. In his legal career he published
Meports of Cases argued and determined in. the
Circwt Court, of the United States for the First
Circuit, 2 vols. Boston, 1842-5, and A Treatise
on the Law of Contracts not under Seal, Boston,
1844.
In the last year he delivered the Phi Beta
Kappa poem at Harvard, Nature and Art, an in-
dication of the tastes which were to govern his
future life.
His single volume of Poems was published by
Messrs. Little and Brown in 1847. They are the
productions of a man of cultivated taste, and of a
quick susceptibility to impressions of the ideal.
In 1851 Mr. Story discharged an honorable
debt to the memory of his lather, in the publica-
tion of the two diligently prepared volumes of
The Life and Letters of Joseph Story, a full, ge-
nial biography, written with enthusiasm and
fidelity.
It was at this period, or earlier, that Mr. Story
turned his attention particularly to art, in which
he has achieved much distinction as a sculptor.
He has resided for some time in Italy. Among
his works, as an artist, are an admired statue of his
father, and various busts in marble, including one
of his friend Mr. J. R. Lou ell. lie has modelled
a " Shepherd Boy," " Little Red Riding Hood,"
and other works. Besides achieving success in
these varied pursuits of law, letters, and art, Mr.
Story is an accomplished musician.
CHILDHOOD.
Along my wall in golden splendor stream
The morning rays, •
As when they woke me from the happy dream
Of childish days.
Then every morning brought a sweet surprise, —
When I was young —
Even as a lark, that carols to the skies,
My spirit sung.
To lie with early-wakened eyes, and hear
The busy clock,
While through our laughter, sounded shrilly clear
The crowing cock —
To count the yellow bars of light, that fell
Through the closed blind,
Was joy enough — 0, strange and magic spell I
A guileless mind.
The cares of day have thickened round me since —
The morning brings
Work, duties — and that wondering innocence
Hath taken wings.
Dear were those thoughtless hours, whose sunny
change
Had gleams of heaven!
But dearer Duty's ever-widening range,
Which Thought hath given !
MIDNIGHT.
Midnight in the sleeping city ! Clanking hammers
beat no more ;
For a space the hum and tumult of the busy day are
o'er.
Streets are lonely and deserted, where the sickly
lamplights glare, —
And the steps of some late passer only break the
silence there.
Round the grim and dusky houses, gloomy shadows
nestling cower,
Kight hath stifled life's deep humming into slumber
for an hour.
Sullen furnace fires are glowing over in the suburbs
far,
And the lamp in many a homestead shineth like an
earthly star.
O'er the hushed and sleeping city, in the cloudless
sky above,
Never-fading stars hang watching in eternal peace
and love.
Years and centuries have vanished, change hatli
come to bury change,
But the starry constellations on their silent pathway
range.
Great Orion's starry girdle — Berenice's golden
hair —
Ariadne's crown of sjjeiidor — Cassiopeia's shining
chair ;
Sagittarius and Delphinus, and the clustering Pleiad
train,
Aquila and Ophiucus, Pegasus and Charles's Wain ;
Red Antares and Capella, Aldebaran's mystic light,
Alruccabah and Arcturus, Sirius and Arega white ;
They are circling calm as ever on their sure but
hidden path,
As when mystic watchers saw them with the reve-
rent eye of Faith.
So unto the soul benighted, lofty stars there arc,
that shine
Far above the mists of error, with a changeless
light divine.
Lofty souls of old beheld them, burning in life's^
shadowy night,
And they still are undecaying 'mid a thousand cen-
turies' flight.
Love and Truth, whose light and blessing, every
reverent heart may know,
Mercy, Justice, which are pillars that support this
life below ;
These in sorrow and in darkness, in the inmost soul
we feel,
As the sure, undying impress of the Almighty's
burning seal.
<■
664
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Though unsolved the mighty secret, which shall
thread the perfect whole,
And unite the finite number unto the eternal sold,
"We shall one day clearly see it — for the soul a time
shall eome,
When unfranchised and unburdened, thought shall
be its only home ; —
And Truth's fitful intimations, glancing on our fear-
ful sight,
Shall be gathered to the circle of one mighty disk
of light.
EDWIN" PEECY WHIPPLE
Was born at Gloucester, Massachusetts, March 8,
1810. His father, Matthew Whipple, who died
while the son was in his infancy, is described as
possessing " strong sense, and fine social powers."
One of his ancestors was asigner of the Declaration
of Independence. His mother, Lydia Gardiner,
was of a family in Maine noted for its mental
powers. She early removed to Salem, Massachu-
setts, where her son was educated at the English
High School. At fourteen he published articles
in a Salem newspaper ; and at fifteen, on leaving
school, became a clerk in the Bank of General In-
terest in that city. He was next employed, in
1837, in the office of a large broker's firm from Bos-
ton, and shortly was appointed Superintendent of
the News Boom of the Merchants' Exchange in
State street. He had been a prominent member
of the Mercantile Library Association, and one
of a club, of six which grew out of it, which held
its sessions known as "The Attic Nights," for lite-
rary exercises and debate. There Whipple was
a leader in the display of his quick intellectual
fence and repartee, extensive stores of reading,
and subtle and copious critical faculty. In 1S40
he was introduced to the public by the delivery
of a poem before the Mercantile Association,
sketching the manners and satirizing the absurdi-
ties of the clay, according to the standard manner
of these productions, which will be hereafter
sought for as valuable illustrations of the times. A
critical article from his pen, on Maeaulay, in the
Boston Miscellany for February, 1843, attracted
considerable attention. In October of that year,
his lecture on the Lives of Authors was deliver-
ed before the Mercantile Library Association,
and from that time ho has been prominently be-
fore the public as a critic and lecturer, in the
leading journals, and at the chief lyceums in the
country. He has written in the North American
Bevieto, The American Eeview, Christian Exami-
ner, Graham's Magazine, and other journals, ex-
tensive series of articles on the classical English
authors and historical, biographical, and social
topics, marked by their acute characterization and
fertility of illustration. His lectures, embracing a
similar range of subjects, are philosophical in
their texture, marked by nice discrimination, oc-
casionally pushing a favorite theory to the verge
of paradox; and when the reasoning faculties of
his audience are exhausted, relieving the discussion
by frequent picked anecdote, and pointed thrusts
of wit and satire.
He is greatly in request as a lecturer, lias pro-
bably lectured a thousand times in the cities and
towns of the middle and northern states, from
St. Louis to Bangor, has on numerous occasions
addressed the literary societies of various Colleges, '
as Brown, Dartmouth, Amherst, the New York
University ; and in 1 850 was the Fourth of July
orator before the city authorities of Boston. Two
collections of his writings have been published by
Messrs. Ticknor & Fields, — Essays and Reviews, in
two volumes, and Lectures on Subjects Connected
with Literattue and Life.
THE GENIUS OF WASHINGTON.*
This illustrious man, at once the world's admira-
tion and enigma, we are taught by a fine instinct to
venerate, and by a wrong opinion to misjudge. The
might of his character has taken stro.g hold upon
the feelings of great masses of men, but in translat-
ing this universal sentiment into an intelligent form,
the intellectual element of his wonderful nature is
as much depressed as the moral element is exalted,
and consequently we are apt to misunderstand both.
Mediocrity has a bad trick of idealizing itself in
eulogising him, and drags him down to its own low
level while assuming to lift him to the skies. How
many times have we been told that he was not a
man of genius, but a person of " excellent common
sense," of " admirable judgment," of " rare virtues ;"
and by a constant repetition of this odious cant, we
have nearly succeeded in divorcing comprehension
from his sense, insight from his judgment, force from
his virtues, and life from the man. Accordingly, in
the panegyric of cold spirits, "Washington disappears
in a cloud of commonplaces, in the rhodomontade
of boiling patriots he expires in the agonies of rant.
Now the sooner this bundle of mediocre talents and
moral qualities, which its contrivers have the auda-
city to call George Washington, is hissed out of ex-
istence, the better it will be for ihe cause of talent
and the cause of morals ; contempt of that is the
beginning of wisdom. He had no genius, it seems.
O no ! genius, we must suppose, is the peculiar and
shining attribute of some orator, whose tongue cau
spout patriotic speeches, or some versifier, whose
muse can "Hail Columbia," but not of the man who
supported states on his arm, and carried Americain
his brain. The madcap Charles Townsend, the mo-
tion of whose pyrotechnic mind was like the whizz
of a hundred rockets, is a man of genius ; but
George Washington, raised up above the level of
even eminent statesmen, and with a nature moving
with the still and orderly celerity of a planet round
its sun, — he dwindles, in comparison, into a kind of
angelic dunce? What is genius? Is it worth any-
thing ? Is splendid folly the measure of its inspira-
tion ? Is wisdom its base and summit, — that which
it recedes from, or tends towards? And by what
definition do you award the name to the creator of
an-epic, and deny it to the creator of a country ?
On what principle is it to be lavished on him who
sculptures in perishing marble, the image of possible
excellence, and withheld from him who built up in
himself a transcei dant character, indestructible
as the obligations of Duty, and beautiful as her
rewards ?
Indeed, if by the genius of action you mean will
enlightened by intelligence, and intelligence ener-
* From an oration,*" Washington and the Principles of the
Revolution.''
CHARLES WILKINS WEBBER.
6(13
gised by will, — if force and insight be its character-
istics, and influence its test, — and, especially, if great
effects suppose a cause proportionally great, that is,
a vital, causative mind, — then is Washington most
assuredly a man of genius, and one whom no other
American has equalled in the power of working mo-
rally and mentally on other minds. His genius, it
is true, was of a peculiar kind, the genius of charac-
ter, of thought and the objects of thought, solidi-
fied and concentrated into active faculty. He be-
longs to that rare class of men, — rare as Homers
and Miltons, rare as Platosand Newtons, — who have
impressed their characters upon nations without
pampering national vices. Such men have natures
broad enough to include all the facts of a people's
practical life, and deep enough to discern the spirit-
ual laws which underlie, animate, and govern those
facts. Washington, in short, had that greatness of
character which is the highest expression and last
result of greatness of mind, for there is no method
of building up character except through mind. In-
deed, character like his is not built up, stone upon
stone, precept upon precept, but r/roios up, through
an actual contact of thought with things. — the as-
similative mind transmuting the impalpable but po-
tent spirit of public sentiment, and the life of visi-
ble facts, and the power of spiritual laws, into indi-
vidual life and power, so that their mighty energies
put on personality, as it were, and act through one
centralizing human will. This process may not, if
you please, make the great philosopher, or the g'reat
poet, but it does make the great man, — the man in
whom thought and judgment seem identical with
volition, — the man whose vital expression is not in
words but deeds, — the man whose sublime ideas is-
sue necessarily in sublime acts, not in sublime art.
It was because Washington's character was thus
composed of the inmost substance and power of
facts and principles, that men instinctively felt the
perfect reality of his comprehensive manhood. This
reality enforce 1 universal respect, married strength
to repose, and threw into his face that commanding
majesty, which made men of the speculative audaci-
ty of .lefferson, and the lucid genius of Hamilton,
recognise, with unwonted meekness, his awful supe-
riority.
CHARLES WILKINS WEBBER
Was born on the 29th May, 1819, at Russelville,
Kentucky. His mother, Agnes Maria Webber,
was the daughter of General John Tannehill, and
niece of the Hon. William Wilkins, both of Pitts-
burg. General Tannehill had served with dis-
tinction as an officer of the Revolution. His
eldest son, Wilkins Tannehill, is known as the
author of a book entitled Sketches of the History
of Literature from the Earliest Period to the
Reoival of Letters in the Fifteenth Century* re-
markable for its various reading and the spirit
which animates it, and the singularity of its pro-
duction at an early date west of the Alleghanies.
The Preface modestly states the author's design,
" Prepared during intervals of occasional leisure
from the duties of an employment little congenial
with literary pursuits, and without any oppor-
tunity for consulting extensive libraries, it aspires
only to the character of sketches, without pre-
tending to be a complete history. It is an
attempt by a ' backwoodsman,' to condense and
* Sketches of the History of Literature, from the Earliest
Per'od to the Revival of Letters in the Fifteenth Century.
Indocti discant, anient merninisse periti. Bv Wilkins Tanne-
hill. 8vo. pp. 844. Nashville ; John S. Simpson, 1827.
comprise within a narrow compass, the most pro-
minent and interesting events, connected with
the progress, of literary and scientific improve-
ment, from the earliest period through a long
succession of ages, and amidst a great variety of
circumstances." As such it is an exceedingly
creditable production. Its author was al-o for
many years editor of the Nashville Herald, the
first Clay- Whig paper ever published in Tennessee.
This learned, modest, and useful man, having
spent the greater portion of his life in close and
unremitting literary labors, is now ( ; n 18.J+) blind
and rapidly declining in years. It is understood
that his most valuable researches have been in
the field of American antiquities.
The grandfather, General Tannehill, having
met with heavy reverses of fortune, died leaving
his family comparatively helpless. In this strait
they found a home in the house of a brother of
his wife, Charles Wilkins of Lexington, a wealthy
and generous gentleman, whose memory is
warmly cherished by the older families of that
portion of Kentucky. The children were educat-
ed with great care, and the daughters grew up to
be accomplished women. After the death of
their uncle they removed with their mother to
Nashville, to reside with her eldest son, Wilkins
Tannehill. Here the eldest daughter married,
and on her removing to the new town of IIop-
kinsville, Ivy., was accompanied by her young
sister Agnes, who became the wife of a physician
from North Kentucky, Doctor Augustine Web-
ber.
Of this marriage C. W. Webber was the second
child, and first son. For forty years past Dr.
Webber has stood prominent in his profession in
South Kentucky, and has been noted as an intel-
ligent, liberal, and devoted churchman and
Whig.
It is, however, to his mother, a lady of great
beauty of character, that C. W. Webber is most
indebted for his early tastes. The education
which Iter son received as the companion of
her artistic excursions, for she possessed a natural
genius for art, into the natural world, determined
in a great measure the character of his future
pursuits.
His early life, to his nineteenth year, was spent
in miscellaneous study and the sports of the field,
when, after the death of his mother, we find him
wandering upon the troubled frontier of Texas.
He soon became associated with the Celebrated
Colonel Jack Hays, Major Chevalier, Fitzgerald,
&C, whose names are noted as forming the nucleus
around which the famous Ranger Organization
was constituted. After several years spent here,
in singular adventures — many of which have
been given to the world in his earlier books,
Old Hicks the Guide, Shot in the Eye. and Gold'
Mines of the Gila — he returned to his family in
Kentucky. He now further prosecuted his study
of medicine, upon which he had originally
entered with the design of making it his profes-
sion.
Becoming, however, deeply interested in contro-
versial matters during a period of strong religious
excitement which prevailed throughout the whole
country, he' entered the Princeton Theological
Seminary as a candidate for the ministry. He,
however, remained there but a short time.
cca
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
From this time, his pen was to be his sole
dependence. He Lad already tried its point
in an article which appeared in the Nassau
Monthly, which was edited by a committee of
students. This paper was called "Imagination,
and the Soul," and had attracted considerable
attention both in the College and in the Semi-
nary. _
Arrived in New York, his first night was spent
at " Minnie's Land," the residence of Audubon,
whose acquaintance he had previously formed
during the last Rocky Mountain tour of the old
Naturalist, for whose character, from a similarity
of tastes, he had nourished a most enthusiastic
admiration. He listened to the counsel of the
venerable sage with affectionate respect. Among
other things, Audubon urged upon him to dedi-
cate the best years of his life to the study of the
natural history of South America, which lie only
regretted the wdnt of years to grapple with.
Finding himself at New York utterly without
acquaintances who could aid him, he resolved
upon introducing himself, and a manuscript which
he had prepared, to Mr. Bryant the poet, for
whom he had conceived from his writings a high
personal admiration, which was fully confirmed
by his interview. He found Mr. Bryant at the
office of the Evening Post; the poet smiled upon
his eager enthusiasm, a self-confidence which had
in it a touch of despair, and kept his manuscript
for perusal. The result, the next day, was a
letter of introduction to "Winchester the publisher,
who immediately engaged from the young writer
a series of papers on " Texan Adventure" to be
published in his flourishing newspaper, the New
World.
On the failure of Winchester in his bold but
rash conflict with the Harpers, Mr. Webber was
again thrown out of employment, but was soon
engaged in writing a number of sketches and
other papers for the Democratic Review. The
most important of these was called Instruct, Rea-
son, and Imagination, and published under the
sobriquet of C. Wilkens Eimi. About this
time, the story of the Shot in the Eye, one of the
best known of his productions, was written.
The manuscript was delivered to Mr. O'Snlli-
van, and after being in his possession for several
months, was misplaced and lost sight of by him,
and, after a long search, supposed to be irrecovera-
bly lost. The story was then re-written for the
AY big Review, and appeared in its second num-
ber. But having been unexpectedly found by
Mr. O'Sullivan, it was published simultaneously
in the Democratic Review, without the knowledge
of Mr. Webber.
His connexion with the Whig Review as as-
sociate editor and joint proprietor, continued for
•over two years, in which time the magazine ran
up to an unprecedented circulation for one of its
class.
The Shot in the Eye, Charles Winterfield
Papers, Adventures upon the Frontiers of Texas
and Mexico, with a long paper on Hawthorne,
are the principal articles by him which will be
remembered by the earlier readers of the Review,
although a great amount of critical and other
miscellaneous matter was comprised within the
sum of bis editorial labors.
About this time, Mr. Webber was a contributor
to the early numbers of the Literary World of
papers on Western Life and Natural History.
He contracted also with the Sunday Despatch,
which was just then commencing, for the story
of Old Hicks the Gvide, which for more than
three months occupied the columns of that pa-
per. The copyright of this story was finally sold
to the Harpers for two hundred dollars.
/rj?mu^
Mr. Webber's next enterprise was one on a
mammoth scale, projected by him in connexion
with the two sons of John J. Audubon, the orni-
thologist. The design was to issue a magnificent
monthly of large size, to be illustrated in each
number by a splendid copperplate colored en-
graving, taken from a series of unpublished pic-
tures by the elder Audubon, and to be edited by
Mr. Webber. Only the first number was ever
cdmpleted, and it was never published, owing to
the many discouragements growing out of the pro-
tracted illness of John Woodhouse Audubon, and
his immediate departure, while convalescing, with
a view to the permanent restoration of his health,
by overland travel to California. The immense
expense which it was found would attend the
prosecution of the work had also its effect in
deterring its issue. Among the contributors to
this first number were Hawthorne, Whipple,
Headley, Street, Constable, Wallace, &c. The
leading paper, Eagles and Art, was by Mr. Web-
ber.
In the meantime be continued to write occa-
sionally for the Democratic Review, Graham's
Magazine, &c. In March, 1849, simultaneously
with the discovery of gold in California, appeared
the Gold Alines vf the Gila, all but a few con-
cluding chapters of which he had written several
years previously. This work was considered by
the author rather as a voluminous prospectus of
an enterprise of exploration to the gold region,
once attempted during his Texan experiences,
and now again projected in the Centralia Ex-
ploring Expedition, than as a formal book. To
CHARLES WILKINS WEBBER.
G67
the chivalrous appeal, dedicated to the ladies of
America, and addressed to its young men for
their cooperation in the dangerous effort to re-
solve by examination the mystery of the unknown
region lying between the river Gila and the Colo-
rado of the West, there was a ready response.
The required number of young men from all parts
of the country had expressed their readiness to
participate in the enterprise, under the leadership
of Mr. Webber. Preparations were very far ad-
vanced, and the journey to New Orleans com-
menced, when, on arriving at Washington, he
was met by the news of the loss of all the horses
of the expedition, which had been collected at
Corpus Christi to await their arrival. The Ca-
manehes carried off every animal, and, as they
had been collected from the mountains at great
trouble and as peculiarly adapted for this service,
the loss proved irretrievable. The news of the
ravages of the cholera along the whole line of the
South-western border completed the defeat of
the projected rendezvous.
Mr. Webber instantly commenced a new move-
ment, by which he hoped to effect this purpose.
The experiences of this year of the utter insuf-
ficiency of the means of transportation across
the great desert to the gold regions, as limited to
the horse, ox, and mule, of the country, offered
an opening for urging upon the government the
project of employing the African and Asiatic
camel for such purposes. The vast endurance,
capacity for burden, and speed, together with the
singular frugality of this animal, seemed to him
to indicate its introduction as the great deside-
ratum of service in the South-west. Tins object
has been assiduously pursued by Mr. Webber
since 1849, and it may be mentioned as an in-
stance of his perseverance, that he succeeded in
obtaining from the last legislature of New York a
charter for the organization of a camel company,
and that the Secretary of War has warmly re-
commended the project to Congress in an official
report.
In the meantime, the literary labors of Mr.
Webber have by no means been suspended. His
marriage, which occurred in Boston in 1849, had
furnished him with an artistic collaborator in his
wife. With her assistance, as the artist of many
of its abundant illustrations, the- first volume of
Tlie Hunter Naturalist -was completed, and pub-
lished in the fall of 1851 by Lippincott, Grainbo
&Co.
The prosecution of this work, to bo continued
through a series of volumes, was impeded by the
author's serious illness, in spite of which, how-
ever, he succeeded in getting out, during the
year 1852, two new books — Spiritual Vam-
pirism, in which the heretical ism's of the day are
made the subject of dramatic and withering ex-
posure, and Tales of the Southern Border, both
of which were published by Lippincott & Co.
In the fall of 1853 the second volume of the
Hunter Naturalist — Wild Scenes and Song Birds
— appeared from the press of G. P. Putnam &
Co. Of this Mrs. Webber was also the Natural
History illustrator.
Mr. Webber's style is full, rapid, and impulsive,
combining a healthy sense of animal life and out-
of-door sensation, with inner poetical reflection.
His narrative is borne along no less by his mental
enthusiasm than by the lively action of its stirring
I Western themes. As a critic, many of his papers
! have shown a subtle perception with a glowing
reproduction of the genius of his author.
A N1GIIT HUNT IN KENTUCKY — PRQM WILD SCENES AND WILD
HUNTERS.
Now the scene has burst upon us through an open-
ing of the trees ! — There they are I Negroes of all
degrees, size, and age, and of dogs —
Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim,
Hound or spaniel, brack or lyrn,
Or bobtail tike, or trundle tail.
All are there, in one conglomerate of active, noisy
confusion. When indications of the hurried approach
of our company are perceived, a great accession to
the hubbub is consequential.
Old Sambo sounds a shriller note upon his horn,
the dogs rise from independent howls to a si nulta-
neous yell, and along with all the young half-naked
darkies rush to meet us. The women come to the
doors with their blazing lamps lifted above their heads,
tliat they may get a look at the "young masters," and
Ave, shouting with excitement, and blinded by the
light, plunge stumbli ig through the meeting current
of dogs and young negroes, into the midst of the ga-
thering party, Here we are suddenly arrested by a
sort of awe as we find ourselves in the presence of
old Sambo. The young dogs leap upon us with their
dirty fore-paws, but we merely push aside their ca-
resses, for old Sambo and his old dog Bose are the
two centres of our admiration and interest.
Old Sambo is the " Mighty Hunter before" — the
moon ! of all that region. He is seamed and scarred
with the pitiless siege of sixty winters! Upon all
matters appertaining to such limits, his word is " law"
while the " tongue" of his favorite and ancient friend
Bose is recog lised as "gospel." In our young ima-
ginations, the two are respectfully identified.
Old Sambo, with his blanket " roundabout" — his
cow's-horn trumpet slung about his shoulders by a
tow string — his bare head, with its greyish fleece of
wool — the broad grin of complacency, showing his
yet sound white teeth — and rolling the whites of his
eyes beniguantly over the turmoil of the scene —
was to us the higher prototype of Bose. He, with
the proper slowness of dignity, accepts the greet of
our patting caresses, with a formal wagging of the
tail, which seems to say — " O, I am used to this!"
while, when the young dogs leap upon him with ob-
streperous fawnings, he will correct them into pro-
priety with stately snarling. They knew him for
their leader! — they should be more respectful!
Now old Sambo becomes patronizing to us, as is
necessary and proper in our new relations! From
his official position of commander-in-chief, he soon
reduces the chaos around us into something like sub-
jection, and then in a little time comes forth the
form of our night's march. A few stout young men
who have obeyed his summons have gathered around
him from the different huts of the Quarter — souie
with axes, and others with torches of pine and bark.
The dogs become more restless, and we more excited,
as these indices of immediate action appear.
Now, with a long blast from the cow's horn of
Sambo, and a deafening clamor of all sizes, high and
low — from men, women, children, and dogs, we take
! up the line of march for the woods. Sambo leads, of
course. We are- soon trailing after him in single file,
led by the glimmer of the torches far ahead.
Now the open ground of the plantation has been
passed, and as we approach the deep gloom of the
bordering forest —
COS
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Those perplexed woods,
The nodding horror of whose shady brows
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger —
even the yelpings of the excited dogs cease to be
heard, and they dash on into the darkness as if they
were going to work — while we with our joyous
chattering subsided into silence, enter these " loi g-
drawn aisles" with a sort of shiver ; the torches
showing, as we pass in a dim light, the trees — their
huge trunks vaulting over head into the night, with
here and there a star shilling like a gem set into their
tall branching capitals — while on either side we look
into depths of blackness as unutterably dreary to us
as thoughts of death and nothingness. Oh, it was in
half trembling wonder then, we crowded, trampling
on the heels of those before, and, when after awhile
the rude young negroes would begin to laugh aloud,
we felt that in some sort it was profane.
But such impressions never lasted long in those
days. Every other mood and thought gives way to
the novelty and contagious excitement of adventure.
We are soon using our lungs as merrily as the rest.
The older dogs seem to know perfectly, from the di-
rection taken, what was the game to be pursued for
the night. Had we gone up by the old Field where
the Persimmon trees grow, they would have under-
stood that "possums" were to be had; but as old
Sauibo led oft through the deep woods towards the
swamps, it said " coons" to them as plain as if they
had been Whigs of 1840.
The Hush of blood begins to subside as we pene-
trate deeper into the wood, and as we hear old
Sambo shout to his staff officers and immediate rear
guard, " Hush dat 'ar. jawing, you niggers, dar," we
take it for granted that it is a hint, meant not to be
disrespected by us, that silence Is necessary, lest we
should startle the game too soon and confuse the
dogs.
All is silence now, except the rustle of our tramp
over the dried autumn leaves, and occasional patter
of the feet of a dog who ranges near to our path.
Occasionally a white dog comes suddenly out of the
darkness into view and disappears as soon, leaving
our imagination startled as if some curious sprite had
ftome " momently" from out its silent haunts to peep
at us. Then we will hear the rustling of some rapid
thing behind us, and looking round, see nothing ;
then spring aside with a nervous bound and flutter-
ing pulse, as some black object brushes by our legs
— " ISothiii' but dat dog, Nigger Trimbush," chuckles
a darkie, who observed us— but the couplet, —
And the kelpie must flit from the black bog pit,
And the brownie must not tarry,
flashes across our memory from the romance of su-
perstition, with the half shudder that is the accom-
paniment of such dreamy images.
Hark, a dog opens — another, then another! We
are still in a moment, listening — all eyes are turned
upon old Sambo, the oracle. He only pauses for a,
minute.
" Dem's de pups — ole dogs aint dar !" A pause.
"Pshaw, nothin but a ole har!" — and along, loud
blast of the horn sounds the recall.
We move on — and now the frosty night air has
become chilly, and we begin to feel that we have
something to do before us. Our legs are plied too
lustily on the go-ahead principle for us to have time
to tal k. The young dogs have ceased to give tongue;
for like unruly children they have dashed off in chase
of what came first, and as the American hare (" Le-
pus Americimus") is found nearly everywhere, it was
the earliest object.
Just when the darkness is mast deep, and the
sounds about our way most hushed, up wheels the
silver moon, and with a mellowed glory overcomes
the night. The weight of darkness has been lifted
from us, and we trudge along more cheerily ! The
dogs are making wider ranges, and we hear nothing
of them. The silence weighs upon us, and old Sambo
.gives an occasional whoop of encouragement. We
would like, too, to relieve our lungs, but he says,
"nobody mus holler now but dem dat de dog knows :
make 'em bother !" We must perforce be quiet ; for
" de doy" means Bose, and we must be deferential to
his humors!
Tramp, tramp, tramp, it has been for miles, and
not a note from the dogs. We are beginning to be
fatigued ; our spirits sink, and we have visions of
the warm room and bed we have deserted at home.
The torches are burning down, and the cold, pale
moon-light is stronger than that they give. One after
another the young dogs come panting back to us, and
fall lazily into our wake. " Hang coon hunts hi ge-
neral!— this is no joke; all cry and no wool!"
Hark ! a deep-mouthed, distant bay ! The sound
is electrical ; our impatience and fatigue are gone!
All ears and eyes, we crowd around old Sambo.
The oracle attitudinizes. lie leans forward with one
ear turned towards the earth in the direction of the
sound. Breathlessly we gaze upon him. Hark!
another bay; another; then several join in. The
old man has been unconsciously soliloquizing from
the first sound.
"Golly, dat's nigger Trim!" in an under tone;
" he know de coon !" Next sound. "Hat's a pup;
shaw !" Pause. " Hat's a pup, agin ! Oh, niggers,
no coon dar !"
Lifting his outspread hand, which be bringsdown
with a loud slap upon his thigh ; "Yah! yah! dat's
ole Music; look out, niggers!" Then, as a hoarse,
low bay comes booming to us through a pause, he
bounds into the air with the eaperish agility of a
colt, and breaks out in ecstasy, "Whoop! whoop!
dat's do ole dog; go my Bose!" Then striking hur-
riedly through the brush in the direction of the
sounds, we only hear from him again,
" Yah ! yah ! yah ! dat's a
niggers ! Bose
dar!" And away we rush as fast as we can scramble
through the underbrush of the thick wood. The
loud burst of the whole pack opening together,
drowns even the noise of our progress.
The cry of a full pack is maddening music to the
hunter. Fatigue is forgotten, and obstacles are no-
thing. On we go ; yelling in chorus with the dogs.
Our direction is towards the swamp, and they are
fast hurrying to its fastnesses. But what do we care!
Briars and logs; the brush of dead trees; plunges
half leg deep into the watery mire of boggy places
are alike disregarded. The game is up ! Hurrah I
hurrah! we must be in at the death ! So we scurry,
led by the maddening chorus —
— while the babbling echo mocks the hounds.
Suddenly the reverberations die away. Old
Sambo halts. When we get into ear-shot the only
word we hear is " Tree'd !" This from the oracle is
sufficient. We have another long scramble, in which
we are led by the monotonous baying of a single dog.
We have reached the place at last all breathless.
Our torches have been nearly extinguished. One of
the young dogs is seated at the foot of a tree, ami
looking up, it bays incessantly. Old Sambo pauses
for awhile to survey the scene. The old dogs are
circling round and round, jumping up against the
side of every tree, smelling as high as they can reach.
They are not satisfied, and Sambo waits for his tried
oracles to solve the mystery.' He regards them stea-
dily and patiently for awhile; then steps forward
quietly, and beats off the young dog who had " lied"
at the " tree."
HENRY AUGUSTUS WISE.
GOO
The veterans now have a quiet field to themselves,
and after some further delay in jumping up the sides
of the surrounding trees, to find the scent, they
finally open in full burst upon the trail. Old Sambo
exclaims curtly, as we set off in the new chase,
" Dat looks like coon! but cats is about .'"
Now the whole pack opens again, and we are off
after it. We all understand the allusion to the cats,
for we know that, like the raccoon, this animal en-
deavors to baffle the dogs by running some distance
up a tree, and then springing off upon another, and
so on until it can safely descend. The young dogs
take it for granted that he is in the first 'tree, while
the older ones sweep circling round and round
until they are convinced that the animal has not
escaped. * They thus baffle .the common trick which
they have learned through long experience, and
recovering the trail of escape, renew the chase.
Under ordinary circumstances we would already
have been sufficiently exhausted ; but the magnetism
of the scene lifts our feet as if they had been shod
with wings. Another weary scramble over every
provoking obstacle, and the solitary baying of a dog
is heard again winding up the " cry."
When we readied the " tree" this time, and find
it is another " feint," we are entirely disheartened,
and all this excitement and fatigue of the night re-
acting upon us leaves us utterly exhausted, and dis-
inclined to budge one foot further. Old Sambo
comes up — he has watched with an astute phiz the
movements of the dogs for some time.
" Thought dat ware mole coon from defust! Dat's
a mighty ole coon!" with a dubious shake of his
head. " Ole coon nebber run dat long !" Another
shake of' the head, and addressing himself to his
" staff:" '• Ole coon nebber run'ed dis fur, niggers!"
Then turning to us — " Massas, dat a eat! — 'taint no
coon!"
The dogs break out again, at the same moment,
and witli peculiar fierceness, in full cry. " Come
'long, niggers! — maby dat's a coon — maby 'taint!"
and off he starts again.
We are electrified by the scenes and sounds once
more, and " follow, still follow," forgetting every-
thing in the renewed hubbub and excitement. Wea-
rily now we go again over marsh and quagmire, bog
and pond, rushing through vines, and thickets, and
dead limbs. Ah, whatglimpses have we of our cozy
home daring this wild chase! Now our strength is
gone — we are chilled, and our teeth chatter — the
moon seems to be the centre of cold as the sun is of
heat, and its beams strike us like arrows of ice. Yet
the cry of the dogs is onward, and old Sambo and
his staff yell on I
Suddenly there is a pause ! the dogs are silent, and
we hold up! "Is it all lost?" we exclaim, as we ;
stagger, with our bruised and exhausted limbs, to a j
seat upon an old log. The stillness is as deep as
midnight — the owl strikes the watch witli his too- j
whoo! Hah! that same hoarse, deep bay which
first electrified us comes booming again through the j
stillness.
" Yah ! yah ! dat ole coon am done for ! Bose got
he, niggers — Gemuien, come on!"
The inspiring announcement, that Bosc had
tree'd at last, is balm to all our wounds, and we
follow in the hurry-scurry rush to the tree. Arrived
there, we find old Bose on end barking up a great
old oak, while the other dogs lie panting around.
" Dare he am," says old Sambo. " Make a fire, nig-
gers!" There is but a single stump of a torch left;
but in a little while they have collected dried wood
enough to kindle a great blaze.
'"Which nigger's gwine to climb dat tree?" says
old Sambo, looking round inquiringly. Nobody an-
swers. The insinuations he had thrown out, that it
might be a cat, have had their effect upon the younger
darkies. Sambo waits, in dignified silence, for an
answer, and throwing off his horn, with au indignant
gesture, he saj's, —
"You d — n pack of chicken-gizzards, niggers ! —
climb de tree myself!" and straightway the wiry
old man, witli the activity of a boy, springs against
the huge trunk, and commences to ascend the tree.
Bose gives an occasional low yelp as he looks after
his master. The other dogs sit with upturned noses,
and on restless haunches, as they watch his ascent.
Nothing is heard for some time, but the fall of dead
brandies and bark which he throws down. The fire
blazes high, and the darkness about us, beyond its
light, is impenetrated even by the moon. We stand
in eager groups watching his ascent. -He is soon lost
to our view amongst the limbs; yet we watch on
until our necks ache, while the eager dogs fidget on
their haunches, and emit short yelps of impatience.
We see him, against the moon, far up amongst the
uppermost forks, creeping like a beetle, up, still up!
We are all on fire — the whole fatigue and all the
bruises of the chase forgotten ! our fire crackles and
blazes fiercely as our impatience, and sends quick
tongues of light, piercing the black throng of forest
sentinels about us.
Suddenly the topmost branches of the great oak
begin to shake, and seem to be lashing the face of the
moon.
" De cat ! de eat ! look out down dar !" The dogs
burst into an eager howl ! He is shaking him off!
A dark object comes thumping down into our midst,
and shakes the ground with its fali. The eager dogs
rush upon it ! but we saw the spotted tiling with the
electric flashing of its eyes. Yells and sputtering
screams — the howls of pain — the gnashing growls of
assault — the dark, tumbling struggle that is rolled,
with its fierce clamors, out from our fire-light into
the dark shadows of the wood, are all enough to
madden us.
We all rush after the fray, and strike wildly into
its midst with the clubs and dead limbs we have
snatched, when one of the body-guards happens to
think of his axe, and with a single blow settles it!
All is over ! We get home as we may, and about
the time
the dapple [Trey coursers of the mnrn
Beat up the light witli their bright silver hoofs,
And chase it through the sky,
we creep cautiously into our back window, and sleep
not the less profoundly for our fatigue, that we have
to charge our late hour of rising, next day, upon
Bacon or the Iliad, instead of the "Night Hunt."
HENRY AUGUSTUS WISE.
Henp.y A. Wise, the son of George Stuart Wise,
an officer of the United State-* Navy, was born at
Brooklyn, New York, in May, 1819. He is de-
scended on his father's side from an old English
royalist family, several of whom were taken
prisoners after the " Penruddock rebellion," and
sent to Virginia about the year 1(365.
At the age of fourteen, young Wise, through the
influence of his cousin the present governor of Vir-
ginia, was appointed a midshipman, and received
his first baptism in salt water under the au>pices
of Captain John Pereival, the Jack Percy of his
" Tales for the Marines," with whom he served for
five years. Many of the scenes portrayed in his
recent sketches were no doubt derived from his
early experiences.
After passing his examination, he served in the
070
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
naval squadron on the coasts of Floridaauringthc
Seminole war; and later on bis promotion to
a lieutenantcy, in the Paeitic, in California and
Mexico during the war. On his return to the
LTnited States lie married the daughter of the
Hon. Edward Everett. Ilehas recently completed
a cruise in the Mediterranean, where he filled the
part of flag-lieutenant to the squadron.
/
a ■ m*&
In 1849 Lieut. Wise published Los G-ringos*
The title of the book is taken from the epithet
used iu California and Mexico to describe the de-
scendants of the Anglo-Saxon race, and is nearly
equivalent to that of Greenhorn in our own lan-
guage. As far as concerns the author, however,
never was the, epithet more misapplied ; for in the
varied scenes and adventures he describes, he is
entirely aufuit; and whether on ship or ashore,
" chasing the wild deer" or being chased by the
grizzly bear, shooting brigands or dancing fan-
dangoes, swimming with the Sandwich Island
girls or "doctoring" interesting young ladies in
fits, he is equally at home. " Style," says Buffon,
" is the man himself," and we could not have a
truer picture of the gay and gallant young officer
than he has given in his book.
Los Gringos was followed in 1855 by Tales for
theMarines, a lively, spirited volume of adventure,
humorous, sentimental, and melodramatic, on ship-
board, off the coast of Africa, and in Rio Janeiro.
Sailors, pirates, slavers, smugglers, senoritas, cay-
mans, boa constrictors, all bear a part in the con-
duct of an amusing series of adventures, some of
which are sufficiently marvellous to try the faith
of the proverbially easy of belief class of the
service to whom they are especially addressed.
Lieut. "Wise possesses a keen eye for the humor-
ous and the picturesque, and writes in an off-band
and spirited style. We present one of the scenes
of his sketches. A party of desperadoes, with
whom bloody encounters have previously taken
place, are surprised by a detachment from the
U. S. corvette Juniata.
AN ATTACK — FROM TALES FOR THE MARINES.
Mr. Spuke at this epoch was busy on a little tour
of inspection, around the cargoes of the lighters,
punching his steel-like knuckles into the sacks of
sugar, dipping his claws of fingers into the bung
holes of the pipas of rum to test the strength by
sucking his digits afterwards, then smelling pinches
and handfuls of coffee berries, in all which business
pursuits he appeared quite at home. Upon his own
boat coming onshore again with his copper treasure,
he joined the Maltese, and with the assistance of the
boy and the black oarsman, the biigs were carried up
about fifty yards on the beach, midway between the
water and the cane huts.
This was no sooner effected than a signal was given
to the cornet, and down from their concealment in
the bushes ran the squad of sojers, while the fat
officer, rushing up, laid his hand on the blue coat
with bright brass buttons, which hung over the back
* LosGrin^os ; or, An Inside View of Mexico and California,
with Wanderings in Pern, Chili, and Polynesia. Baker and
Scribncr. 12nio. pp. 453.
of Mr. Spuke. This was the first intimation that
individual had of the ambuscade; but, jerking him-
self free, he exclaimed, —
"By spikes! what on airth air yu abeout?" The
suddenness and violence of the movement nearly
twitched the officer off his legs.
When Mr. Spuke glanced round, and beheld the
militia, with their bayonets at a charge, he seemed
to recover himself at once ; and striding over the
sacks of metal, with his legs wide apart* he said, —
"Wal, ye darn'd Portingees, what air ye uptu?
This here is my property, and ther custom-house
permits is right and reg'lar — ask them dons theer —
all honist folks — no idee on gittin quit of payin the
fees."
Here he beckoned to the factors, who, with Mag,
came to the spot; and there they stood, in a lump,
just as the cutter of the Flirt was dashed alongside
of the schooner.
I could not have stood it any lorger; but just
then Hazy exclaimed, " Kow, my friends, it is our
turn!" while "the padron roared out in Portuguese,
"Seize, or shoot down those villains, if they stir an
inch. I arrest them for snuggling counterfeit coin."
And I screamed to Mag, " Yes, you hog, and I've an
account to settle with you for the affair in that den
in Rio."
The Maltese was the first who made a bolt ; but
he had not moved a yard before Hazy's cockswain,.
Harry Greenfield, fetched him a tap with the gig's
brass tiller, which laid him out, as meek as milk, on
the strand.
When the combination burst with its real force
upon Spuke and his female companion, the latter
squinted furtively around, to see, perhaps, if a cluince
fur escape presented itself; but obeervii g all retreat
cut off, her ugly mug began to assume a pale-blue,
ashes-of'-roses hue ; and she put her band in her
bosom and partially exposed her taperii g knife.
"Drop that, you piratical she-devil, or I'll "
She must have looked full into the muzzle of the big-
mouthed ship's pistol I pointed at her, before she re-
moved her hand from the weapon ; and then only to
carry the gin jug to her hideous mouth ; but she did
not utter a word. Not so, however, with Mr. Spuke ;
he saw the game was up, and that not only his
vessel was seized, and his liberty about to be cramped
for an indefinite period, but, worse than all, he was
to lose all his hard-earned gains.
Taking up the words as they were uttered by the
I padron, and losing all his drawly, nasal twang, he
| said, in a cold, deliberate tone, —
" 0, ho ! there's been spyin' goin' on, and I'm' to be
i robbed, eh? Kow, I'm an Ameriken, clear grit!
1 and you, dam yer, my countryman," shaking his
| hand aloft at Hazy, " air standiu' by to see me
imposed upon by these cussed mcrlatters, when it's
! your dooty to perfect me. But, by spikes ! let me
see the first feller as 11 lis his finger jint to seize El-
nathan Spuke."
With this, he bared his great slabs of arms to the
| shoulders; and there he stood, a powerful, towering
giant, — glaring with the wrinkled, compressed lips,
open nostril, and fierce, cunning eye of a tiger, ready
for a spring,
" Arrest him, soldiers !" shouted the now excited
padron ; and the cornet drew his sword, Before,
however, the blade was well out of its sheath, the
fellow at-bay gave him a tremendous kick in the
stomach, which sent him fairly spinning up off the
sand ; and then he fell with a groan, completely
hors de combat. At the moment the soldiers, who, as
I told you, seemed by no means veterans in war, ad-
vanced, with fixed bayonets, upon the smuggler.
Evading the first two men, he gave a sudden hound,
HENRY AUGUSTUS WISE.
c:i
grasped the musket by the muzzle from the weak
arms of one of the puny troop, and, with a deep-
mutterei imprecation of, "By the Eternal, let her
rip," gave the weapon a half sweep over his head ;
and bringing it round, the foremost men went down
like grain before a sickle. Recovering himself again,
he made the heavy piece whirl on high, and brought
it, for the second time, upon the backs of the panic-
stricken soldiers; but the flint-lock catching some !
part of their equipments, the cock snapped, the piece j
flaslie 1, held fire an instant, and then exploded full
in the face of the Yankee. The charge traversed his j
upper jaw, nose, aid one eye, leaving him blinded,
and the blackened bloo 1 and powder clinging to his
mutilated features. He spun round nearly a turn, j
by the force of the explosion, yet never relaxed his
gripe on the muzzle of the musket, until, with a con- '
fused lurch, the breech of the gun touched the sand,
and he fell forward with all his weight. The point of
the bayonet entered nearly at his breast bone, and
transfixed him to the pipe. He fell over sideways,
and lay a deal man, deluging in blood the-sacks of
money he had made such desperate efforts to
defend.
By this time the dismayed soldiers, who had turned
tail from the one man, began to fire an irregular Yea
de joie right in amongst the crowd of us. They
were too wild, however, to do much damage ; only
grazing the ear of one of the factors, and putting a
ball i ito the foot of the Maltese — and a very severe
and painful wound he found it.
Daring this skrimmage my attention was for a mo-
ment diverted from my own especial game; and when
I looked again, I saw the hag running like a rat to-
wards the thicket. Mukeen fired his pistol at her,
but the ball only cut off a twig, and scattered some
leaves without touching her. I reserved my shot,
and, with a cry that brought the whole assembly,
with the exception of the soldiers, we plunged after
Mag. She took the main road, a well-beaten track
for mules and beasts, 'which led from the mouth of
the river to the city ; and though it wound about
liere and there, we could still keep her in sight, as
she parted the bushes right and left in her flight.
Presently, the thick undergrowth gave place to
loftier vegetation ; and between the trunks of the
palms and cocoas we caught glimpses of narrow
lagoons beyond, patched with light-green and white
water lilies. On the opposite side, the laud rose
higher, and the forest was composed of heavy
timber.
The woman still held on with great speed, and
must have known she was running with a noose
round her neck, for she never looked behind, or gave
heed in the slightest degree to our yells to stop or be
shot. There were a number of paths made by cattle,
which crossed the road at intervals, and, all at once,
Mag turned to the left into one of them. A pair of
huge vampire bats rose from a branch with a boding
croak ; and as the woman leaped over the grass and
leaves, one of the factors gave a shout of warning,
and tried to stop me from going farther. Shaking
off his grasp, however, I jumped on, with Mak and
Hazy at my heels, into the thicket. In a minute we
had entirely passed the dense foliage, and before us
lay the long, narrow lagoon, cradled in its black,
slimy, muddy banks, while directly through the
centre, leading to the opposite shore, was apparently
a clear, open bridge, matted and bound with roots,
grasses, and rank vegetation of all sorts, with a little
clump of bushes and parasitical plants at every few
paces, but still showing a green, even road over the
water. Mag was about a hundred yards in advance
of us, and splashing a short distance into the mud ami
water, she sprang upon the bending mangrove roots,
and, finding that they bore her weight, continued on
her course.
" Hold 1" roared the padron ; " gentlemen, for
God's sake don't go an inch farther!"
" 0 ! cuidado .'" screamed the factor. " Beware !
it is certain death!" cried they, both out of breath.
"That witch can't escape ; the mire will prevent her
on the other side."
At this moment, Mag, perceiving she was no
longer pursued, turned about, and shaking her knife
in one hand, and applying the gin jug to her lips
with the other, she took a long pull, and then yelled
derisively, — ■
" 0, you hounds! you thought to hang me, eh ?
the hemp isn't planted yet for my throat ; and you,
ye devil's asp, let me once lay hold upon you, I'll
take an oath to find your heart the next time.
Adios," she said, as she again applied the jug to her
mouth, and hurling it upon the slimy surface of the
pool, wheeled to resume her flight.
I am glad to say that this was the last swig of gin
and the last intelligible remarks which Miss Margaret,
as Spuke respectfully styled her, ever uttered in this
world.
No sooner had the water been disturbed by the
splash of the empty bottle, than we noticed a little
succession of rolling, unbroken billows along by the
vegetable bridge. The flat, sickly leaves and flowers
began to undulate, and as Mag stepped from the
green laeed, living fabric to a projecting root, we
saw the huge, triangular-shaped snout of a red
spectacled alligator, and the dull, protruding eyes,
with the fringed, scaly crest between, slowly pushed
above the water; and then a sharp, rattling snap
upon the hard-baked clay of the gin jug.
"The cayman!" exclaimed the padron; and as
the monster rolled his jaws more out of water, the
irregular, reddish, marbled yellow and green spots
were visible underneath, before he sank with his
prize.
The factor ejaculated, "01 vernvlho cayman I"
The noise of the breaking gin vessel did not, how-
ever, distract the attention of Mag, but as she trod on
the elastic mass of the bridge, it yielded, and agitated
the pool with a loud splash. The next moment, as
if the impulse had been felt in every direction, the
same unbroken undulations as before swelled up
under the greenish, stagnant lagoon, and in less time
than it takes to wink, the water broke with a rush
upwards, within a few feet of the woman. The
enormous mail-clad hide of the cayman appeared;
the tail rose with a diagonal motion; and the head,
with the distended, serrated jaws, the reddish tongue
and yellow mouth inside them, gleamed hot and dry
in the beams of the morning sun ; the whole monster
forming a curving bend of full twenty feet before
and behind the now terrified hag. At the same in-
stant the hard, flexible tail made a side sweep, quick
as thought, which, striking Mag a crushing blow
about her wraist, doubled her up with a broken
back, and she was swept into the frightful jaws,
open to full stretch, and inclined sideways to receive
the prey. Simultaneously with our groans of
horror, the heretofore quiet pool was all alive with
the projecting, ridgy bodies of the monsters, and for
a few minutes we heard nothing but the violent
snapping of their huge jaws, and the blows of their
powerful tails. At last the water once move began
to settle down into peace ; the broad, flat leaves and
stems of the pure white lilies, which had been torn
and crushed bv the commotion amongst the denizens
below, gradually resumed their beds ; and, save a
few bubbles, and an occasional undulation, with a
strong odor of musk, there was nothing left to show
where the hag had met her horrid death.»
672
CYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
" Come, let's crawl out of this swamp," said the
podron, " or some of those hungry caymans will be
after having a taste of us."
SAGACITY OF LOBSTEES — FROM THE SAME.
"Very sagacious creeters," chimed in an old salt,
"who was carefully laying up nettles for his hammock
clews: " I know'd a dog once as would tell the time
o' day by the skipper's nose, and would drink grog
too like a Christian."
" Bless ye," again broke out the gaunt, bony
fisherman, " dogs isn't a circumstance to lobsters for
sagaciousness! Why, mateys, I was on the pint of
tellin' you, that after my trip to Greenland and the
coast of Labrador, the old people thought I had
'bout sowed my wild oats." " I thought you said
grass." twanged in the young mountaineer ; but the
whaler, without deigning a glance at the cub, went
on. " And I settled down stiddy at the lobster busi-
ness. Nat Pochick and me was 'prentices in a
smack for better nor five years, in war times too,
until our time was out, when we bought the old
smack at a bargain, and drove a lively trade in the
same business. We used to take the lobsters, where
the best on 'em comes from, aloi g the moniment
shore, down about Plymouth, and we ran 'em
through the Vineyard Sound to York, by way of
Montauk. Well, one day, when we had the well of
the schooner as full as ever it could stick with claws
and feelers, like darned fools we tried to shorten the
distai.ee by runnin' outside of Nantucket ; but jest as
we got off Skonset, what should we see but the old
Ramillies seventy-four, the admiral's ship, a-hidin'
under Tom Nevers' Head ; and in less than a minute
an eighteen pound shot come spinnin' across our
bows, and two big double-banked boats was making
the water white as tliey pulled towards us. We
know'd, as well as could be, that them Britishers
didn't want the old smack, nor care a snap for the
lobsters ; but we did believe sartin' that they
wouldn't mind elappin' hold on twosich likely chaps
as my partner and me. to sarve under the king's flag.
So we up helm and ran the smack and the cargo
slap on to the Old Man's Shoal ; but jest afore she
struck we jumped into the yawl, and paddled to the
beach, where we saved being captured. Well, the
smack was knocked into splinters by the breakers in
less than an hour. Nov.", my hearties," said the
whaler, as he paused and giized around the group of
listeners, " every blessid one of them lobsters went
back to the ground where they was took, as much as
a hundred miles from the reef where the old craft
was wracked! and there's great Black Dan, of Mars-
field, will tell ye the same; for ye must bear in
mind, that every fisherman has his parliklar shaped
pegs to chock the claws of the lobsters with, and
every one of our lobsters was kitched agin with our
'domical pegs in 'em ! This, boys, was the last trip
as ever we made in that trade, though Nat Pochick,
out of fondness for the things, established himself on
the old Boston bridge, where he is to this day,
a-bilin', may be, five or six thousand lobsters of a
morniu', which he sells off like hot cakes in the
arteraopns."
HERMAN MELVILLE.
Ilr.EMAN Melville was born in the city of New
York, August 1, 1819. On his father's side he
is of Scotch extraction, and is descended in the
fourth degree from Thomas Melville, a clergy-
man of the Scotch Kirk, who, from the year
1718 and for almost half a century, was minister
of Scoonie parish, Leven, Fifeshire.* The minis-
ter of Scoonie had two sons — John Melville, who
became a member of his majesty's council in Gre-
nada, and Allan Melville, who came to America,
in 1748, and settled in Boston1 as a merchant. Dy-
ing young, the latter left an only son, Thomas
Melville, our author's grandfather, who was born
in Boston, and, as appears by the probate records
on the appointment of his guardian in 1761, in-
herited a handsome fortune from his father. He
was graduated at Princeton College, New Jersey
in 1769, and in 1772 visited his relatives in Scot-
land. During this visit he was presented with
the freedom of the city of St. Andrews and of
Renfrew. He returned to Boston in 177-3, where
he became a merchant, and in December of that
year was one of the Boston Tea Party. He took
an active part in the Revolutionary war, and, as
major in Craft's regiment of Massachusetts artil-
lery, was in the actions in Rhode Island in 1776.
Commissioned by Washington in 1789 as naval
officer of the port of Boston, he was continued
by all the presidents down to Jackson's time in
l*b29.t To the time of his death Major Melville
continued to wear the antiquated three-cornered
hat, and from this habit was familiarly known in
Boston as the last of the cocked-hats. There is
still preserved a small parcel of the veritable tea
in the attack upon which he took an active part.
Being found in his shoes on returning from the
vessel it was sealed up in a vial, although it was
intended that not a particle should escape destruc-
tion ! The vial and contents are now in posses-
sion of Chief-Justice Shaw of Mas>achusetts. '
Our author's father, Allan Melville, was an im-
porting merchant in New York, and made fre-
quent visits to Europe in connexion with his busi-
ness. He was a well educated and polished man,
and spoke French like a native.
On his mother's side Mr. Melville is the grand-
son of General Peter Gansevoort of Albany, Xew
York, the " hero of Fort Stanwix," having suc-
cessfully defended that fort in 1777 against a large
force of British and Indians, commanded by Ge-
neral St. Leger.
y/^e^j^^tt^^t^-^f^^''
The boyhood of Herman Melville was passed at
Albany and Lansingburgh, 2s'ew York, and in the
country, at Berkshire, Massachusetts. He had
earlv* shown a taste for literature and composition.
In his eighteenth year he shipped as a sailor in
a Kew York vessel for Liverpool, made a hurried
* Article Scoonie, Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland,
vol. v. p. 115. T)r. George Brewster, minister of Scoonie, who
died June 20. 1S55, succeeded the Rev David Swan, who was
the suecessor of our author's ancestor. It is worthy of remark
that the united years of these three clergymen, in the same
desk, was one hundred and thirty -si.v years. — Obituary notice
in Scotsman. June 2-3, 1S55.
+ Major Melville was the nearest surviving male relative of
General Robert Melville, who was descended from a brother of
the minister of Scoonie, the first and only Captain-General and
Governor-in-ehief of the Islands ceded to England by France in
17f>3. and at the time of his death, which occurred in 13 9, was
with one exception the oldest General in the British army. —
County Annual Register, Scotland, 181.9 and '10, vol. i part 6.
In the genealogy of General Melville, contained in Ilonglass'a
Baronage of Scotland, published in 179S. the Boston family are
stated to be descended from the same branch, of the Melville,
family as General Melville.
HERMAN MELVILLE.
673
visit to London when he arrrived in port, and re-
turned home "before the mast." His next ad-
venture was embarking, Jan. 1, 18-11, on a
whaling vessel for the Pacific for the sperm
fishery. After eighteen months of the cruise, the
vessel, in the summer of 181-2, put into the
Marquesas, at Nukuheva. Melville, who was
weary of the service, took the opportunity to
abandon the ship, and with a fellow sailor hid
himself in the forest, with the intention of re-
sorting to a neighboring peaceful tribe of the
natives. They mistook their course, and after
three days' wandering, in which they had tra-
versed one of the formidable mountain ridges
of the island, found themselves in the barbarous
Typee valley. Here Melville was detained " in
an indulgent captivity " for four months. He was
separated from his companion, and began to de-
spair of a return to civilization, when he was
rescued one day on the shore by a boat's crew
of a Sidney whaler. He shipped on board this
vessel, and was landed at Tahiti the day when
the French took possession of the Society Islands,
establishing their "Protectorate" at the can-
non's mouth. From Tahiti, Melville passed to
the Sandwich Islands, spent a few months in ob-
servation of the people and the country, and in
the autumn of 1813 shipped at Honolulu as "or-
dinary seaman" on board the frigate United
States, then on its return voyage, which was
safely accomplished, stopping at Callao, and
reaching Boston in October, 1814. This voy-
aging in the merchant, whaling, and naval ser-
vice rounded Melville's triple experience of nau-
tical life. It was not long alter that he made his
appearance as an author. His first book, Typcc,
a narrative of his Marquesas adventure, was pub-
lished in 1816, simultaneously by Murray in Lon-
don* and Wiley and Putnam in N"cw York. The
spirit and vigorous fancy of the style, and the
freshness and novelty of tho incidents, were at
once appreciated. There was, too, at the time,
that undefined sentiment of the approaching
practical importance of tho Pacific in the public
mind, which was admirably calculated for the
reception of this glowing, picturesque narrative.
It was received everywhere with enthusiasm, and
made a reputation for its author in a day. The
London Times reviewed it with a fall pen, and
even the staid Gentleman's Magazine was loud in
its praises.
Mr. Melville followed up this success the next
year with O.noo, a Narrative of Adventures in the
South Sen, which takes up the story with the
escape from the Typees, and gives a humorous
account of the adventures of the author and some
of his ship companions in Tahiti. For pleasant,!
easy narrative, it is the most natural and agreea-
ble of his books. In his nest book, in 1819 —
MarJi, and a Voyage Thither — the author ven-
tured out of the range of personal observation and
matter-of-fact description to which he had kept
more closely than was generally supposed,t and
* It was brought to the notice of Mr. Murray in London by
Mr. (rausevoort Melville, then Secretary of Legation to tho
Minister, Mr. Loui. McLane. Mr. Gansevoort ^Ielville was a
political speaker of talent. He died suddenly in London of an
attack of fever in May, 1S4G.
t Lt. Wise, in his lively, dashing hook of travels — An Insido
View of Mexico and California, with Wanderings in Pern,
Chili, and Polynesia— pays a compliment to Melville's fidelity :
VOL. II. £3
projected a philosophical romance, in which hu-
man nature and European civilization were to be
typified under the aspects of the poetical mytho-
logical notions and romantic customs and tradi-
tions of the aggregate races of Polynesia. In the
first half of the book there are some of the au-
thor's best descriptions, wrought up with fanciful
associations from the, quaint philosophic and
other reading in the volumes of Sir Thomas
Browne, and such worthies, upon whose page3,
after his long sea fast from books and literature, the
author had thrown himself with eager avidity. In
the latter portions, embarrassed by his spiritual
allegories, he wanders without chart or compass
in the wildest regions of doubt and scepticism.
Though, as a work of fiction, lacking clearness,
and maimed as a book of thought and speculation
by its want of sobriety, it has many delicate traits
and fine bursts of fancy and invention. Critics
could find many beauties in Mardi which the
novel-reading public who long for amusement
have not the time or philosophy to discover. Mr.
Melville, who throughout his literary career has
had the good sense never to argue with the pub-
lic, whatever opportunities he might afford them
for the exercise of their disputati ve faculties, lost no
time in recovering his position by a return to the
agreeable narrative which had first gained him
his laurels. In the same year he published Bed-
burn; his First Voyage, being the Sailor-boy Con-
fessions and Beiniaiscenc.es of the Son of a Gentle-
man, in the Merchant Service; In the simplicity
of the young sailor, of which tho pleasant ad-
venture of leaving the forecastle one day and
paying his respects to the captaiit in the cabin, is
an instance, this book is a witty reproduction of
natural incidents. The lurid London episode, in
the melo-dramatic style, is not so fortunate.
Another course of Melville's nautical career, the
United States naval service, furnished the subject
of the next book — White Jacket, or the World in
a Man-of-war, published in 18-30. It is a vivid
daguerreotype of the whole life of tho ship. The
description is everywhere elevated from common-
place and familiarity by the poetical associations
which run through it. There is many a good
word spoken in this book, as in the author's other
writings, for the honor and welfare of Poor Jack.
Punishment by flogging is unsparingly con-
demned.
In 1851 Moby-Dlcl; or the Whale, appeared,
the most dramatic and imaginative of Melville's
books. In tho character of Captain Ahab and his
contest with the whale, he has opposed the meta-
physical energy of despair to the physical sub-
lime of the ocean. In this encounter the whale
becomes a representative of moral evil in tho
world. In the purely descriptive passages, the
details of the fishery, and the natural history of
the animal, are narrated with constant brilliancy
of illustration from the fertile mind of the author.*
" Apart from the innate heauty and charming tone of his nar-
ratives, the delineations of isLuid life and scenery, from my
own personal observation, are most correctly and faithfully
drawn."
* Just at tho time of publication of this book its catastro-
phe, the attack of tho ship by the whale, which had already
good historic warrant in the fate of tho Essex of Nantucket,
was still farther supported by tho newspaper narrative of tho
Ann Alexander of New Bedford, in which the infuriated
animal demonstrated a spirit of revenge almost human, in
674
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Pierre, or the Ambiguities, was published in
1852. Its conception and execution were both
literary mistakes. The author was off the track
of his true genius. The passion which he sought to
evolve was morbid or unreal, in the worst school
of the mixed French and German melodramatic.
Since the publication of this volume, Mr. Melville
has written chiefly for the magazines of Harper
and Putnam. In the former, a sketch, entitled
Coclc-a-doodle doo ! is one of the most lively and
animated productions of his pen ; in the latter,
his Bartlely the Scrivener, a quaint, fanciful por-
trait, and his reproduction, with various inven-
tions and additions, of the adventures of Israel
Potter* an actual character of the Revolution,
have met with deserved success.
;
Melville's Residence
Mr. Melville having been married in 1847 to a
daughter of Chief Justice Shaw of Boston, re-
Bided for a while at New York, when he took up
his residence in Berkshire, on a finely situated
farm, adjacent to the old Melville House, in which
some members of the family formerly lived;
where, in the immediate vicinity of the residence
of the poet Holmes, he overlooks the town of
Pittsfiehl and the intermediate territory, flanked
by the Taconic range, to the huge height of Saddle-
back.
Gray-lock, cloud girdled, from his purple throne,
A voice of welcome sends,
And from green sunny fields, a warbling tone
The Housatonic blends. f
In fhe fields and in his study, looking out upon
the mountains, and in the hearty society of his
family and friends, lie finds congenial nourish-
ment for his faculties, without looking much to
cities, or troubling himself with the exactions of
artificial life. In this comparative retirement
will be found the secret of much of the specula-
tive character engrafted upon his writings.
EEDBUEN CONTEMPLATES MAKING A SOCIAL CALL ON THE
■CAPTAIN IN HIS CABIN.
What reminded me most forcibly of my ignomi-
nious condition was the widely altered manner of
turning upon, pursuing, and destroying the vessel from which
be had been attacked.
* "The Life and Adventures of Israel P.. Potter (a native of
Cranston, Rhode Island), who was a soldier in the American
Revolution." were published in a small vnlnme at Providence,
in 1824 The storv in this book was written from the narra-
tive of Potter, by Mr. He'.ry Trumbull, of Hartford, Ct.
t Ode for the Bcrkshira Jubilee, by FaHny Keniblc Butler.
the captain toward me. I had thought him a fine,
funny gentleman, full of mirth and good humor, and
good will to seamen, and one who could not fail to
appreciate the difference between me and the rude
sailors among whom I was thrown. Indeed I had
made no doubt that he would in some special man-
ner take me under his protection, and prove a kind
friend and benefactor tome; as I hud heard that
some sea-captains are fathers to their crew ; and so
they are ; but such fathers as Solomon's precepts
tend to make — severe and chastising fathers; fa-
thers whose sense of duty overcomes the sense of
love, and who every day, in some sort, play the
part of Brutus, who ordered his son away to execu-
tion, as I have read in our old family Plutarch.
Yes, I thought that Captain Riga, for Riga was
his name, would be attentive and considerate tome,
and strive to cheer me up, and comfort me in my
lonesomeness. I did not even deem it at nil impos-
sible that he would invite me down to the cabin of
a pleasant night, to ask me questions concerning
my parents, and prospects in life ; besides obtaining
from me some anecdotes touching my great-uncle,
the illustrious senator ; or give me a slate and pen-
cil, and teach me problems in navigation ; or per-
haps engage me at a game of chess. I even thought
he might invite me to dinner on a sunny Sunday,
and help me plentifully to the nice cabin fare, as
knowing how distasteful the salt beef and pork, and
hard biscuit of the forecastle must at first be to a
boy like me, who had always lived ashore, and at
home.
And I could not help regarding him with pecu-
liar emotions, almost of tenderness and love, as the
last visible link in the chnin of associations winch
bound me to my home. For, while yet in port, I
had seen him and Mr. Jones, my brother's friend,
standing together and conversing: so that from the
captain to my brother there was but one interme-
diate step ; and my brother and mother and sisters
were one.
And this reminds me how often I used to pass by
the places on deck, where I remembered Mr. Jone3
had stood when he first visited the slap lying at the
wharf; and how I tried to convince myself that it
was indeed true, that he had stood there, though
now the ship was so for away on the wide Atlantic
Ocean, and he, perhaps, was walking down Wall-
street, or sitting reading the newspaper in his
counting-room, while poor I was so differently em-
ployed.
When two or three days had passed without the
captain's speaking to me in any way, or sending
word into the forecastle that he wished me to drop
into the cabin to pay my respects, I began to think
whether I should not m:ike the first advances, and
whether indeed he did not expect it of me, since I
was but a boy, and he a man ; and perhaps that
might have been the reason why he had not spoken
to me yet, deeming it more proper and respectful for
me to address him first. I thought he might be
offended, too, especially if he were a proud man,
with tender feelings. So one evening, a little be-
fore sundown, in the second dog-watch, when there
was no more work to be done, I concluded to call
and see him.
After drawing a bucket of water, and having a
good washing, to get off some of the chicken-coop
stains, I went down into the forecastle to dress my-
self as neatly as I could. I put on a white shirt in
place of my red one, and got into a pair of cloth
trowsers instead of my duck ones, and put on my
new pumps, and then carefully brushing my shoot-
ing-jacket, I put that on over all, so that upon the
whole I made quite a genteel figure, at least for a.
HERMAN MELVILLE.
675
forecastle, though I would not have looked so well
in a drawing-room.
When the sailors saw me thus employed, they did
not know what to make of it, and wanted to know
whether I was dressing to go ashore ; I told them
no, for we were then out of sight of land ; but that
I was going to pay my respects to the captain.
Upon which they all laughed and shouted, as if I
were a simpleton; though there seemed nothing so
very simple in going to make an evening call upon
a friend. Then some of them tried to dissuade me,
saying I was green and raw ; but Jackson, who sat
looking on, cried out, with a hideous grin, " Let him
go, let him go, men — he's a nice boy. Let him go ;
the captain lias some nuts and raisins for lam." And
so he was going on when one of his violent fits of
coughing seized him, and he almost choked.
As I was about leaving the forecastle, I happened
to look at my hands, and seeing them stained all
over of a deep yellow, for that morning the mate
ha 1 set me to tarring some strips of canvas for the
rigging, I thought it would never do to present my-
self before a gentleman that way ; so for want of
kids I slipped 0:1 a pair of woollen mittens, which
my mother had knit for me to carry to sea. As I
was putting them on, Jackson asked me whether he
shouldn't call a carriage ; and another bade me not
to forget to present his best respects to the skipper.
I left them all tittering, and coming on deck was
passing the cook-house, when the old cook called
after me, saying, I had forgot my cane.
But I did not heed their impudence, and was
walking straight toward the cabm-door, on the
qirarter-dejk, when the chief mate met me. I
touched my hat, and was passing him, when, after
staring at me till I thought his eyes would burst
out, he all at once caught me by the collar, and
with a voice of thunder wanted to know what I
meant by playing such tricks aboard a ship that he
was mate of? I told him to let go of me, or I would
complain to my friend the captain, whom I intended
to visitthat evening. Upon this he gave me such a
whirl round, that I thought the Gulf Stream was in
1 my head, and then shove 1 me forward, roaring out
I know not what. Meanwhile the sailors were all
standing round the windlass looking aft, mightily
tiekled.
Seeing I could not effect my object that night, I
thought it best to defer it for the present; and re-
turning among the sailors, Jackson asked me how I
had found the captain, and whether the next time I
went I would not take a friend along and introduce
him.
The upshot of this business was, that before I
went to sleep that night, I felt well satisfied that it
was not customary for sailors to call on the captain
in the cabin; and I began to have an inkling of the
fact, that I had acte I like a fool ; but it all aros-e
from my ignorance of sea usages.
And here I may as well state, that I never saw
the inside of the cabin during the whole interval
that elapsed from our sailing till our return to New
York ; though I often used to get a peep at it
through a little pane of glass, set in the house on
deck, just before the helm, where a watch was kept
hanging for the helmsman to strike the half hours
by, with his little bell in the binnacle, where the
compass was. And it used to be the great amuse-
ment of the sailors to look in through the pane of
glass, when they stood at the wheel, and watch the
proceedings in the cabin ; especially when the
steward was setting the table for dinner, or the cap-
tain was lounging over a decanter of wine on a
little mahogany stand, or playing the game called
solitaire, at cards, of an evening; for at times he
was all alone with his dignity; though, as will era
long be shown, he generally had one pleasant com-
panion, whose society lie did not dislike.
The day following my attempt to drop in at the
cabin, I happened to be making fast a rope on the
quarter-deck, when the captain suddenly made his
appearance, promenading up and down, and smok-'.
ing a cigar. He looked very good-humored and
amiable, and it being just after his dinner, I thought
that this, to be sure, was just the chance I wanted.
I waited a little while, thinking he would speak
to me himself; but as he did not, I went up to him
and began by saying it was a very pleasant day, and
hoped he was very well. I never saw a man fly
into such a rage ; 1 thought he was going to knock
me down ; but after standing speechless awhile, he
all at once plucked his cap from his head and threw
it at me I don't know what impelled me, but I
ran to the lee scuppers where it fell, picked it up,
and gave it to him with a bow ; when the mate
came running up, and thrust me forward again ;
anil after he had got me as far as the windlass, he
wanted to know whether I was crazy or not; for if
I was, he would put me in irons right off, and have
done with it.
But I assured him I was in my right mind, and
knew perfectly well that I had been treated in the
most rude and ungentlemanly manner both by him
I and Captain Riga. Upon this, he rapped out a
j great oath, and told me if ever I repeated what I
! had done that evening, or ever again presumed so
] much as to lift my hat to the captain, he would tie
i me into the rigging, and keep me there until J
I learned better manners. " You are very green,"
said lie, " but I'll ripen you." Indeed this chief matq
seemed to have the beeping of the dignity of the
captain, who in some sort seemed too dignified per,
sonally to protect his own dignity.
I thought this strange enough, to be reprimanded,
and charged with rudeness for an act of common
civility. However, seeing how matters stood, I re-
solved to let the captain alone for the future, par.
ticularly as he had shown himself so deficient in
the ordinary breeding of a gentleman. And I
could hardly credit it, that this was the same man
who had been so very civil, and polite, and witty,
when Mr. Jones and 1 called upon him in port.
But this astonishment of mine was much increas-
e 1, when some days after, a storm came upon us,
and the captain rushed out of the cabin in his night-
cap, and nothing else but his shirt on; and leaping
up on the poop, began to jump up and down, and
curse and swear, and call the men aloft all manner
of hard names, just like a common loafer in the
street.
Besides all this, too, I noticed that while we were
at sea, lie wore nothing but old shabby clothes,
very different from the glossy suit I had seen him in
at our first interview, and after tlr.it on the steps of
the City Hotel, where he always boarded when in
New York. Now, he wore nothing but old-fashioned
snuff-colored coats, with high collars and short
waists; and faded. 6hort-legged pantaloons, very
tight about the knees; and vests that did not con-
ceal his waistbands, owing to their being so short,
just like a little boy's. And his hats were all caved
in, and battered, as if they had been knocked about
in a cellar ; and bis boots were sadly patched. In-
deed, I began to think that he was but a shabby
fellow after all, particularly as his whiskers lost
their gloss, and he went days together without
shaving; and his hair, by a sort of miracle, began
to grow of a pepper and salt color, which might
have been owing, though, to his discontinuing the
use of some kind of dye while at sea. I put hi::i
676
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
down as a sort of impostor! and while ashore, a
gentleman on false pretences, for no gentleman
would have treated another gentleman as he did
me.
Yes, Captain Riga, thought I, you are no gentle-
man, and you know it.
CAROLINE M. SAWYER.
Caroline M. Fisher was born in the latter part
of the year 1812, in the village of Newton, Massa-
chusetts. She was carefully educated at home
by an invalid uncle, who was thoroughly con-
versant with foreign literature, and succeeded
in imparting his fine taste as well as varied
accomplishments to his pupil. Siie com-
menced writing at an early age, but did not
make her appearance in the magazines until after
her marriage with the Rev. T. J. Sawyer, an emi-
nent Universalist divine, in 1832, when she re-
moved to New York. In 1847 her husband
accepted the presidency of the Universalist Semi-
nary at Clinton, !New York, where they have
since resided.
Mrs. Sawyer has written a number of poems
and prose tales for the periodicals of the day,
which have not been collected. She has also
translated in prose and verse from the German.
THE BLIND GIRL.
Crown her with garlands ! 'mid her sunny hair
Twine the rich blossoms of the laughing Mav,
The lily, snowdrop, and the violet fair,
And queenly rose, that blossoms for a day.
Haste, maidens, haste ! the hour brooks no'delay —
The bridal veil of soft transparence bring ;
And as ye wreathe the gleaming locks away,
O'er their neh wealth its folds of beauty fling —
She sccth now !
Bring forth the lyre of sweet, and solemn sound,
Let its rich music be no longer still ;
Wake its full chords, till, sweetly floating round,'
It6 thrilling echoes all our spirits fill.
Joy for the lovely i that her lips no more
To notes of sorrow tune their trembling breath ;
Joy for the young, whose starless course is o'er ;
16! sing Pteans for the bride of Death !
She seeth now !
She has been dark ; through all the weary years,
Since first her spirit into being woke,
Through those dim orbs that ever swam in tears,
_ No ray of sunlight ever yet hath broke.
Silent and dark ! herself the sweetest flower
That ever blossomed in an earthly home,
Unuttereil yearnings ever were her dower,
And voiceless prayers that light at length might
come.
She seeth now !
A lonely lot! yet oftentimes a sad
And mournful pleasure filled her heart and brain,
And beamed in smiles — e'er sweet, but never glad,
As sorrow smiles when mourning winds complain.
Nature's great voice had ever for her soul
A thrilling power the sightless only know ;
While deeper yearnings through her being stole,
For light to gild that being's darkened flow.
She seeth now!
Strike the soft harp, then ! for the cloud hath past,
With all its darkness, from her sight away ;
Beauty hath met her waiting eyes at last,
And light is hers within the land of day.
'Neath the cool shadows of the tree of life,
Where bright the fount of youth immortal springs,
Far from this earth, with all its weary strife,
.Her pale brow fanned by shining seraphs' wings,
She seeth now !
Ah, yes, she seeth ! through yon misty veil,
Methinks e'en now her angel-eyes look down,
While round me falls a light all soft and pale —
The moonlight lustre of her starry crown ;
And to my heart as earthly sounds retire,
Come the low echoes of celestial words,
Like sudden music from some haunted lyre,
That strangely swells when none awake its chords.
But, hush ! 'tis past; the light, the sound, are o'er:
Joy for the maiden ! she is dark no more !
She seeth now !
LOUISA C. TUTHILL,
Louisa C. IIiggins, a member of an old New Eng-
land family, was born at New Haven, and at an
early age, in 1817, married Mr. Cornelius Tuthill
j of that city. Mr. Tuthill was a gentleman of lite-
rary tastes, and edited, for two years, a periodical
called The Micros-cope, in which the poet Pen ival
was first introduced to the public.
After the death of Mr. Tuthill, in 1825, Mrs.
Tuthill became an anonymous contributor to the
magazines. Her first appearance in propria per-
sona as an author was on the title-page of Tlie
Young Lades'' Header, a volume of selections pub-
lished in 1839. This volume was followed by
| The Young Ladies' Home, a collection of tales and
essays illustrating domestic pursuits and duties.
Her next production consisted of a series of tales
for young persons. They are entitled L will be a
Gentleman ; I mil be a Lady ; Onwa d, right
Onward; Boarding School Girl; Anything for
Sport; A Strike for Fieedom, or Law and Or-
der; each occupying a volume of about one hun-
dred and fifty pages of moderate size, published
between 1844 and 1850.
In 1852 Mrs. Tuthill commenced a new series
with a tale entitled Braggadocio. Queer Bonnets,
Tip Top, and Bemitful Bertha, followed in 1853
and 1854. She has now in progress another series
entitled Success in Lfe, including six volumes,
with the titles The Merchant, The Laxmjer, The,
Mechanic, The Artist, The Farmer, and Tlie Phy-
sician,
Mrs. Tuthill is also the author of a novel for
mature readers published in 1 S46 with the title
My Wife, and of a tasteful volume, Tlie History
of Aichitecture, published in 1848. In 1849 she
prepared The Nursery Book, a volume of counsel
to mothers on tlie care of their young offspring.
The writings of Mrs. Tuthill are admirably
adapted for the class to whom they are addressed,
and have met with success. They are sensible
and practical in their aims, and written in an
agreeable style. Mrs. Tuthill is at present a resi-
dent of Princeton, New Jersey.
PLINY MILES.
Pliny Miles, whose name is pleasantly sugges-
tive of his principal pursuit, that of a traveller
and observer of nature, is a son of Captain Jona-
than E. Miles, one of the early settlers of Water-
town, New York. He was educated on the
farm, but on coming of age engaged in merchan-
RICHARD B. KIMBALL ; AMELIA B. WELBY.
677
dise, and afterwards studied law. He next
passed five years in travelling through the United
States, supporting himself hy lecturing ami writ-
ing letters in the newspapers. At the expiration
of this period he passed a second term of five
years in a similar manner in the Old World.
Mr. Miles's newspaper correspondence, under
the staid signature, on the lucus a non lucendo
principle, of Communipaio, would fill several vo-
lumes. But a single episode of his journeyiiigs,
Rambles in, Iceland, has yet appeared in hook
form. It is a pleasant record of a tour, involv-
ing some adventure and exposure in an unfre-
quented part of the world. In place of a cita-
tion from its pages we however present a more
comprehensive, and at the same time concise ac-
count of Mr. Miles's " voyages and travels," which
we find in the New York Illustrated News of
October 29, 1853. The statement was elicit-
ed by some exception being taken at one of
Mr. Miles's letters on Western railroads, — his ac-
curacy being called in question on the plea that
he was " the stationary correspondent of the
Post."
In the name of buffaloes and sea breezes what
would you have, my dear fellow? I've been in
every sea-port o;i the Atlantic, from Newfoundland
to Key West; danced over the sparkling waves of
the Moro Castle; " schounered" it through the Gulf
of Mexico ; travelled every foot of the Mississippi,
from the Belize to the Falls of St. Anthony, 2,300
miles, aad the most of it several times over; wan-
dered five hundred miles into the Indian territory,
beyond the white settlements; steamed up the Illi-
nois ; stayed a while at Peoria, got caught there in
an awful, snow storm, and then went through the
great lakes and the St. Lawrence to the Falls of the
Montmorency. I have visited every great curiosity,
nearly every state capital, and every State in the
Union except California and Texas. Across the
" herring pond" I travelled through almost every
kingdom; and saw nearly every crowned head in
Europe; wandered over the highlands of Scotland ;
stoned the cormorants in Fingal's cave ; shot sea-
gulls in Shetland ; eat plovers and other wild birds
in Iceland; cooked my dinner in the geysers; cooled
my puach with the snows of Mount Hecla, and
toasted my shins at the burning crater on its sum-
mit I trod the rough mountains of Norway ; cele-
brated " Independence Day" off its coast; fished in
the Maelstrom, or near it; ate ^our crout with the
Dutch, frogs with the Frenchmen, and macaroni
with the Italians; walked over the top of Vesuvius
in one day, from Pompeii to Naples ; lay all night
near ^Etna's summit, seeing an eruption with red
hot rocks shooting a thousand feet in the air; sailed
by Stromboli at midnight ; landed where St. Paul
did at Rhegium, saw the Coliseum by moonlight,
visited Corsica's rocky isle, Sardinia and Elba, and
steamed close to Monte Christo's home ; admired the
Chateau d'lf at Marseilles, and spent months among
the viue-clad hills of la belle France. Why, yes,
man, I've been up in a balloon and down in a div-
ing bell ; shot alligators in the Mississippi and spar-
rows in Northumberland ; eaten " corn dodgers" in
Tennessee, black bread in Denmark, white bread in
London, and been where I found it precious hard
work to get any bread at all. I've rode in a Jersey
wagon in Florida, a go-cart in Illinois, and on an
English express train at fifty miles an hour, and
gone a-foot and carried a knapsack when I found
travelling dear and wanted to save money. I've
been sixty-five voyages at sea ; rode over nearly
every railroad in Europe and more than one-half in
this country, and travelled over a hundred thousand
miles, and scarcely slept six nights in a place for
more than ten years.
RICHARD B. KIMBALL,
A descendant from an old and influential family,
was born in Lebanon, New Hampshire. After
completing his collegiate course at Dartmouth in
1834, and devoting the year following to the
study of the law, he went to Europe, where he
continued his legal studies in Paris, and made an
extensive and thorough tour in Great Britain and
on the Continent. On his return he commenced
the practice of his profession at Waterford, New
York, but soon after removed to the City of New
York, where, with the exception of the time oc-
cupied in a second European tour in 1842, he has
since resided.
Mr. Kimball has for several years been a con-
stant contributor to the Knickerbocker Magazine.
In 1849 his novel St. Leger or the Threads of
Life was reprinted from the pages of that peri-
odical. It is the story of a mind in pursuit of
truth, and the mental repose consequent on a de-
cided faith. In connexion with this main thread
we have many scenes of active life, romantic
adventure, and picturesque description.
In the same year Mr. Kimball published Cuba
and the Cubans, and in 1853 a pleasant volume
of tales and sketches, entitled, Romance of Student
Life Abroad.
AMELIA B. WELBY,
The author of Poem* by Amelia, first published in
the Louisville Journal, and afterwards in Boston
and New York, was born at St. Michael's, in Mary-
(iUuiW i) \^
678
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
land, in 1821. She removed with her father ear-
ly to the West, and resided in Kentucky at Lexing-
ton and Louisville, ■where she was married to
Mr. George Welby. She died in 1852.
The chief edition of Mrs. Welby's poems was
published by Messrs. Appleton in 1850, with a
series of tasteful illustrations by R. C. Weir.
The frequent elegiac topics of the verses of this
author ma}T have assisted their popularity. They
are mostly upon themes of domestic life and na-
tural emotion ; and, without profound poetical cul-
ture, are written with ease and animation.
THE OLD MAID.
Why sits she thus in solitude? her heart
Seems melting in her eyes' delicious blue ;
And as it heaves, her ripe lips lie apart,
As if to let its heavy throbbings through ;
In her dark eye a depth of softness swells,
Deeper than that her careless girlhood wore ;
And her cheek crimsons with the hue that tells
The rich, fair fruit is ripened to the core.
It is her thirtieth birthday ! With a sigh
Her soul hath turned from youth's luxuriant
bowers,
And her heart taken up the last sweet tie
That measured out its links of golden hours!
She feels her inmost soul within her stir
With thoughts too wild and passionate to speak ;
Yet her full heart — its own interpreter —
Translates itself in silence on her cheek.
Joy's opening buds, affection's glowing flowers,
Once highly sprang within her beaming track;
Oh, life was beautiful in those lost hours !
And yet she does not wish to wander back !
No ! she but loves in loneliness to think
On pleasures past, though never more to be ;
Hope links her to the future, but the link
That binds her to the past is memory !
From her lone path she never turns aside,
Though passionate worshippers before her fall,
Like some pure planet in her lonely pride,
She seems to soar and beam above them all!
Not that her heart is cold ! emotions new
And fresh as flowers are with her heart-strings
knit ;
And sweetly mournful pleasures wander through
Her virgin soul, and softly ruffle it.
For she hath lived witli heart and soul alive
To all that makes life beautiful and fair ;
Sweet thoughts, like honey-bees, have made their
hive
Of her soft bosom-cell, and cluster there;
Yet life is not to her what it hath been ;
Her soul hath learned to look beyond its gloss,
And now she hovers, like a star, between
Her deeds of love, her Saviour on the cross !
Beneath the cares of earth she does not bow,
Though 6he hath ofttimes drained its bitter cup,
But ever wanders on with heavenward brow,
And eyes whose lovely lids are lifted up!
She feels that in that lovelier, happier sphere,
Her bosom yet will, bird-like, find its mate,
And all the joys it found so blissful here
Within that spirit-realm perpetuate.
Yet sometimes o'er her trembling heart-strings
thrill
Soft sighs, for raptures it hath ne'er enjoyed ;
And then she dreams of love, and strives to fill
With wild and passionate thoughts the craving
void.
And thus she wanders on, — half sad, half blest, —
Without a mate for the pure, lonely heart,
That, yearning, throbs within her virgin breast,
Never to find its lovely counterpart!
JANE T. WOETHINGTON.
Tms lady, the wife of Dr. F. A. Worthington, a
physician of Ohio, whose maiden name was Jane
Tayloe Lomax, was a native of Virginia. Her
writings in prose and verse appeared frequently in
the Southern Literary Messenger. Her composi-
tions were in a vein of excellent sense and refine-
ment.
MOONLIGHT ON THE GEAVE.
It shineth on the quiet graves
Where weary ones have gone,
It watcheth with angelic gaze
Where the dead are left alone ;
And not a sound of busy life
To the still gravej'ard comes,
But peacefully the sleepers lie
Down in their silent homes.
All silently and solemnly
It throweth shadows round,
And every gravestone hath a trace
In darkness on the ground:
It looketh on the tiny mound
Where a little child is laid,
And it lighteth up the marble pile
Which human pride hath made.
It falleth with unaltered ray
On the simple and the stern,
And itshoweth with a solemn light
The sorrows we must learn ;
It telleth of divided ties
On which its beam hath shone,
It whispereth of heavy hearts
Which " brokenly live on."
It gleameth where devoted ones
Are sleeping side by side,
It looketh where a maiden rests
Who in her beauty died.
There is no grave in all the earth
That moonlight hath not seen ;
It gnzeth cold and passionless
Where agony ! ath been.
Yet it is well ; that changeless ray
A deeper thought should throw,
When mortal love pours forth the tide
Of unavailing woe;
It teacheth us no shade of grief
Can touch the starry sky,
That all our sorrow liveth here—
The glory is on high.
LTJCT HOOPEK.
Miss LToorER was born in Newburyport, Massa-
chusetts, February 4, 1816. She was carefully
trained by her father, and was wont in after lite
to attribute her facility in composition to the ex-
ertions of this parent. At the age of fifteen she
removed with her family to Brooklyn, where the
remaining ten years of her life were pawed.
Most of Miss Hooper's poems were contributed
to the Long Island Star, a daily paper, where they
appeared signed with her initials. She was also
the author of a few prose sketches, collected in a
volume in 1840, with the title Scene* from Real
Life, and a prize essay on Domestic Happiness.
Lucy Hooper died on Sunday, August 1, 1841.
CATHARINE LUDERS.
67!)
The estimation in which she was held, was touch-
in gly shown in the numerous testimonies to her
gentle excellences pulilislied after her decease,
prefixed to the volume of her Complete Poetical
Works, published in 1848.* Among these we
find verses hy Wintrier and Tuckerman.
Lucy Hooper was a devout member of the
Episcopal Church, and many of her poems arc
naturally drawn from the incidents of its ritual.
Others are of a descriptive or reflective cha-
racter.
THE DAUGHTER OF nEROBIAS.
"Written after seeing, among a collection of beautiful paint-
ings, (copies from the old masters, recently sent to New York
from Italy,) one representing the daughter of Herodias, bear-
ing the head of John the Baptist on a charger, anil wearing
upon her countenance an expression, not of triumph, as one
might suppose, but rather of soft and sorrowful remorse, as
she looks upon the calm and beautiful features of her vic-
tim.
Mother ! I bring thy gift,
Take from my hand the dreaded boon— I pray
Take it, the still pale sorrow of the face
Hath left upon my soul its living trace,
Never to pass away ;
Since from these lips one word of idle breath
Blanched that calm face — oh ! mother, this is death.
What is it tlint I see
From all the pure and settled features gleaming ?
Reproach ! reproach ! My dreams are strange and
wild ;
Mother ! had'st thou no pity on thy child ?
Lo ! a celestial smile seems softly beaming
On the hushed lips — my mother, eau'st thou brook
Longer upon thy victim's face to look?
Alas ! at yestermorn
My heart was light, and to the viol's sound
I gaily danced, while crowned with summer flowers,
And swiftly by me sped tiie flying hours,
Aud all was joy around:
Not death ! Oh ! mother, could I say thee nay ?
Take from thy daughter's hand thy boon away!
Take it! my heart is sad,
And the pure forehead hath an icy chill —
I dare not touch it, for avenging Heaven
Hath shuddering visions to my fancy given,
And the pale face appals me, cold and still,
With the closed lips — oh! tell me, could I know
That the pale features of the dead were so?
I ma}7 not turn away
From the charmed brow, and I have heard his
name
Even as a prophet by his people spoken —
And that high brow, in death, bears seal and token
Of one whose words were flame:
Oh! Holy Teacher! could'st thou rise and live.
Would not these hushed lips whisper, " I forgive ?"
Away with lute and harp,
With the glad heart for ever, and the dance,
Never again shall tabret sound for me ;
Oli! fearful mother! I have brought to thee
The silent dead, with his rebuking glance,
And the crushed heart of one, to whom are given
Wild dreams of judgme it and offended Heaven!
CATHARINE LTJDERS.
A number of brief poems of a delicate and sim-
ple turn of expression and of a domestic pathetic
interest have appeared from time to time in the
* 8vo. pp. 404.
magazines and the Literary World, by " Emily
Hermann." The author is Mrs. Catharine Luders,
lately a resident of the West, in Indiana.
THE BUILDING AND BIRDS.
We are building a pleasant dwelling,
And the orchard trees are set ; ■
Yellow violets soon will open,
With tiny streaks of jet.
The wild-cherry buds are swelling,
And the brook runs full below ;
Dim harebells in the garden,
And crocuses are in blow.
In the tops of the tulip-giants,
In the red-bud and the oak,
The spring-birds are all beginning
The pleasures of home to invoke.
They've built in our little parlour,
Where the floor was lately laid,
And it pleased us to give them shelter
In the nice new nest they made.
Those merry grey forest-rangers
To the green West now have come,
Wayfarers, like us, and strangers,
To build them a pleasant home.
They've reared a domestic altar
To send up their hymns at even ;
Their songs and our own may mingle
Sometimes at the gates of heaven !
PLANTING IN RAIN.
We planted them in the rain,
When the skeleton building rose,
And here we sit, in the sultry day,
Where grateful shadows close.
We read in our pleasant books,
Or help the children play,
And weave long wreaths of dandelions
When the down is blown away.
The murmuring bell we hear,
For lowing herds are nigh,
With softened twilight in our heart,
And memories gone by.
Wild doves and orioles
Build in the orchard trees,
Anil where, on earth, are people poor
Who greet such friends as these ?
They at our porch peep in
And sing their roundelay,
While bright-eyed rabbits near the steps,
In their nimble, fearless way.
In autumn, with apron in hand,
Cornelia waits near yon tree,
To catch the fruit from the grateful root.
Here set by our brothers and me.
Thus, where dense thickets rose,
And mouldering trees have lain,
Much happiness dwells for human hearts,
Under vines that were planted in rain.
THE LITTLE FROCK.
A common light blue muslin frock
Is hanging on the wall.
But no one in the household now
Can wear a dress so small.
The sleeves are both turned inside out,
And tell of summer wear ;
They seem to wait the owner's hands
Which last year hung them there.
680
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Twas at the children's festival
Her Sunday dress was soiled — ■
You need not turn it from the light —
To me it is not spoiled !
A sad and yet a pleasant thought
Is to the spirit told
By this dear little rumpled thing,
With dust in every fold.
Why should men weep that to their home
An angel's love is given —
Or that before them she is gone
To blessedness in heaven!
ESTELLE ANNA LEWIS.
Mes. Lewis was born near Baltimore, Maryland,
at the country-seat of her father, Mr. J. N. Rob-
inson, who died while his daughter was in her
infancy. He was a gentleman of large fortune,
and of strongly marked qualities of character.
His wife was a daughter of an officer of the
Revolutionary war.
Our author was educated at the Female Semi-
nary of Mrs Willard at Troy, where she added
to the usual accomplishments of a polite educa-
tion, a knowledge of Lptiti and even the study of
law. During these i fhool days, she published a
series of stories in the Family Magazine, edited
by Solomon Southwick at Albany. Leaving the
seminary in 1841, she was married to Mr. S. D.
Lewis, a lawyer of Brooklyn, N. Y., in which
city she has since resided.
t>i\tSiiL Wvw^a JlwtS
LTer first volume of poems, chiefly lyrical, The
Records of the Heart, was published by the
Appletons in 1844.
In 1846, Mrs. Lewis published a poem, The
Broken Heart, a Tale of Hiipanioia, in the
Democratic Review. The Child of the Ssa, and
Other Poems, appeared from the press of Mr.
George P. Putnam, in 1848.
In 1849, The AngeVs Visit, Tlie Orphan's
Hymn, The Prisoner of Perote, etc., were printed
in Graham's Magazine. In 1851, appeared in the
same magazine, The Cruise of Aureana, Melodi-
ana's Dream, Adelina to Ad.hemer, a series of
sonnets from the Italian, and during the same
year, a series of sonnets entitled, My Study,
in the Literary World. In 1852, the Appletons
issued the Myths of the Minstrel. In 1854,
Mrs. Lewis published in Graham's Magazine,
Art and Artists in America, a series of critical
and biographical essays.
The poems of Mrs. Lewis are marked by a
certain passionate expression, united with the
study of poetic art. Her chief production, The
Child of the Sea, exhibits ability in the construc-
tion of the story — a tale of sea adventure, of love
and revenge, — and has force of imagination as a
j whole, and in its separate illustrations.
MY BTUDY.
S This is my world- — my argel-guarded shrine,
1 Which I have made to suit my heart's great need,
When sorrow dooms it overmuch to bleed:
Or, when aweary and athirst I pine
For genial showers and sustenance divine;
When Love, or Hope, or Joy my heart deceive,
And 1 would sit me down alone to grieve —
My mind to sad or studious mood resign.
Here oft, upon the stream of thought 1 lie,
Floating whichever way the waves are flowing —
Sometimes along the banks of childhood going,
Where all is bud, and bloom, and melody,
Or, wafted by some stronger current, glide,
Where darker frown the steeps and deeper flows the
tide.
Yes, 'tis my Cdabi — a shrine below,
Where my Soul sits within its house of clay,
Listing the steps of angels come and go —
Sweet missioned Heralds from the realms of day.
One brings me rays from Regions of the sun,
One comes to warn me of some pending dart,
One brings a laurel leaf for work well done,
Another, whispers from a kindred Heart. —
Oh ! this I would not change for all the gold
That lies beneath the Sacramento's waves,
For all the Jewels Indian coffers hold,
For all the Pearls in Oman's starry caves —
The lessons of all Pedagogues are naught
To those I learn within this holy Fane of thought.
Here blind old Homer teaches lofty song ;
The Lesbian sings of Cupid's pinions furled,
And how the heart is withered up by wrong ;
Dante depictures an infernal world,
Wide opening many a purgatorial aisle ;
Torquato rings the woes of Palestine,
Alphonso's rage and Leonora's smile —
Love, Beauty, Genius, Glory all divine;
Milton depamts the bliss of Paradise,
Then flings apart the ponderous gates of Hell,
Where Satan on the fiery billow lies,
" With head uplift," above his army fell, —
And Avon's Bard, surpassing all in art,
Unlocks the portals of the human heart.
GEEECE — FEOM THE CHILD OF THE SEA.
Shrine of the Gods ! mine own eternal Greece !
When shall thy weeds be doffed — thy mournii.g
cease?
The gyves that bind thy beauty rent in twain,
And thou be living, breathing Greece again i
Grave of the mighty ! Hero — Poet — Sage —
Whose deeds are guiding stars to every ageJ
Land unsurpassed in glory and despair,
Still in thy desolation thou art fair !
JULIA WARD HOWE.
681
Low in sepulchral dust lies Pallas' shrine —
Low in sepulchral dust thy Fanes divine —
Aud all thy visible self ; yet o'er thy clay,
Soul, beauty, lingers, hallowing decay.
Not all the ills that war entailed on thee.
Not all the blood that stained Thermopylae —
Not all the desolation traitors wrought —
Not all the woe and want invaders brought —
Not all the tears that slavery could wring
From out thy heart of patient suffering —
Not all that drapes thy loveliness in night,
Can quench thy spirit's never-dying light;
But hovering o'er the lust of gods enshrined,
It beams, a beacon to the march of mind —
An oasis to sage and bard forlorn — ■
A guiding star to centuries unborn.
For thee I mourn — thy blood is in my veins —
To thee by consanguinity's strong chains
I'm bound and fain would die to make thee free ;
But oh! there is no Liberty for thee I
Not all the wisdom of thy greatest One — *
Not all the bravery of Thetis' Sou —
Not all the weight of mighty Phoebus' ire —
Not all the magic of the Athenian's Lyre —
Can ever bi 1 thy tears or mourning cease
Or rend one gyve that binds thee, lovely Greece.
Where Corinth weeps beside Lepanto's deep,
Her palaces in desolation sleep.
Seated till dawn on moonlit column, I
Have soug'it to probe eternal Destiny ;
I've roamed, fair Hellas, o'er thy battle-plains.
And stood within Apollo's ruined fanes,
Invoked the spirits of the past to wake,
Assist with swords of fire thy chains to break ;
But only from the hollow sepulchres,
Murmured, " Eternal slavery is hers !"
And on thy bosom I have laid my head
And poured my soul out — tears of lava shed ;
Before thy desecrated altars knelt,
To calmer feelings felt my sorrows melt,
And gladly with thee would have made my home
But pride and hate impelled me o'er the foam,
To distant lauds and seas unknown to roam.
THE FORSAKEN.
It hath been said, for all who die
There is a tear ;
Some pining, bleeding heart to sigh
O'er every bier:
But in that hour of pain and dread
Wiio will draw near
Around my humble coach, and shed
One farewell tear ?
Who watch life's last, departing ray
In deep despair,
And soothe my spirit on its way
With holy prayer i
What mourner round my bier will come
" In weeds of woe,"
And follow me to my long home —
Solemn and slow?
When lying on my clayey bed,
In icy sleep,
Who there by pure affection led
Will come and weep —
By the pale moon implant the rose
" Upon my breast,
And bill it cheer my dark repose,
My lowly rest ?
* Lycnrgns.
Could I but know when I am sleeping
Low in the ground,
One faithful heart would there be keeping
Watch all night round,
As if some gem lay shrined beneath
The sod's cold gloom,
'Twould mitigate the pangs of death,
Aud light the tomb.
Yes, in that hour if I could feel
From halls of glee
And Beauty's presence one would steal
In secrecy,
Aud come aud sit and weep by me
In night's deep noon — ■
Oli ! I would ask of Memory
No other boon.
But all ! a lonelier fate is mine —
A deeper woe :
From all 1 love in youth's sweet time
I soon must go —
Draw round me my cold robes of white,
In a dark spot
To sleep through Death's long, dreamless night,
Lone and forgot.
JULIA WAKD HOWE.
The fntlier of Mrs. Howe, Samuel Ward, the
New York banker, whose liberality was freely
expended on public-spirited and educational ob-
jects, as the Historical Society, the University,
and Stuyvesant Institute of New York, was born
in Rhode Island, a descendant of an old soldier
of Cromwell, who settled in Newport after the
2l^wc-
irz*~£
accession of Charles II., and who married a grand-
daughter of Roger William?. Their son Richard
became Governor of the State, and one of his
sons, Samuel, was from 177-4 to 1776 a member
of the Old Continental Congress. This Samuel
left a son Samuel, who served in the war of the
Revolution, and was with Arnold in his expedi-
tion to Quebec. He was the grandfather of our
author.
6S2
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Her mother, a daughter of the late Mr. B. C.
Cutler, of Boston, was a lad}' of poetic culture, a
specimen of whose occasional verses is given in
Griswold's Female Poets of America.
Miss Ward, after having received an education
of unusual care and extent from the most ac-
complished teachers, was married in 1843 to the
distinguished Philhellene and philanthropist of
Boston, Dr. Samuel G. Howe, with whom she
has resided in Europe, under peculiarly favorable
opportunities for the study of foreign art and life.
A volume of poems from her pen, Pa-vion Flowers,
published in 1854, is a striking expression of her
culture, and of thoughts and experience covering
a wide range of emotion, from sympathies with
the " nationalities"' of Europe, to " the fee griefs
due to a single breast."
An appreciative critic in the Southern Quar-
terly Review* has thus characterized the varying
features of the book.
" The art is subordinate to the feeling ; the thought
more prominent than the rhyme ; there is far more
earnestness of feeling than fastidiousness of taste :
— instead of being the result of a dalliance with fancy,
these effusions are instinct with the struggle of life ;
they are the offspring of experience more than of
imagination. They are written by a woman who
knows how to think as well as to feel ; one who has
made herself familiar with the higher walks of litera-
ture ; who has deeply pondered Hegel, Comte, Swe-
denborg, Goethe, Dante, and all the masters of song,
of philosophy, and of faith. Thus accomplished, she
has travelled, enjoyed cultivated society, and gone
through the usual phases of woinauly development
and duty. Her muse, therefore, is no casual impulse
of juvenile emotion, no artificial expression, do spas-
modic sentiment ; but a creature born of wide aud
deep reflection ; of study, of sorrow, yearnii g, love,
care, delight, and all the elements of real, and
thoughtful, and earnest life."
TITE CITY OF MY LOVE.
She sits among the eternal hills,
Their crown, thrice glorious and dear,
Her voice is as a thousand tongues
Of silver fountains, gurgling clear.
Her breath is prayer, her life is love,
Aud worship of all lovely things;
Her children have a gracious port,
Her beggars show the blood of kings.
By old Tradition guarded close.
None doubt the grandeur she has seen ;
Upon her venerable front
Is written : " I was born a Queen ! "
She rules the age by Beauty's power,
As once she ruled by armed might ;
The Southern sun doth treasure her
Deep ia his golden heart of light.
Awe strikes the traveller when he see3
The vision of her distant dome,
And a strange spasm wrings his heart
As the guide whispers, " There is Rome!"
Rome of the Romans ! where the Gods
Of Greek Olympus long held sway ;
Rome of the Christians, Peter's tomb,
The Zion of our later day.
Rome, the mailed Virgin of the world,
Defiance on her brows and breast ;
* July, ISM.
Rome, to voluptuous pleasure won,
Debauched, and locked in drunken rest.
Rome, in her intellectual day,
Europe's intriguing step-dame grown;
Rome, bowed to weakness and decay,
A canting, mass-frequenting crone.
Then th' unlettered man plods on,
Half chiding at the spell he feels,
The artist pauses at the gate,
And on the wonderous threshold kneels.
The sick man lifts his languid head
For those soft skies and balmy airs;
The pilgrim tries a quicker pace.
And hugs remorse, and patters prayers.
For ev"n the grass that feeds the herds
Methinks some unknown virtue yields
The very hinds in reverence tread
The precincts of the ancient fields.
But wrapt in gloom of night and death, '
I crept to thee, dear mother Rome ;
And in thy hospitable heart,
Found rest and comfort, health and home.
And friendships, warm and living still,
Although their dearest joys are fled ;
True sympathies that bring to life
The better self, so often dead.
For all the wonder that thou wert,
For all the dear delight thou art,
Accept an homage from my lips,
That warms again a wasted heart.
And, though it seem a childish prayer,
I've breathed it oft, that when I die,
As thy remembrance dear in it,
That heart in thee might buried lie.
ALICE B. HAVEN,
TnE author of numerous poems and tales, and of
several volumes published under the name of
" Cousin Alice," was born at Hudson, New York.
^4C^ 6%. ^t~^~
Her maiden name was Bradley. She early be-
came a contributor to the periodicals of the day.
In 1846 she was married to the late Joseph C.
CATHERINE WARFIELD; ELEANOR LEE.
6S3
Neal, the author of the Charcoal Sketches. Upon
his death, a tew months afterwards, she took
charge of the literary department of Meal's Ga-
zette, of which her husband had been a proprietor,
and conducted it for several years with ability.
Her articles, poems, tales, and sketches, appeared
frequently during this time in the leading monthly
magazines. A volume from her pen, The Gos-
sip* of Eivertown, with Sketches in Prose and
Verse, was published in 1S50. The main story
is an illustration of the old village propensity of
scandal, along with which the traits and manners
of country life are exhibited in a genial, humorous
way. Mrs. Haven is also the author of a series
of juvenile works, published under the name of
" Cousin Alice." They arestories written to illus-
trate various proverbial moralities, and are in a
happy vein of dialogue and description, pervaded
by an unobtrusive religions feeling. They are
entitled, Helen Morton's Trial; No Such Word
as Fail ; Contentment better than Wealth ; Pa-
tient Waiting No L>>ss ; All's not Gold that Glit-
ters, or the Young Californian, etc.
In 1833 Mrs. Seal was married to Mr. Samuel
L. Haven, and has since resided at Mamaroneck,
Westchester county, New York.
TREES IN TnE CITY.
Tis beautiful to see a forest stand,
Brave with its moss-grown monarchs and the pride
Of foliage dense, to which the south wind bland
Comes with a kiss, as lover to his bride ;
To watch the light grow fainter, as it streams
Through arching aisles, where brandies interlace,
Where so ubre pines rise o'er the shadowy gleams
Of silver biren, trembling with modest grace.
But they who dwell beside the stream and hill,
Prize little treasures there so kindly given ;
The song of birds, the babbling of the rill,
The pure unclouded light and air of heaven.
They walk as those who seeing cannot see,
Blind to this beauty even from their birth,
We value little blessings ever free,
We covet most the rarest thii.gs of earth.
But rising from the dust of busy streets,
These forest children gladden many hearts;
As some old friend their welcome presence greets
The toil-worn soul, and fresher life imparts.
Their shade is doubly grateful when it lies
• Above the glare which stifling walls throw bnek,
Through quivering leaves we see the soft blue skies,
Then happier tread the dull, unvaried track.
And when the first fresh foliage, emerald-hued,
Is opening slowly to the sun's glad beams,
How it recalleth scenes we once have viewed,
And childhood's fair but long-forgotten dreams!
The gushing spring, with violets clustering round—
The dell where twin flowers trembled in the
breeze —
The fairy visions wakened by the sound
Of evening winds that sighed among the trees.
There is a language given to the flowers —
To me, the trees " dumb oracles" have been;
As waving softly, fresh from summer showers,
Their whisper to the heart will entrance win.
Do they not teach us purity may live
Amid the crowded haunts of sin and shame,
And over nil a soothing influence give —
Sad hearts from fear and sorrow oft reclaim ?
And though transferred to uncongenial soil,
Perchance to breathe alone the dusty air,
Burdened with sounds of never-ceasing toil —
They rise as in the forest free and fair ;
They do not droop and pine at adverse fate,
Or wpnder why their lot should lonely prove.
But give fresh life to hearts left desolate,
Fit emblems of a pure, unselfish love.
THE CHURCH.
I will show thee the bride, the Lamb's wife. — Rev. xxi. 9.
Clad in a robe of pure and spotless white,
The youthful bride with timid step comes forth
To greet the Band to which she plights her troth,
Her soft eyes radiant with a strange delight.
The snowy veil which circles her around
Shades the sweet face from every gazer's eye,
And thus enwrapt, she passes calmly by —
Nor casts a look but on the unconscious ground.
So should the Church, the bride elect of Heaven, —
Remembering Whom she goeth forth to meet,
And with a truth that cannot brook deceit
Holding the faith, which unto her is given —
Pass through this world, which chums her for a
while,
Nor cast about her longing look, nor smile.
CATHERINE WAP.FIELD-ELEANOR LEE,
"Two Sisters of the West," a i they appeared on
the title-page of a joint volume, The Wife of
Leon and Other Poems, published in New York
in 1843, are the daughters of the Hon. Nathaniel
Ware, of Mississippi, and were born near the city
of Natchez. Miss Catherine Ware was married
to Mr. Warfield of Lexington, Kentucky; Miss
Eleanor to Mr. Lee of Vicksburg. A second
volume of their joint contribution, The Indian
Chamber and 0 her Poems, appeared in 1846.
The part taken by either author in the volumes
is not distinguished. The poems in ballad, narra-
tive, and reflection, exhibit a ready command of
poetic language, and a prompt susceptibility to
poetic impressions. They have had a wide popu-
larity.
I WALK IN DKEAM9 OF rOETUY.
I walk ill dreams of poetry ;
They compass me around ;
I hear a low and startling voice
In evei-y passing sound ;
I meet in every gleaming star,
On which at eve I gaze,
A deep and glorious eye, to fill
My soul with burning rays.
I walk in dreams of poetry;
The very air I breathe
Is filled with visions wild and free.
That round my spirit wreathe ;
A shade, a sigh, a floating cloud,
A low and whispered tone —
These have a language to my brain,
A language deep and lone.
I walk in dreams of poetry,
And in my spirit bow
Unto a lone and distant shrine,
That none around me know,
From every heath and hill I bring
A garland rich and rare,
Of flowery thought and murmuring sigh.
To wreathe mine altar fair.
I walk in dreams of poetry :
Strange spells are on me shed ;
I have a world within my soul
Where no one else may tread —
684
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
-1
A deep and wide-spread universe,
Where spirit-sound and sight
Mine inward vision ever greet
With fair and radiant light.
My footsteps tread the earth below,
While soars my soul to heaven :
Small is my portion here— yet there
Bright realms to me are given.
I clasp my kindred's greeting hands,
Walk calmly by their side,
And yet I feel between us stands
A barrier deep and wide.
I watch their deep and household joy
Around he evening hearth,
When the children stand beside each knee
With laugh and shout of mirth.
But oh ! I feel unto my soul
A deeper joy is brought —
To rush with eagle wings and strong,
Up in a heaven of thought.
I watch them in their sorrowing hours,
When, with their spirits tossed,
I hear them wail with bitter cries
Their earthly prospects crossed;
I feel that I have sorrows wild
In my heart buried deep —
Immortal griefs that none may share
With me — nor eyes can weep.
And strange it is : I cannot say
If it is wo or weal,
That thus unto my heart can flow
Fountains so few may feel ;
The gift that can my spirit raise
The cold, dark earth above,
Has flurg a bar between my soul
And many a heart I love.
Yet I walk in dreams of poetry,
And would not change that path,
Though on it from a darkened sky
Were poured a tempest's wrath.
Its flowers are mine, its deathless blooms,
I know not 3*et the thorn ;
I dream not of the evening glooms
In this my radiant morn.
Oh ! still in dreams of poetry,
Let me for ever tread,
With earth a temple, where divine,
Bright oracles are shed :
They soften down the earthly ills
From which they cannot save;
They make a romance of our life;
They glorify the grave.
SnE COMES TO ME.
She comes to me in robes of snow,
The fiiend of all my sinless years —
Even as I saw her long ago,
Before she left this vale of tears.
She comes to me in robes of snow —
She walks the chambers of my rest,
With soundless footsteps sad and slow,
That wake no echo in my breast.
I see her in my visions yet,
I see her in my wakir g hours ;
Upon her pale, pure brow is set
A crown of azure hyacinth flowers.
Her golden hair waves round her face,
And o'er her shoulders gently falls:
Each ring'et hath the nameless grace
My spirit yet on earth recalls.
And, bending o'er my lowly bed,
She murmurs — " Oh, fear not to diel — '
For thee an angel's tears are shed,
An angel's feast is spread on high.
" Come, then, and meet the joy divine
That features of the spirits wear:
A fleeting pleasure here is thine —
An angel's crown awaits thee there.
" Listen ! it is a choral hymn " —
And, gliding softly from my couch,
Her spirit-face waxed faint and dim,
Her white robes vanished at my touch.
She leaves me wTith her robes of snow —
Hushed is the voice that used to thrill
Around the couch of pain and wo —
She leaves me to my darkness still.
SAEAH S. JACOBS,
A ladt of Rhode Island, the daughter of a
Baptist clergyman, the late Rev. Bela Jacobs, is
remarkable for her learning and cultivation. She
has of late resided at Cambridgeport, Mass.
There lias been no collection of her writings, ex-
cept the few poems which have been brought
together in Dr. Griswold's Female Poets of
America.
BENEDETTA.
By an old fountain once at day's decline
We stood. rIhe winged breezes made
Short flights melodious through the lowering vine.
The lindens flung a golden, glimmering shade,
And the old fountain played.
I a stern stranger — a sweet maiden she,
And beautiful as her own Italy.
At length she smiled; her smile the silence broke.
And my heart finding language thus it spoke :
" Whenever Benedetta moves,
Motion then all Nature loves,
When Benedetta is at rest,
Quietness appeareth best.
She makes me dream of pleasant things,
Of the young corn growing ;
Of butterflies' transparent wings
, In the sunbeams rowing ;
Of the summer dawn
Into daylight sliding ;
Of Dian's favorite fawn
Among laurels hiding ;
Of a movement in the tops
Of the most impulsive trees;
Of coed, glittering drops
God's gracious rainbow sees ;
Of pale moons ; of saints
Chanting anthems holy ;
Of a cloud that faints
In evening slowly ;
Of a bird's song in a grove,
Of a rosebud's love ;
Of a lily's stem and leaf,
Of dew-silvered meadows ;
Of a child's first grief;
Of soft-floating shadows ;
Of the violet's breath
To the moist wind given ;
Of early death
And heaven."
I ceased: the maiden did not stir,.
Nor sperk, nor raise her bended head ;
And the green vjnes enfoliaged her,
And the old fountain played.
Then from the church beyond the trees
ELIZABETH C. KINNEY ; SARA JANE LIPPINCOTT.
685
Chimed the bells to evening prayer :
Fervent the devotions were
Of Benedetta on her knees ;
And when her prayer was over,
A most spiritual air
Her whole form invested,
As if God did love her,
And his smile still rested
On her white robe and flesh,
So innocent and fresh —
Touching wherever it fell
With a glory visible.
She smiled, and crossed herself, and smiled again
Upon the heretic's sincere " Amen !"
" Buona notte," soft she said or sung —
It was the same on that sweet southern tongue —
And passed. I blessed the faultless face,
All in composed gentleness arrayed ;
Then took farewell of the secluded place ;
And the tall lindens flung a glimmering shade
And the old fountain played.
Aud this was spring. In the autumnal weather,
One golden afternoon I wandered thitlfer;
And to the vineyards, as I passed along,
Murmured this fragment of a broken song :
" I know a peasant girl serene —
What though her home dotli lowly lie I
The woods do homage to their queen,
The streams flow reverently nigh
Benedetta, Benedetta!
' " Her eyes, the deep, delicious blue
The stars and I love to look through;
Her voice the low, bewildering tone,
Soft winds and she have made their own
Benedetta, Benedetta!"
She was not b}T the fountain — but a band
Of the fair daughters of that sunny land.
Weeping they were, and as they wept they threw
Flowers on a grave. Then suddenly I knew
Of Benedetta dead:
And weeping too,
O'er beauty perished,
Awhile with her companions there I stood,
Then turned anil went back to my solitude ;
Aud the tall lindens flung a glimmering shade,
And the old fountain played.
ELIZABETH C. KINNEY.
' Mr.s. Elizabeth C. Kixxey is a native of New
York, the daughter of Mr. David L, Dodge, a mer-
chant of the city. She is married to Mr. William
B. Kinney, editor of the Newark Daily Adver-
tiser, where, as well as in the magazines and lite-
rary journals of the day, many of her poetic com-
positions have appeared. In 1850, she accom-
panied her husband on his mission as Charge
d' Affaires to Sardinia. A fruit of her residence
abroad has been a narrative poem entitled FeUcitn,
a Metrical Romance ; the story of a lady sold into
Moorish captivity by her father, who is rescued
by a slave ; and after having passed through a
sorrowful love adventure, dies in a convent. The
numerous occasional poems of Mrs. Kinney have
not been collected.
TnE spif.it of song.
Eternal Fame! thy great rewards,
Throughout all time, shall be
The right of those old master bards
Of Greece and Italy ;
And of fair Albion's favored isle,
Where Poesy's celestial smile
Hath shone for ages, gilding bright
Her rocky cliffs and ancient towerB,
And cheering this New World of ours
With a reflected light.
Yet, though there be no path untrod
By that immortal race —
Who walked with Nature as with God,
And saw her face to face —
No living truth by them unsung,
No thought that hath not found a tongue
In some strong lyre of olden time —
Must every tuneful lute be still
That may not give the world a thrill
Of their great harp sublime ?
Oh, not while beating hearts rejoice
In music's simplest tone,
And hear in Nature's every voice
An echo to their own !
Not till these scorn the little rill
That runs rejoicing from the hill,
Or the soft, melancholy glide
Of some deep stream through glen and glade,
Because 'tis not the thunder made
By ocean's heaving tide !
The hallowed lilies of the field
In glory are arrayed,
And timid, blue-eyed violets yield
Their fragrance to the shade;
Nor do the wayside flowers conceal
Those modest charms that sometimes steal
Upon the weary traveller's eyes
Like angels, spreading for his feet
A carpet, filled with odors sweet,
And decked with heavenly dyes.
Thus let the affluent soul of Song —
That all with flowers adorns — -
Strew life's uneven path along,
And hide its thousand thorns :
Oh, many a sad ami weary heart,
That treads a noiseless way apart,
Has blessed the humble poet's name
For fellowship, refined and free,
In meek wild-flowers of poesy,
That asked no higher fame!
And pleasant as the waterfall
To one by deserts bound,
Making the air all musical
With cool, inviting sound —
Is oft some unpretending strain
Of rural song, to him whose brain
Is fevered in the sordid strife
That Avarice breeds 'twixt man and man,
While moving on, in caravan,
Across the sands of Life.
Yet not for these alone he sings :
The poet's breast is stirred
As by the spirit that takes wings
And carols in the bird !
He thinks not of a future name,
Nor whence his inspiration came,
Nor whither goes his warbled song :
As Joy itself delights in joy.
His soul finds li'e in its employ,
And grows by utterance strong.
.SARA JANE LIPPINCOTT.
Tnis lady, whose productions in prose and verse
are known to the public under Iter nom de plume
" Grace Greenwood," was born at Onondaga, in
the State of New York, of New England parent-
fiSfi
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE,
age. Her early years were passed at Rochester,
New York. Her father afterwards removed to
New Brighton, a picturesquely situated village in
Beaver Co., "Western Pennsylvania, where she has
since chiefly resided. In 1850 she was married
to Mr. Lippincott, of Philadelphia.
| Pi
2-z-ZV«-£>— v^c£s
Two series of Greenwood Leaves, portions of
which were originally contributed as letters to
the New Mirror of Messrs. Morris and Willis,
have been published in Boston by Messrs. Tick-
nor and Co., who also issued a volume of the
author's Poetical Works in 1851. Mrs. Lippin-
cott has also published Hops and Mishaps of a
Tour in Europe, including an enthusiastic account
of numerous European friends of the author, and
several juvenile books, History of My Pets, Re-
collections of My Childhood and Merrie England.
The prose writings of "Grace Greenwood" are
animated by a hearty spirit of out-of-door life
and enjoyment, and a healthy, sprightly view of
society. Her poems are the expressions of a
prompt, generous nature.
[The demi-god,- Theseus, having won the love of Ariadne,
daughter of the king of Crete, deserted her on the i-le of
Naxos. In Miss Bremer's " II- — Tamily," the blind girl is
described as singing, '' Ariadne a Novok," in which Ariadne
is represented as following Theseus, climbing a high rock to
watch his departing vessel, and calling on him in her despair-
ing anguish.]
Daughter of Crete, how one brief hour,
Ere in thy young love's early morn,
Sends storm and darkness o'er thy bower—
Oh doomed, nh desolate, oil lorn]
The breast which pillowed thy fair head
Rejects its burden — and the eye
Which looked its love so earnestly,
Its last cold glance bath on thee shed —
The arms which were thy living zone,
Around thee closely, warmly thrown,
Shall others clasp, deserted one !
j Yet, Ariadne, worthy thou
Of the dark fate which meets thee now,
For thou art grovelling in thy woe —
Arouse thee I joy to bid him go.
For god above, or man below,
Whose love's warm and impetuous tide
Cold interest or selfish pride
Can chill, or stay, or turn aside,
Is all too poor and mean a thing
One shade o'er woman's brow to fling
Of grief, regret, or fear.
To cloud one morning's rosy light,
Disturb the sweet dreams of one night,
To cause the soft, lash of her eye
To droop one moment mournfully,
Or tremble with one tear !
'Tis thou should'st triumph — thou art free
From chains that bound thee for awhile —
This, this the farewell meet for thee,
Proud princess, on that lonely isle!
" Go, to thine Athens bear thy faithless name 1
Go, base betrayer of a holy trust !
Oh, I could bow me in my utter shame,
And lay my crimson forehead in the dust,
If I had ever loved thee as thou art,
Folding mean falsehood to my high, true heart!
" But thus I loved thee not. Before me bowed
A being glorious in majestic pride
And breathed his love, and passionately vow.ed
To worship only me, his peerless bride ;
And this was thou, but crowned, enrobed, entwined.
With treasures borrowed from my own rich mind.
" I knew thee not a creature of my dreams,
And my rapt soul went floating into thine;
My love around thee poured such halo beams
Itad'st thou been true had made thee all divine
And I, too, seemed immortal in my bliss,
When my glad lip thrilled to thy burning kiss.
" Shrunken and shrivelled into Theseus now
Thou stand'st — the gods have blown away
The airy crown which glittered on thy brow,
The gorgeous robes which wrapt thee for a day.
Around thee scarce one fluttering fragment clings,
A poor, lean beggar in all glorious things !
" Nor will I deign to cast oa thee my hate —
It were a ray to tinge with splendour still
The dull, dim twilight of thy after fate —
Thou siialt pass from me like a dream of ill,
Thy name be but a thing that crouching stole,
Like a poor thief, all noiseless from my soul !
"Though thou hast dared to steal the sacred flame
From out that soul's high heaven, she sets thee
free,
Or only chains tlree with thy sounding shame —
Her memory is no Caucasus for thee !
And even her hovering hate would o'er thee fling
Too much of glory from its shadowy wing!
" Thou think'st to leave my life a lonely night —
Ha, it is night all glorious with its stars I
Hopes yet unclouded beaming forth their light,
And free thoughts welling in their silver cars,
And queenly pride, serene, and cold, and high,
Moves the Diana of its calm, clear sky.
" If poor and humble thou believest me,
Mole of a demi-god, how blind art thou I
For I am rich in scorn to pour on thee,
And gods shall bend from high Olympus' brow,
And gaze in wonder on my lofty pride —
Naxos be hallowed, I be deified !"
On the tall cliff, where cold and pale,
Thou watchest his receding sail,
ALICE CAREY ; PHEBE CAREY.
687
Where thou, the daughter of a king,
Wail'st like a breaking wind-harp's string —
Bend'st like a weak and wilted flower,
Before a summer evening's shower ;
There shonld'st rear thy royal form
Like a young oak amid the storm
Uncrushe I, unbowed, uuriren!
Let thy last glance burn through the air,
And fall far down upon him tliere,
Like lightning stroke from heaven !
There shonld'st thou mark o'er billowy crest,
His white sail flutter and depart;
No wild fears surging at thy breast,
No vain hopes quivering round thy heart!
And this brief, burning prayer alone,
Leap from thy lips to Jove's high throne :
" Just Jove, thy wrathful vengeance stay,
And Bpee 1 the traitor on his way !
Make vain the siren's silver song,
Let nerei Is smile the wave along!
O'er the wild waters send his barque,
Like a swift arrow to its mark !
Let whirlwinds gather at his back,
And drive him on his dastard track !
Let thy red bolts behind him burn,
And blast him should he dare to turn !"
ALICE CAEEY-PHEBE CARET.
Alice Carey was born in Mount Healthy, near
Cincinnati, in 1822. She first attracted notice as
a writer by a serie-i of sketches of rural life in the
National Era, with the signature of Patty Lee.
In 1850 she published, with her younger sister
Phebe, a volume of Poems at Philadelphia.
A volume of prose sketched — C'overnook, or
Recollection* of Oar Neighborhood in the West —
followed in 1851. A second series of these
pleasant papers appeared in 1853. A third glean-
ing from the same field, for the benefit of more
youthful raaders, was made in 1855 in Clorer-
noolc Children. Lyra, and Other Poems, was
published in 1852; followed by L a inr, a Story
of Tn-diy, in 1853. She; has since published two
other stories — Mirried, not Mated, and UnUy-
wood — xnd a new collection of Poems in 1855.
Miss Alice Carey has rapidly attained a de-
servedly high position. Her poems are thought-
ful, forcible, and melodiously expressed. In com-
mon with her prose writings, they are drawn
from her own observation of life and nature.
PICTURES OF MEMORY.
Among the beautiful pictures
That hang on Memory's wall,
Is one of a dim old forest,
That seemeth best of all •
Not for its gnarled oaks olden,
Dark with the mistletoe ,
Not for the violets golden
That sprinkle the vale below ;
Not for the milk- white lilies
That lean from the fragrant hedge,
Coquetting all day with the sunbeams,
And stealing their golden edge ;
Not for the vines on the upland
Where the bright red berries rest,
Nor the pinks, nor the pale, sweet cowslip,
It seemeth to me the best.
I once had a little brother,
With eyes that were dark and deep —
In the lap of that old dim forest
He lieth in peace asleep :
Light as the down of the thistle,
Free as th'e winds that blow,
We roved there the beautiful summers
The summers of long ago ;
But his feet on the hills grew weary,
And, one of the autumn eves,
I made for my little brother
A bed of the yellow leaves.
Sweetly his pale arms folded
My neck in a meek embrace,
As the light of immortal beauty
[Silently covered his face :
And when the arrows of sunset
Lodged in the tree-tops bright,
He fell, in his saint-like beauty,
Asleep by the gates of light.
Therefore, of all the pictures
That hang on Memory's wall,
The one of the dim old forest
Seemeth the best of all.
MULBERRY HILL.
Oh, sweet was the eve when I came from the mill,
Adown the green windings of Mulberry Hill :
My heart like a bird with its throat all in tune,
That sings in the beautiful bosom of June.
For tliere, at her spinning, beneath a broad tree,
By a rivulet shining and blue as the sea,
I first saw my Mary — her tiny feet bare,
And the buds of the sumach among her black hair.
They called me a bold enough youth, and I would
Have kept the name honestly earned, if I could ;
But, somehow, the song I had whistled was hushed,
And, spite of my manhood, I felt that I blushed.
I would tell you, but words cannot paint my de-
light,
When she gave the red buds for a garland of white,
When her cheek with soft blushes — but no, 'tis in
vain !
Enough that I loved, and she loved me again.
Three summers have come and gone by with their
charms,
And a cherub of purity smiles in my arms,
With lips like the rosebud and locks softly light
As the flax which my Mary was spinning that night.
And in the dark shadows of Mulberry Hill,
By the grass-covered road where I came from the
mill,
And the rivulet shining and blue as the sea,
My Mary lies sleeping beneath the broad tree.
NOBILITY.
Hilda is a lofty lady,
Very proud is she —
I am but a simple herdsman
Dwelling by the sea.
Hilda hath a spacious palace.
Broad, and white, and high;
Twenty good dogs guard the portal — ■
Never house had I.
Hilda hath a thousand meadows —
Boundless forest lands :
She hath men and maids for service —
I have but my hands.
The sweet summer's ripest roses
Hilda's cheeks outvie —
Queens have paled to see her beauty —
But my beard have I.
Hilda from her palace windows
Looketh down on me,
Keeping with my dove-brown oxen
By the silver sea.
6s3
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAS' LITERATURE.
When he-r dulcet harp sue playeth,
Wild birds singing nigh,
Cluster, listening, by her white hands —
But my reed have I.
I am but a simple herdsman.
With nor house nor lands ;
She hath men and maids for service —
I have but my hands.
And yet what are all her crimsons
To mv sunset sky —
With my free hands and my manhood
Hilda's peer am I.
Miss Piiebe Cap.et has, like her sister, been a
frequent contributor to the periodicals of the day.
She published in 185-i a volume of Poems and
Parodies.
COMING HOME.
How long it seems since first we heard
The cry of " land in sight I "
Our vessel surely never sailed
So slowly till to-night.
When we discerned the distant hills,
The sun was scarcely set,
And. now the noon of night is passed,
They seem no nearer yet.
Where the blue Rhine reflected back
Each frowning castle wall,
Where, in the forest of the Ilartz,
Eternal shadows fall —
Or where the yellow Tiber flowed
By the old hills of Rome —
I never felt such restlessness,
Such longing for our home.
Dost thou remember, oh, my friend,
When we beheld it last,
How shadows from the setting sun
Upon our cot were cast?
Three summer-times upon its walls
Have shone for us in vain ;
But oh, we're hastening homeward now.
To leave it not again.
There, as the last star dropped away
From Right's imperial brow,
Did not our vessel " round the point? "
The land looks nearer now !
Yes, as the first faint beams of day
Fell on our native shore,
They're dropping anchor in the bay,
We're home, we're home once more !
ELI3E JUSTINE BAYAED.
Miss E. J. Bavakd, the daughter of Mr. Robert
Bayard of Glenwood, near Fishkill, N. Y., is
the author of a number of poems, several of
which have appeared in the Knickerbocker
Magazine and Literary World. The following
is noticeable for its thought and feeling, and
no less for its happy literary execution.
FTTNEEAL CHANT FOR THE OLD TEAE.
Tis the death-night of the solemn Old Year !
And it ealleth from its shroud
With a hollow voice and loud,
But serene :
And it saith — " What have I given
That hath brought thee nearer heaven?
Dost thou weep, as one forsaken,
For the treasures I have taken ?
Standest thou beside my hearse
With a blessing or a curse ?
Is it well with thee, or worse
That I have been ?
"Tis the death-night of the solemn Old Year !
The midnight shades that fall, —
They will serve it for a pall,
In their gloom ; —
And the misty vapours crowding
Are the withered corse enshrouding;
And the black clouds looming off in
The far sky, have plumed the coffin,
But the vaults of human souls,
Where the memory unrolls
All her tear-besprinkled scrolls,
Are its tomb I
Tis the death-night of the solemn Old Year !
The moon hath gone to weep
With a mourning still and deep
For her loss : —
The stars dare not assemble
Through the murky night to tremble —
The naked trees are groaning
With an awful, mystic moaning —
Wings sweep upon the air,
Which a solemn message bear,
And hosts, whose banners wear
A crowned cross 1
'Tis the death-night of the solemn Old Year!
Who make the funeral train
When the queen hath ceased to reign ?
Who are here
With the golden crowns that follow-
All invested with a halo?
With a splendour transitory
Shines the midnight from their glory,
And the pa?an of their song
Rolls the aisles of space along,
But the left hearts are less strong,
For they were dear I
'Tis the death-night of the solemn Old Year !
With a dull and heavy tread
Tramping forward with the dead
Who come last ? ^
Ling'ring with their faces groundward,
Though their feet are marching onward,
They are shrieking, — they are calling
On the rocks in tones appalling,
But Earth waves them from her view, —
And the God-light dazzles through,
And they shiver, as spars do,
Before the blast !
'Tis the death-night of the solemn Old Year !
We are parted from our place
In her motherly embrace,
And are lone!
For the infant and the stranger
It is sorrowful to change her —
She hath cheered the night of mournirg
With a promise of the dawning ;
She hath shared in our delight
With a gladness true and bright:
Oh ! we need her joy to-night—
But she is gone !
CAEOLINE MAT.
Tnis lady is the daughter of a clergyman of the
Dutch Reformed Church of the City of New
York. The chief collection of her poems is in-
cluded in a few pages of Mr. Griswold's Female
Poets of America. She is the editor of a Collec-
tion of the Female Poets of America, wliich ap-
HARRIET WINSLOW LIST; ELIZABETH LLOYD.
689
seared at Philadelphia in 1848, and of a volume,
Treasured Thoughts from Favorite Authors.
THE SAUBATII OF THE YEAE.
It is the sabbath of the year;
And if ye'll walk abroad,
A holy sermon ye shall hea.-,
Full worthy of record.
Autmnn the preacher is ; and look —
As other preachers do,
He takes a text from the one Great Boo!:,
A text both sad and true.
With a deep, earnest voice, he sakh —
A voice of gentle grief,
Fitting the minister of Death — ■
" Ye all fade as a leaf;
And your iniquities, like the wind,
Have taken you away ;
Ye fading flutterers, weak and blind,
Repent, return, and pray."
And then the Wind ariseth slow,
And giveth out a psalm —
And the organ-pipes begin to blow,
Within the forest calm ;
Then all the Trees lift up their hands,
And lift their voices higher,
And sing the notes of spirit bands
In full and glorious choir.
YTes! 'tis the sabbath of the year!
And it doth surely seem,
(But words of reverence and fear
Should speak of such a theme,)
That the corn is gathered for the bread,
And the berries for the wine,
And a sacramental feast is spread,
Like the Christian's pardon sign.
And the Year, with sighs of penitence,
The holy feast bends o'er ;
For she must die, and go out hence —
Die, and be seen no more.
Then are the choir and organ still,
The psalm melts in the air,
The Wind bows down beside the hill,
And all are hushed in prayer.
Then comes the Sunset in the West,
Like a patriarch of old,
Or like a saint who hath won his rest,
His robes, and his crown of gold;
And forth Ins arms he stretcheth wide,
And with solemn tone and clear
He blesseth, in the eventide,
The sabbath of the year.
HAEEIET WINSLOW LIST.
Tiie following poem was brought into notice a
few years since by Mr. Longfellow, who included
it in the choice collection of minor poems, The
Waif. It was printed there anonymously with
the omission of a few of its stanzas. The author
was Miss Harriet Winslow, since married to Mr.
Charles List of Pennsylvania.
TO THE UNSATISFIED.
■ Why thus longing, thus for ever sighing
For the far-off, unattained and dim ;
While the beautiful all around thee lying,
Offers up its low, perpetual hymn ?
Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching,
All thy restless yearning it would still,
Leaf and flower and laden bee are preaching
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill.
VOL. II. — f-i
Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee
Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw ;
If no silken cord of love hath bound thee
To some little world through weal or woe ;
If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten, —
No fond voices answer to thine own ;
If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten
By daily sympathy and gentle tone.
Not by deeds that win the crowd's applauses.
Not by works that give thee world-renown,
Not by martyrdom, or vaunted crosses,
Canst thou win and wear the immortal crown :
Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely,
Every day a rich reward will give;
Thou wilt find, by hearty striding only,
And truly loving, thou canst truly live.
Dost thou revel in the rosy morning,
When all nature hails the lord of light ;
Anil his smile, the mountain-tops adorning,
Robes yon fragrant field in radiance bright.
Other hands may grasp the field and forest ;
Proud proprietors in pomp may shine:
But with fervent love if thou adorest,
Thou art wealthier; — all the world is thine.
Yet, if through earth's wide domains thou rovest,
Sighing that they are not thine alone,
Not those fair fields, but thyself thou lovest,
And their beauty, and thy wealth are gone.
Nature wears the colours of the spirit ;
Sweetly to her worshipper she sings ;
All the glory, grace, she doth inherit
Round her trusting child she fondly flings.
ELIZABETH LLOYD.
Miss Elizabeth: Lloyd, a lady of Philadelphia, is
the author of the following poem, which recently
attracted attention in " going the rounds of the
press." It was stated in the newspapers to have
been taken from mi Oxford edition of Milton'b
Works.
MILTON ON niS BLINDNESS.
I am old and blind!
Men point at me as smitten by God's frown :
Afflicted and deserted of my kind,
Yet am I not cast down,
I am weak, yet strong :
I murmur not, that I no longer see ;
Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong,
Father Supreme ! to Thee.
0 merciful One !
When men are farthest, then art Thou most near ;
When friends pass by, my weakness to shun,
Thy chariot I hear.
Thy glorious face
Is leaning toward me, and its holy light
Shines in upon my lonely dweliing-place —
And there is no more night.
On my bended knee,
I recognise Thy purpose, clearly shown ;
My vision Thou hast dimmed, that I may son
Thyself, Thyself alone.
1 have naught to fear ;
This darkness is the shadow of Thy win£ ;
Beneath it I am almost sacred — here
Can come no evil thing.
Oh ! I seem to stand
Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been.
Wrapped in the radiance from Thy sinless land,
Which eye hath never seen.
390
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
Visions come and go ;
Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng ;
From angel lips I seem to hear the flow
Of soft and holy so:.g.
It is nothing now,
When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes,
"When airs from Paradise refresh my brow,
The earth in darkness lies.
In a purer clime,
My being fills with rapture — waves of thought
Roll in upon my spirit — strains sublime
Break over me unsought.
Give me now my lyre ?
I feel the stirrings of a gift divine:
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire
Lit by no skill of mine.
CAROLINE CHESEBRO'.
Miss Chebebp.o' was born at Canandaigna, where
she has always resided with her family. Her
first literary articles, a series of tales and sketches,
were written for Graham's Magazine and Holden's
Dollar Magazine in 1848. Since that time con-
tributions have appeared from her pen in The
Knickerbocker, Putnam's, Harpers',, and other
magazines, and in the newspapers, to which on
two occasions, in Philadelphia and New York, she
contributed prize tales. In 1851 she published
a collection of tales and sketches, Dream-Land, oy
Daylight, a Panorama of Romance. The title is
suggestive of the fanciful, reflective, and occa-
sionally sombre character of the work, qualities
which also mark Miss Chesebro's later and more
elaborate productions, I>a, a Pilgrimage, and
The Children of Light, a Theme for the Times,
tales, each occupying a separate volume, and writ-
ten with energy and thoughtfulness. The scene
of these writings is laid in America at the present
day. They are grave in tone, and aim rather at
the exhibition of mental emotion than the out-
ward, salient points of character.
THE BLACK FROST.
Methinks
This word of love is fit for all the world,
And that for gentle hearts a:>other name
Would speak of gentier thoughts than the world owns.
It was a clear, calm night. Brightly shone the
innumerable stars : the fixed orbs of giant magni-
tude, the little twinkling points of light, the glorious
constellations — in their imperial beauty stood they,
gazing upon the mysterious face of darkness— a
clear, calm, terribly cold night.
Winter had not as yet fairly set in. There had
been no snow, but it was very late in the autumn,
and the grass, and the flowering shrubs and trees,
looked as though they had each and all felt the cruel
breath of the Destroyer, as he pronounced the doom
upon them.
People rubbed their hands, and talked with qui-
vering lips of the hard winter coming, as they has-
tened, in the increasing shadows of the night, to
their bonus. The children, warmed and gladdened
by the bright fires that were kindled on the hearth-
stones, romped, and frolicked, and prophesied, with
knowing looks, about snow-balling, sleigh-rides, skat-
ing, and all manner of fun. The young girls met to-
gether, and talked merrily of coming gaieties; the
old man wondered whether he should see another
Eprirg-tirne; and the poor crept to their beds at
nightfall, glad to forget everything — cold, hunger,
mj misery — in sleep.
Midnight came. More and more brightly shone
the stars — they glowed, they trembled, and smiled
on one another. The cold became intense — in the
deep silence how strangely looked the branches of
the leafless trees ! how desolate the gardens and the
forest — how very still the night did seem!
Close beside an humble cottage, under a huge
bush of flowering-currant, had flourished all the
autumn a tiny violet-root. And still, during the in-
creasing cold of the latter days, the leaves had con-
tinued green and vigorous, and the flowers opened.
There had been an arrival at the cottage that
day. Late in the afternoon, a father and mother,
with their child, had returned from long wandering
in foreign lands.
A student had watched their coming. In the
morning, he had gathered a flower from that little
root in their garden, and now, as he sat in the long
hours of night, poring over his books, he kept the
violet still beside him, in a vase which held the trea-
sures of a green-house, and his eyes rested often on
the pale blue modest flower.
At nightfall, a youthful form had stood for a mo-
ment at the cottage-door, and the young invalid's
eyes, which so eagerly sought all familiar things, at
last rested on those still living flowers — flowers,
where she had thought to find all dead, even as
were those buds which once gave fair promise of
glorious opening in her girl-heart! Unmindful of
the cold and dampness, she stepped from the house,
and passed to the violet-root, and, gathering all the
flowers but one, she placed them in her hair, and
then hastened with a shiver back to the cottage.
In the fast-increasing cold, the leaves that were
left bowed down close to the earth, and the delicate
flowers crowning the pale, slender stem, trembled
under the influence of the frost.
The little chamber where Mary lay down to rest,
was that which, from her childhood", had been set
apart for her occupation ; a pleasant room, endeared
to her by a thousand joyful dreams dreamed within
its shade — solemnized to her also by that terrible
wakening to sorrow which she had known.
She reclined now on Iter bed in the silentness, the
darkness; but she rested not, she slept not. The
young girl's eyes, fixed on the far-off stars, on the
glorious heavens, her thoughts wandered wild and
free, but her body was circled by the arm of Death.
She had not yet slept at all that night ; she had
not slept for many nights. Winter was reigning in
Mary's heart— it had long reigned there. She was
remembering now, while others nestled in the arms
of forgetfulness, those days that were gone, when
she had looked with such trust and joy upon the
years to be — how that she had longed for the slowly-
unfolding future to develop itself fully, completely!
how she had wholly given herself to the fancies and
the hopes of the untried. Alas! she had reached,
she had passed, too soon, that crisis of life winch
unfolds next to the expectant the season of winter —
she had seen the gajr flowers fading, the leaves
withering, the glory of summer pass. And yet how
young, how very young she was!
They who saw the shadow brooding over her, out
of which she could not move, they who loved, who
almost worshipped her, the father and the mother,
had in every manner sought, how vainly! to stop
the course of that disease which fastened upon her —
they could not dispel the sorrow which had blighted
her life. She also, for a moment, desperately as
they, had striven with her grief, but now, in the
cheerless autumn time, she was come back to her
home, feeling that it would be easier there to die.
Gazing from her couch out upon the "steadfast
skies" — thinking on the past, and the to-come — the
EDWARD MATURIN.
691
to-come of the dying ! Yet the thought of death
and judgment terrified her not. Surely she would
find mercy and heart's ease in the Heaven over
which the merciful is king!
But suddenly, in the niglit's stillness, in the cold-
ness and the darkness, she arose ; and steadfastly
gazed, for an instant, upward, far upward, where a
star shot from the zenith, down, down, to the very
horizon. She fell back at the sight, her spirit sped
away with that swift glory flash — Mar;/ ims dead!
In that moment the student also stood beside his
window. The lire in the grate had died away, the
lamp was nearly exhausted; wearied with his long-
continued work, he had risen, and now, for an in-
stant, stood looking upon the heavens. There was
sadness and weariness in his heart. The little vio-
let, and the travellers1 return, had strangely affected
him : for onee he found not in his books the satis-
faction which he sought: he felt that another life
than that of a plodding book-worm might be led by
him. His dreams in the morning hour were not
pleasant as he slept. They were solely of one whose
love he had set at naught for the smiles of a sterner
love; of one whom he now thought of, as in the
spring-time of his life, when she was all the world
to him. And now that she was come again, and he
should see her once more! ah, he would bow before
her as he once had, and she, who was ever so gentle,
so loving, so good, would not spurn him : she would
forget his forgetfulness, she would yet give to him
that peace, that joy which he had never quaffed at
the fountains of learning!
Up rose the sun, and people saw how the Black
Frost was over the earth, binding all things in its
hard, close, cold embrace. Later in the morning, a
little child, passing by the cottage, paused and peep-
ed through the bars upon the violet-root. Yester-
night, when she v m'\ l;ome from school, she saw
the flowers bloo n. :g tasre, the pale, blue, faint-
hearted looking flowers — -and1 now she remembered
to look if they were there still. But though she
looked long and steadfastly where the sunlight fell
beneath the currant-bush, she could not see that she
sought for ; so passing quietly through the gate, slie
Stopped down where the violets had been, and felt
the leaves, and knew that they were frozen ; and it
was only by an effort that she kept back the fast-
gathering tears, when she looked on the one flower
Mary had left, and saw how it was drooped and
dead.
But a sadder s'ght. and one more full of meaning,
was presented in the pleasant chamber, whose win-
dow opened on the yard where the blossoming bushes
grew. For there a woman bent over the bed where-
on another frost-killed flower lay, moaning in the
bitterness of grief, the death of her one treasure!
Still later in the day another mourner stood in
that silent place, thinking of the meteor and the
violet. It was the student, he who in remorse and
anguish came, bemoaning the frost-blighted. Too
late, too late, he came to tell his love — too late to
crave forgiveness, too late to soothe the broken-
hearted ! Now stood he himself in the valley of the
shadow of woe.
And the snow and the storms abounded. Winter
was come 1
EDWARD MATURIN,
Trre author of several historical novels, and of a
volume of poems of merit, is the son of the cele-
brated Irish novelist and dramatist, the Rev.
Charles Robert Maturin. He has for a number
of 5rears been a resident of New York; and has
married an American lady.
Mr. Maturin has published Montezuma, The
Laxt of the Aztecs, a spirited prose romance,
drawn from the brilliant and pathetic history of
the Mexican chieftain, followed by Benjamin, the
Jew of Granada, a story the scene of which is y
laid in the romantic era of the fall of the Moslem
empire in Spain, and in 1848, Eva, or the Isles of
Life and Death ; a historical romance of the
twelfth century in England, in which Dermod
M'Murrough acts a leading part.
In 1850 he published Lyrics of Spain and
Erin, a volume of genuine enthusiasm, and re-
fined though irregular poetic expression. The
author, who' shows much of the poet in his prose
writings, finds in the stirring historical ballad of
Spain and the pathetic legend of Ireland his ap-
propriate themes.
The latest production of Mr. Maturin was
Bianca, a passionate story of Italian and Irish
incident, published by the Harpers in 1853.
THE SEASONS — FROM A POEM " THE WOODS."
What spirit moves within your holy shrine?
'Tis Spring — the year's young bride, that gladly
pours
Above — around — an effluence Divine
Of light and life, falling in golden showers —
And with her come the sportive nymphs in dance
Like waves that gambol in the Summer's glance,
Untwining bowers from their Winter's sleep,
Unlocking rivers from their fountains deep,
Tinting the leaf with verdure, that had lain
Long-hid, like gold within the torpid grain,
Chauuting her choral song, as Nature's eyes
First greet the bridal of the earth and skies.
The Spring is past ; — and blushing summer comes,
Music and sunshine throng her see:, ted way;
The birds send gladly from their bowered homes,
Their pa?an at the birth of flowery May!
From close to shut of Day ; yes, far and near
The spell of mystic music chains the ear ;
All Nature, from her bosom pouring forth
Sounds such as make a Temple of the earth
Returns in one full stream of harmony
The angel-echoes that she hears on high —
Beautiful Summer ! fling thy crown of flowers
O'er this dull earth through winter's weary hours ;
Let them not fade — oh ! let not sere and blight
Darken thy prism'd couch with shade of Night ;
Let not thy music ever break its spell,
Like heaven-bound pilgrim bidding earth " Fare-
well !"
Oh ! silence not thy music — let thy flowers
Be earth's bright stars responding to the skies;
Wreathing her graves with those immortal bowers
Thy rosy hand 'twined 'round the Dead in Paradne !
Oh ! not a vision here but it must pass
Like our own image from Life's spectre-glass ;
Summer is faded, and the Autumn sere
Gathers the fallen leaves upon her bier.
And, like the venomed breath of the Simoom
That turns Zahara's desert to a tomb.
Breathes on the buried Summer's shrined abo:le,
And leaves a spectre what she found — a Go 1 !
'Tis thus, ye woods! your melancholy tale
Hath more of truth than rose and lily pale,
When the bright glories of the summer vie
To make the earth a mirror of the sk}'.
In Autumn's time-worn volume do we read
The sacred moral — All things earthly fade ;
Ami trace upon the page of every leaf
That first and latest human lesson — grief!
692
CYCLOP JJDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
But hark ! that dreary blast that rolls
Like heart-wrung waitings of unburied souls,
'Tis winter's breath
That comes from the land of Death
"Where the Arctic fetters the main ;
Like the lightning it darts
When its meteor part3
And dissolves, like the elond in rain ;
And now pale Winter cometh frore
From the dark North's drear and lifeless shore;
And round his form, trembling and old,
Hangs his snow-robe in drifting fold.
As that ye see on the mountain-height,
Like Death asleep in the calm moonlight —
His diadem gleams with the icicle bright.
And his sceptre of ice to destroy and to smite ;
Like a monarch he sweeps from the mount to the
vale.
In his chariot that glistens with hoar-frost and hail:
His palace the iceberg adorned with spars,
Like a wandering heaven all fretted with stars.
■WILLIAM EOSS WALLACE
Is a native of Lexington, Kentucky. Ho received
his education in that state, studied law and came
to New York, where he has been since a resident.
In 1848, he published Allan-, a Poetical Composi-
tion, "a romance of New York, intended to illus-
trate the influence of certain prejudices of society
and principles of law upon individual character
and destiny.* In 1851, he published Meditations
in America, and other Poems. They are mostly
marked hj a certain grandeur of thought and
eloquence of expression.
OF TB1SE OWN COUNTRY SING.
I met the wild-eyed Genius of our Land
In Huron's forest vast and dim ;
I saw her sweep a harp with stately hand ;
I heard her solemn hymn.
She sang of Nations that had passed away
From her own broad imperial clime ;
Of Nations new to whom she gave the 6 way:
She sang of God and Time.
I saw- the Past with all its rhythmic lore:
I saw the Present dearly glow ;
Shapes with veiled faces paced a far dim shore
And whispered "Joy" and "Wo!"
Her large verse pictured mountain, vale, and bay,
Our wide, calm rivers rolled along,
And many a mighty Lake and Prairie lay
In the shadow of her Song.
As in Missouri's mountain range, the vast
Wild Wind majestically flies
From crag to crag till on the top at last
The wild Wind proudly dies.
So died the Hymn. — " 0 Genius ! how can I
Crown me with Song as thou art crowned?"
She, smiling, pointed to the spotless sky
And the forest-tops around —
Then sang — " Not to the far-off Lands of Eld
Must thou for inspiration gn :
There Milton's large imperial organ swelled,
There Avon's waters flow.
" No Alien-Bard where Tasso's troubled lyre
Made sorrow fair, unchallenged dwells —
Where deep-eyed Dante with the wreath of fire
Came chanting from his Hells.
* Griswnld'fi Poets of America, Art. "Wallace.
" Yet sometimes sing the old majestic themes
Of Europe in her song enshrined:
These going wind-like o'er thy Sea of Dreams,
May liberalize the mind.
" Or learn from mournful Asia, as she lies
Musing at noon beneath her stately palms,
Her angel-lore, her wide-browed prophecies,
Her solemn-sounding psalms :
' Or sit with Afiuc when her eyes of flame
Smoulder in dreams, beneath their swarthy lids,
Of youthful Sphynx, and Kings at loud acclaim
On new-built Pyramids.
"But know tliv Highest dwells at Home: there
Art
And choral Inspirations spring;
If thou would'st touch the Universal Heart,
Of Thine Own Country Sing.
CHARLES ASTOE BEISTED,
The only son of the late Rev. John Bristed and
Magdalen Bentzon, eldest daughter of the late
John Jacob Astor, "was born in New York in
1820. He entered Yale College, where he took
the first Berkeleian prize for Latin composition
solus in the freshman and sophomore years, and
divided the Berkeleian classical prize of the senior
year with A. R. Macdonough, a son of Commo-
dore Macdonough. He was a frequent contribu-
tor at this time to the Yale Literary Magazine.
Having completed his studies at Yale, he went to
England, and passed five years at the University
of Cambridge, taking his B.A. degree at Trinity
College in 1845. At Trinity he gained a classical
prize the first year, the under-graduate and ba-
chelor prizes for English essays, and the first
prize-cup for an English oration. He was also
elected foundation-scholar of the college in 1844.
In the university he gained the under-graduate's
Latin essay prize in 1843, and was placed eighth
in the Classical Tripos of his year.
Having returned to America, he was married
in 1847 to the daughter of the late Henry Bre-
voort, one of the earliest friends and collaborators
of Washington Irving.
Mr. Bristed was at this time and afterwards a
frequent contributor of articles, poetical transla-
tions, critical papers on the classics, and sketches
of society, to the Literary World, Knickerbocker;,
the Whig Review, and other journals. Mr. Bris-
ted edited in 1849 Selections from Catullus, a
school edition, by G. G-. Cookesley, one of the
assistant-masters of Eton, which he revised, with
additional notes.
In 1850 he published A Letter to the Hon. Ho-
race Mann, in reply to some reflections of the
latter on Stephen Girard and John Jacob Astor,
in'a tract entitled " Thoughts for a Young Man."
In 1852 appeared The Upper Ten Thousand, a
collection of sketches of New York society, con-
tributed to Fraser's Magazine; which being writ-
ten for an English periodical, were minute in de-
scription of matters familiar at home, but this
particularity gave interest to the Mfe-like narra-
HENRY R. JACKSON; HENRY W. PARKER.
693
f.'ion in America as we'll. A certain personal pi-
quancy added to the attraction.
At the same time Mi-. Bristed publi-hed two
volumes of a graver character, Fire Years in an
English Universit;/, in which he described with
spirit, in a knowing, collegiate st\de, the man-
ners, customs, studies, and ideas ot a complex or-
ganization and mode of life but little understood
in America. In a rather extensive appendix to
the first edition of this work the author added a
series of his college orations and prize essays, and
of the examination papers of the university. The
work was an. acceptable one to scholars, and those
interested in the educational discipline on this
side of the Atlantic, as wed as to the general
reader.
Of late years Mr. Bristed jias passed much of
his time in Paris, and in the summer at Baden-
Baden. In a frequent correspondence with the
New York Spirit of the Times he has recorded
the life of Europe parsing under his eye, in mat-
ters of art, literature, the drama, and the social
aspect of the times. He has also resumed his
contributions to Fraser's Magazine on American
topics. An article in the number for July, 1855,
from his pen, treats of the relation of the English
press to the United States.
The writings of Mr. Bri>ted exhibit the union
of the man of the world and of books. His pic-
tures of society are somewhat remarkable for a
vein of freedom and candor of statement. As a
critic of Greek and Latin classical topics he is dili-
gent and acute, displaying some of the best quali-
ties of the trained English university man. He
has also published numerous occasional clever
poetical translations of classical niceties from
Theocritus, Ovid, and such moderns as Walter
de Mapes.
HEXEY P.. JACKSON
Was born at Athens, Georgia, in 1820. He is
the son of Dr. Henry Jackson, formerly professor
of natural philosophy in Franklin college in that
state. He was educated to the bar, and early
held the office of United States district attorney
for Georgia. At the commencement of the war
with Mexico he raised at Savannah a company
of one hundred men, called the Jasper Greens ;
marched to Columbus to form a regiment; was
elected colonel, proceeded to Mexico, and served
with distinction. On his return he was appoint-
ed Judge of the Superior Court of the Eastern
District of Georgia. He is at present Resident
Minister at Vienna, to which he was appointed
in 1853.
In 1850 Mr. Jackson published a volume, a
collection of fugitive verses, Tallulah and other
Poems. Its themes are cniefiy local, and of a
patriotic interest, or occupied with the fireside
affections. The expression is spirited and manly.
His Georgia lyrics, and his descriptions of the
scenery of the state, are animated and truthful
productions.
TOE LIVE-OAK.
With his gnnrled old arms, and his iron form,
Majestic in the wood,
From age to age, in the sun and storm,
The Live-oak long hath stood ;
With his stately air, that grave old tree,
He stands liiie a hooded monk,
With the grey moss waving solemnly
From his shaggy limbs and trunk.
And the generations come and go,
And still he stands upright,
And he sternly looks on the wood below,
As conscious of his might.
But a mourner sad is the hoary tree,
A mourner sad and lone,
And is clothed in funeral drapery
For the lo..g since dead and gone.
For the Indian hunter beneath his shade
Has rested from the chase ;
Aud he here has woo'd his dusky maid —
The dark-eyed of her race ;
And the tree is red with the gushing gore
As the wild deer panting dies :
But the maid is gone. and the chase is o'er,
And the old oak hoarsely sighs.
In former days, when the battle's dia
"Was loud aniid the land,
In his friendly shadow, few and thin,
Have gathered Freedom's band ,
And the stern old. oak, how proud was he
To shelter hearts so brave !
But they all are gone — -the bold and free — ■
And he moans above their grave.
And the aged oak, with his locks of grey,
Is ripe for the sacrifice ;
For the worm and decay, no lingering prey,
Shall lie tower towards the skies !
He falls, he falls, to become our guard,
The bulwark of the free,
And his bosom of steel is proudly bared
To brave the raging sea !
When the battle comes, and the cannon's roar
Booms o'er the shuddering deep,
Then nobly he'll bear the bold hearts o'er
The waves, with bounding leap.
Oh ! may those hearts be as firm and true,
When the war-clouds gather dun,
As the glorious oak that proudly grew
Beneath our southern sun.
HENEY W. PAEKEE.
TnE Rev. Hexrv W. Paekek, of Brooklyn, New-
York, is the author of a volume of poems pub-
lished at Auburn, New York, in 1850. It is a
delicate book, with many proofs of refinement and
scholarship, while a certain philosophical texture
runs through it. An appendix contains several
ingenious and fine-thoughted prose papers.
In 1851 Mr. Parker recited a poem, The Story
of a Soul, before the Psi Upsilon Convention at
Hamilton College.
THE CTTT OF TIIE DEAD.
Go forth and breathe the purer air with me,
And leave the city's sounding streets;
There is another city, sweet to see,
Whose heart with no delirium beats ;
The solid earth beneath it never feels
The dance of joy, the rush of care,
The jar of toil, the mingled roll of wheels ;
But all is peace aud beauty there.
No spacious mansions stand in stately rows
Along that city's silent ways ;
No lofty wall, nor level pavement, glows,
Unshaded from the summer rays ;
G94
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE.
No costly merchandise is heaped around,
No pictures stay the passer-by,
Nor plumed soldiers march to music's sound,
Nor toys and trifles tire the eye.
The narrow streets are fringed with living green,
And weave about in mazes there ■
The many hills bewilder all the scene,
And shadows veil the noonday glare.
No clanging bells ring out the fleeting hours,
But sunlight glimmers softly thro',
And marks the voiceless time in golden showers
On velvet turf and lakelets blue.
The palaces are sculptured shafts of stone
That gleam in beauty thro' the trees;
The cottages are mounds with flowers o'ergrown ;
No princely church the stranger sees,
But all the grove its pointed arches rears,
And tinted lights shine thro' the leaves,
And prayers are rained in every mourner's tears
Who for the dead in silence grieves.
And when dark night descends upon the tombs,
No reveller's song nor watchman's voice
Is here ! no music conies from lighted rooms
Where swift feet fly and hearts rejoice ;
'Tis darkness, silence all ; no sound is heard
Except the wind that sinks and swells,
The lonely whistle of the midnight bird.
And brooks that ring their crystal bells.
A city strange and still ! — its habitants
Are warmly housed, yet they are poor —
Are poor, yet have no wish, nor woes and wants ;
The broken heart is crushed no more,
No love is interchanged, nor bought and sold,
Ambition sleeps, the innocent
Are safe, the miser counts no more his gold,
But rests at last and is content.
A city strange and sweet! — its dwellers sleep
At dawn, and in meridian light, —
At sunset still they dream in slumber deep,
Nor wake they in the weary night ;
And none of them shall feel the hero's kiss
On Sleeping Beauty's lip that fell,
And woke a palace from a trance of bliss
That long had bound it by a spell.
A city strange and sad ! — we walk the grounds,
Or seek some mount, and see afar
The living cities shine, and list the sounds
Of throbbing boat and thundering car.
And we may go ; but all the dwellers here,
In autumn's blush, in winter's snow,
In spring and summer's bloom, from year to year,
They ever come, and never go !
CHARLES G. EASTMAN,
Of Vermont, for some time editor of the Ver-
mont Patriot at Montpelier, is the author of a
volume of Poems published in 1848. They are
marked by facility in the use of lyric and ballad
measures, and many are in a familiar sportive
The farmer sat in his easy chair
Smoking his pipe of clay,
While his hale old wife with busy care
Was clearing the dinner away;
A sweet little girl with fine blue eves
On her grandfather's knee was catching flies.
The old man laid his hand on her head,
With a tear on his wrinkled face,
He thought how often her mother, dead,
Had sat in the self-same place;
As the tear stole down from his half-shut eye,
" Don't smoke !" said the child, " how it makes you
cry!"
The house-dog lay, stretched out on the floor
Where the shade after noon used to steal,
The busy old wife by the open door
Was turning the spinning wheel,
And the old brass clock on the mantel-tree
Had plodded along to almost three, —
Still the farmer sat in his easy chair,
While close to his heaving breast,
The moist ened brow and the cheek so fair
Of his sweet grandchild were pressed ;
His head, bent down, on her soft hair lay —
last asleep were they both, that summer day !
JOHN OEVTLLE TEEET,
Of Orient, a village of Suffolk county, Longlsland,
published in New York in 1850 a volume of cha-
racteristic rural life, entitled The Poems of J. 0.
T., consisting of Song, Satire, and Pastoral De-
scriptions, chiefly depicting the Scenery, and illus-
trating the Manners and Customs of the Ancient
and Present Inhabitants of Long Island. The
book answers to its title. The verses are written
with ease and fervor, though sometimes careless-
ly, and have a genuine flavor of reality in the por-
traits of individuals, the various characteristics
of nature and the seasons, the sea, and landscape.
In his patriotic and satirical effusions, the author
has something of the spirit of Freneau.
ATTNT DI^AH.
Embowered in shade, by the side of a wood,
The cot of aunt Dinah delightfully stood,
1 A rural retreat, in simplicity drest,
Sequestered it sat like a bird in its nest:
Festooned with the brier, and scented with rose,
Its windows looked out on a scene of repose,
Its wood all in green, and its grass all in bloom,
Like the dwelling of peace in a grove of perfume.
Tho' the skin of aunt Dinah was black as a coal,
The beams of affection enlightened her soul ;
Like gems in a cavern, that sparkle and blaze.
The darkness but adds to the strength of their rays ;
Or the moon looking out fiom her evening shroud,
Or the sun riding forth from the edge of a cloud,
So benevolence shone in her actions alway,
And the darkness of life became radiant with day.
What tho' she were poor, aunt Dinah's estate
The world was unable to give or create,
Her wealth was her virtues, and brightly they shone,
With a lustre unborrowed, and beauty their own ;
Her nature was goodness, her heart was a mine
Of jewels, more precious than words can define,
And she gave them with such a profusion and grace.
Their light gave complexion and hue to her face.
Aunt Dinah has gone to the land of the good,
And her ashes repose By her favorite wood,
But her lonely old cottage looks out o'er the plain.
As if it would welcome its mistress again ;
And long may it stand in that rural retreat,
To mind us of her we no longer may meet,
When we go after blackberries, joyful and gay,
And forget the kind hostess who welcomed us aye.
CHAELES OSCAE DUGUE,
The author of several volumes of poetry in the
French language, is a native of Louisiana, born at
New Orleans, May 1, 1821. His parents were
XAVIER DONALD MACLEOD ; E. G. SQUIER.
695
both Americans by birth, of French descent. He
was early sent to France, whore he was educated
at Clermont Ferrand in Auvergne, and at the Col-
lege of St. Louis in Paris. While a student, he
wrote verses, which Chateaubriand commended
for their noble and natural expression, without
affectation or extravagance. Thus encouraged,
on his return to New Orleans, he published in 1847
his Essais Po&tiques, the topics of which are
descriptions of Southern scenery, sentimental and
occasional poems. In 1852 he published two
dramatic works, on subjects drawn from the ro-
mantic legends of Louisiana; — MUa ou La Mort
de La Salle, and Le Cygne, on Mingo, an Indian
plot, in which Tecumseh is one of the characters.
In the same year he took the field as editor of a
daily paper in New Orleans, VOrleanais, in which
he advocated the Compromise Resolutions. Mr.
Dugue is now a member of the bar at New Or-
leans, lie has written a manuscript work, en-
titled Philosophic Morale, which is to be publish-
ed in French and English.
XAVIEE DONALD MACLEOD.
Me. McLeod is the son of the Rev. Alexander
McLeod, a Presbyterian clergyman of eminence,
who emigrated to this country in 1704, and the
grandson of Niel McLeod, the entertainer of Dr.
Johnson at Mull in the Hebrides. Mr. McLeod
was born in the city of New York, November 17,
1821, and took orders in the Episcopal Church in
1845. After being settled for a short time in a
country parish, he in 1848 visited Europe, where
he became a Roman Catholic. Since his return
in 1852, Mr. McLeod has devoted himself to
authorship, a career which he commenced at an
early age, having contributed tales and poems
to the New Yorker in 1841. He has published
Py nnshurst, his Wanderings and Jits Ways of
Tli inking, a romance of European travel, The
Blood-Stoiie, a story of talismanic influence, Les-
cure, or the Last Marquis, and the Life of Sir
Walter Scott, prepared from the Life by Lockhart.
His last work is a biography of the present effi-
cient mayor of the city of New York, Fernando
Wood. Mr. McLeod has been a frequent contri-
butor in prose and verse to the magazines of the
day.
E. G. SQTJIEE.
Ephbaim Georoe Squiek was born in the town
of Bethlehem, Albany County, New York, Juue
17, 1821. He is a lineal descendant of Cornet
Auditor Samuel Squier, one of Oliver Crom-
well's lieutenants, who figures in the Correspon-
dence, the " Thirty-Five Unpublished Letters of
Cromwell," communicated tc > the historian Carlyle,
and published by him in Fraser's Magazine.
The younger sons of this Samuel Squier emi-
grated to America, and their descendants took an
active part in the colonial events which followed
the Restoration. # The great-grandfather of our
author, Philip Squier, served under Wolcott in
the capture of Louisburg ; and his grandfather,
Ephraim Squier, fought side by side with Col.
Knowlton at Bunker Hill. He was also with
Arnold in the terrible winter journey through the
wilderness of the Kennebec, in the expedition
against Canada. He lived to be one of the vete-
rans of the war, dying in 1842 at the venerable
age of ninety-seven. The father of the subject
of our present sketch is a devoted Methodist
minister in the northern part of New York and
of Vermont. In his youth, Squier obtained his
education according to the New England fashion,
by working on the farm in summer, and teaching
a common school in winter. At eighteen, we
find him attempting literature in the publication
of a little paper in the village of Charlton, Sara-
toga County, while more seriously qualifying him-
self for the profession of a Civil Engineer. The
disastrous period of 1837-39, which put a stop for
a time to all works of public improvement, ne-
cessarily diverted Mr. Squier from the career
which he had marked out for himself. His know-
ledge of engineering, however, has since been of
the most effectual service to him, in his investiga-
tions both at home and abroad, and has contribut-
ed much to their success. Diverted in this man-
ner from his profession, Mr. Squier next made his
appearauce in print, in 1840, as the editor of a
monthly periodical in Albany, entitled Parlor
Magazine, which lasted a year, and which was
succeeded by the Poet's Magazine, based upon
the idea of making a contemporaneous collection
of American poetry, a sort of National Antholo-
gy. But two numbers were issued.
His next effort was of more pith and import-
ance, in his contributions to and virtual editorship
of the JVeio Torls State Mechanic (1841-2), pub-
lished at Albany, and occupied with the interests
of the mechanics, and a change in the prison
system of the state, injurious to their callings.
At this time he prepared a volume of information
on the Chinese.*
In 1843 he went to Hartford, Connecticut, and
for two years edited the Hartford Daily Journal,
an ardent advocate of Henry Clay, as a type of
American character ; and to his duties as editor
added the part of an efficient organizer of the
Whig party in Connecticut.
Early in 1845, Mr. Squier accepted the editor-
ship of the SciotoOazette published at Chillicothe,
Ohio, with which he retained his connexion for
nearly three years, interrupted only by his elec-
tion as Clerk of the Legislative Assembly of the.
State during the winter of 1S47-8. Immediately
upon his arrival in Ohio, in conjunction with Dr.
Davis, he commenced a systematic investigation
of the Aboriginal Monuments of the Mississippi
Valley, the results of which he embodied in a
voluminous Memoir, which was published by the
Smithsonian Institution, and constitutes the first
volume of its Contributions to Knowledge^
Previously to this, the researches of Mr. Squier
had attracted the attention of the venerable
Albert Gallatin, at whose request he prepared a
Memoir on the Ancient Monuments of the West,
which was published in the Transactions of the
American Ethnological Society, and also in a se-
parate form.]:
* The Chinese as they are, &e., by ft. T. Lay ; with Illustra-
tive and Corroborative Notes, Additional Chapters on the An-
cient and Modern History, Ancient and Modern Intercourse,
&c. By E.G. Squier. 8vo. Albany. TS43.
t Ancient Monuments of the Mississippi Valley, com-
prising the Results of Extensive Original Surveys and Ex-
plorations. By E. G. Squier, A.M., and E. II. Davis, M.D
4to. pp. 400.
X Observations on the Aboriginal Monuments of the Mis-
69G
CYCLOPAEDIA OF AMERICAN LITERATURE
i>:^
The -work published by the Smithsonian Insti-
tution, in the number, variety, and value of the
facts which it embodies, is undoubtedly entitled
to a front rank in all that relates to American
Archaeology. The memoir of Mr. Caleb Atwater
published in 1820, in the Transactions of the
American Antiquarian Society, was, previously to
the appearance of this work, the only authority
on the subject. In the language of Mr. Gallatin,
" it is very incomplete, has many mistakes, and is
in no degree comparable to the work published
by the Smithsonian Institution,'' which has been
accepted as a standard in the department to
which it relates. The results of Mr. Squier's in-
quiries into onr 'Western antiquities are briefly ;
1st. That the earthworks of the AVest are of a
high but indeterminate antiquity ; one, neverthe-
less, sufficiently great to admit of physical and
natural changes, which, in historic regions, it has
required thousands of years to bring about.
2d. That the ancient population of the Missis-
sippi Valley was numerous and widely spread, as
evinced from the number and magnitude of the
ancient monuments, and the extensive range of
their occurrence.
3d. That this population was essentially homo-
geneous in blood, customs, and habits; that it
was stationary and agricultural ; and although
not having a high degree of civilization, was
nevertheless possessed of systematic forms of
religion and government.
4th. That the facts of which we are in posses-
sion, suggest a probable ancient connexion be-
tween the race of the- mounds, and the semi-civi-
lized aboriginal families of Central America and
Mexico, but that there exists no direct evidence
of such relationship.
Upon the question, "What became of the race
sissippi Valley, the Character of the Ancient Earthworks,
8tructurc and Purposes of the Mounds, etc., etc. By E. 6.
Squier.
of the Mounds ? Mr. Squier has not, we believe,
expressed an opinion. His writings, however,
imply a total disregard of all hypotheses which
would ascribe the ancient monuments of the Mis-
sissippi Valley to others than a purely aboriginal
origin, as idle puerile fancies.*
The "Ancient Monuments" was followed by
another publication from Mr. Squier's pen by the
Smithsonian Institution in 1849: — Aboriginal
Monuments of the State of New York, from Ori-
ginal Surveys and Explorations, under the aus-
pices of the New York Historical Society, a work
which was afterwards enlarged in a volume
entitled, Antiquities of the State of New York,
zrith a Supplement on the Antiquities of the
West. This work established that the small
and irregular earthworks, and other aboriginal
remains, north-east of the great lakes, were
to be ascribed to a comparatively recent period,
and were probably due to the Indian tribes
found in occupation of the country at the time
of the discovery.
When General Taylor became President in ] 848,
Mr. Squier received the appointment of Charge
d'Affaires of the United States to the republics of
Central America, in the discharge of which he ne-
gotiated three treaties with Nicaragua, Honduras,
and San Salvador respectively. As an ardent ad-
vocate of American rights and interests, as well as
of the political independence of the Central Ame-
rican States, he secured a personal influence on the
Isthmus which has been directed to several ob-
jects of political and general interest, amongst
which the opening, on most advantageous terms,
of two new inter-oceanic routes, is not the least.
His dispatches, published under order of Con-
gress, fill two considerable volumes. He never-
theless found time, in the short period of his of-
ficial duties, which were brought to a termination
on the death of General Taylor, to make various
explorations into the antiquities of the country,
an account of which, as well as of his general
political ar.d social observations, etc., is included
in his two valuable volumes entitled Nicaragua;
its People, Scenery, and Monuments, published
in 1S52, which in original investigation, spirit of
adventure, and picturesque narrative, is a com-
panion to Stephens's Incidents of Travel in Cen-
tral America and Yucatan.
Mr. Squier had previously, in 1851. published
his volume. The Serpent Symbol, or the Worship
of the Recipjrocul Principles if Nature in Ame-
rica, the object of which seems to have been to
show that the many resemblances, amounting in
some instances to identities, between the manners,
customs, institutions, and especially religions, of
the great families of men in the old and new
world, were not necessarily derivative, or the re-
sults of connexions or relationship, recent or re-
mote. On the contrary, that these resemblances
are due to like organizations, influenced by com-
mon natural suggestions, and the moulding force
of circumstances.
On the publication of the work on Nicaragua,
* Monumental Evidences of the Discovery of America Ly
the Northmen, Critically Examined. — London Ethnological
Journal, December, 1S49. Review of "A Memoir on tho
European Colonization of America in Ante-Kistoric Times.''
By Dr. Zestermaun. London. 1S52.
ELISHA KENT KANE.
GD7
Mr. Squier visited Europe, where- he was intro-
duced to the chief geographical and ethnological
societies of England, Germany, and France ; made
the personal acquaintance of Humboldt, Ritter
(who has introduced a translation of his work on
Nicaragua to the German public), Lepsius,
Jomard, Maury, and the remaining leaders of
archaeological and geographical science. The
first diploma of the Geographical Society of
France, for 1853, was awarded to Mr. Squier,
who was at the same time elected associate of the
National Society of Antiquarians of France, an
honor which has been conferred upon only one
other American, the Hon. Edward Everett.
While in Europe Mr. Squier kept up his taste
for antiquarian investigations by an examination
of the remains at Stonehenge, the results of which
were communicated in a paper to the American
Ethnological Society.* He also, in conjunction
with Lord Londesborough, made some interesting
explorations amongst the early British barrows of
the north of England, near Scarborough.
In 1833 Mr. Squier again visited Central Ame-
rica for the purpose of investigating the line of
an inter-oceanic railway, which his deductions on
his previous visit had led him to con.-ider possi-
ble, between some convenient harbor on the Gulf
of Mexico and the Bay of Fonseca on the Pa-
cific. Tiie result of this special point of investi-
gation Ins been communicated to the public in
Mr. Squier's preliminary report of the Honduras
Inter-Ocjanic Railway Company, of which he is
Secretary. His further observations and adven-
tures, at this time, are included in the two works
which he has prepared, entitled Honduras and
San Salvador, Geographical, Historical, and Sta-
tistical, with original maps and illustrative
sketches, and a more personal volume, Hunting
a Pais, comprising adventures, observations, and
impressions during a year of active explorations
in the States of Nicaragua, Honduras, and San
Salvador, Central America. The numerous illus-
trations to these works are remarkable fur their
merit. They are from the pencil of the artist,
Mr. D. C. Hitchcock, who accompanied Mr. Squier
on his journeys as draftsman. The various vo-
cabularies, plans, drawings of monuments, and
other archaeological materials collected during
this last expedition, it is presumed will be embo-
died in a separate form.
Besides the writings which we have enumerat-
ed, Mr. Squier has been an industrious contribu-
tor to the periodical, newspaper, and scientific
literature of the day, on topics of politics affect-
ing the foreign relations of the country with the
States of Central America ; the antiquities and
ethnology of the aboriginal tribes of the country,
in various journals, and in the Transactions of the
American Ethnological Society, of which he has
been a prominent membre.
ELISHA KENT KANE,
The eminent Arctic explorer, was born in Phila-
delphia, Feb. 3, 1822. He took his degree at the
Medical University of Pennsylvania in 1843 ;
entered the United States Navy as assistant
surgeon, and was attached as a physician to the
* Literary World. January 17 and 24, 1852.
first American embassy to China. Availing him-
self of the facilities of his position, he visited
parts of China, the Philippines, Ceylon, and the
interior of India. He is said to have been the
second, if not the first person, having been cer-
tainly the first white person, to descend the crater
of the Tael of Luzon, suspended by a bamboo rope
around his body, from a projecting crag, two
hundred and three feet above the scoriae and
debris. Upon this expedition, or one winch fol-
lowed it to the Indian Archipelago, lie narrowly
escaped with his life from the Ladrones who
assailed him, sustained successfully an attack of
an entire tribe of savages of the Negrito race, and
was exposed to hardships under which his travel-
ling companion, Baron Loe of Prussia, said;; and
died at Java. After this he ascended the Nile to
the confines of Nubia, and passed a season in
Egypt. He travelled through Greece on foot,
and returned in 1846 through Europe to the
United States. He was at once ordered to the
coast of Africa, and when there, in 181-7, made an
effort to visit the slave marts of Whydah. He
took the African fever, and was sent home in a
very precarious state of health, from which, how-
ever, he recovered sufficiently to visit Mexico
during the war as a volunteer. He made his way
through the enemy's country with despatches for
the American Commander-in-Chief from the
President, with the notorious spy company of the
brigand Dominguez as his escort; and, after a
successful engagement with a party of the enemy
whom they encountered at Nopaluca, he was
forced to combat his companions simde-handed to
save the lives of his prisoners, Major-General
Torrejon, General Gaona, and others, from their
fury. Ho had his horse killed under him, and
was badly wounded ; but was restored to health
by the hospitality and kind nursing of the grateful
Mexicans, particularly the Gaona family of Puebla,
by whom he was thus enabled to remain on
service in Mexico till the cessation of hostilities.*
"When the first Grinnell Expedition for the re-
covery of Sir John Franklin was projected in 1850,
Dr. Kane was appointed senior surgeon and
naturalist of the squadron, composed of the Ad-
vance and the Rescue, which set sail from New
York May 22 of that year, under the command of
Lieut. De Haven. After traversing the waters of
Ratlin's Bay to Melville Bay the expedition crossed
to Lancaster Sound and Barrow Straits, and
ascended Wellington Channel, where the notable
discoveries were made which have given to the
map of the world the names of Maury Channel,
Grinned Land, and Mount Franklin. The winter
was passed by the expedition imbedded in the ice
floe. From the thirteenth of January, 1851, to
the fifth of June, the vessels drifted a distance of
six hundred miles, when the ice pack immediately
surrounding them was broken up in Baffin's Bay.
At this time Dr. Kane met Lieut. Bel 
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